10
Fina had been watching the door.
Not obviously—she liked to think she was a little more subtle than that. But she’d been aware of every person who walked in. Every time the bell above the entrance chimed, her pulse gave a little jump.
And then—there she was.
Marta.
The sight of her sent a ripple of something through Fina’s chest, something sharp and electric.
But just as quickly as relief settled in, she noticed it—Marta’s hesitation. The slight falter in her step, the way her shoulders stiffened. And then—was she turning to leave?
Fina didn’t even think.
“Marta.”
The second the name left her lips, Marta froze.
Slowly, she turned, and their eyes met.
Dios mío.
It was the same as before, that crackle of energy between them, invisible but there, undeniable.
Fina forced herself to breathe as Marta approached. Watched as she slipped into the booth, arranging herself at a slight angle, the table's corner the only thing that could be considered a barrier between them
And yet, neither of them spoke.
For a moment—one that stretched far too long—they just sat there, looking at each other.
Up close, Fina could see details she’d missed before. The faint crease between Marta’s brows, as if she were always thinking. The delicate curve of her collarbone peeking out from beneath her blouse. The way her lips—full, soft, distracting—pressed together as though she was also fighting the urge to say something.
Then, Marta shifted, crossing one leg over the other, and Fina caught it—her fingers twirling a loose lock of hair from the nape of her neck around her finger.
Oh.
Endearing.
Stop staring, Valero.
Fina cleared her throat, forcing out a chuckle, one that sounded slightly more nervous than she would have liked. She reached for her already empty mug, she may or may not have gotten there a little early, only to realize her mouth was suddenly dry.
Marta arched a brow. “What are you smiling about?”
Fina set the cup down and smirked. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
Fina chuckled. “I was just realizing…I don’t usually get nervous.”
Marta tilted her head slightly, considering her. “And yet?”
Fina leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “And yet…here we are.”
Marta let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh before shaking her head. “Ridiculous.”
But Fina saw the corner of her mouth twitch, and she counted that as a win.
The ice broken, conversation began to flow effortlessly between them.
At some point, Fina gestured around them. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen you here before.”
Marta gave her a wry look. “I was about to say the same thing.”
“You come here often?” rolling her eyes at the cliche.
“Often enough,” Marta admitted, running a finger along the rim of her coffee cup. “It’s close, and they make good coffee. It’s…a bit of a favorite.”
Fina blinked. “No jodas.”
Marta raised an eyebrow.
“This is my favorite café.” She let out a breath of amusement, shaking her head. “And yet, somehow, we’ve never crossed paths here?”
Marta shrugged. “Guess not.”
“I would’ve remembered.”
It was meant to be casual. A simple observation.
But the second the words left her lips, she saw it—the slight blush creeping up Marta’s neck, settling high on her cheekbones.
Fina’s stomach did something strange.
A woman like Marta, composed, sharp, effortlessly stunning, and yet, she wasn’t used to being complimented.
Fina would have to remedy that.
Their conversation carried on, easy, natural.
They talked about where they were from—Fina, born and raised in Madrid, Marta born in England, though she had spent most of her life elsewhere before her Father and Uncle established the company in Toledo.
They talked about family. Marta mentioned an older brother—the brother, the one she constantly had to prove herself against—and a younger one, who wasn’t exactly business-minded but had a good heart.
Fina could tell family was…complicated. The way Marta spoke about it was careful, measured, like she was picking the safest words.
So, Fina told her about hers—about Carmen and Claudia, how they could be a pain in her ass but were also her best friends. About her mother, who had always left out extra food, “just in case,” and her father, who pretended not to care about her career but had still showed up to her concerts when he thought she wouldn’t notice.
Marta listened. Really listened.
And, Dios, Fina liked that.
They covered favorite foods—Marta was a sucker for good pasta but would never admit it. Fina declared this blasphemy.
"What do you do for fun?" Fina asked at one point.
Marta snorted. “I don’t do fun.”
Fina gave her a mock-offended look. “Impossible.”
“I work. I run the company. That’s it. It’s…. structured.” Marta sipped her coffee, expression unreadable. “Not quite as carefree as your life must be.”
Fina tsked. “You wound me, corazón.”
The endearment slipped out before Fina could stop it, and she mentally kicked herself. Marta's lips might have curled into a brief, almost invisible smirk, but it vanished before Fina could be sure.
Marta rolled her eyes, but there was amusement there.
Yet, beneath all the playful remarks, Fina could see it. Marta wasn’t just saying it to be self-deprecating. She meant it.
And that…that was interesting.
By the time their food arrived, conversation had dipped into work—Marta talking about the pressures of running a family company, of constantly having to prove her worth in a way her brother never did. But she didn’t complain. If anything, she spoke about her employees with something close to admiration. She was tough, yes, but fair. She cared.
Fina found herself fascinated.
She had assumed Marta was composed, cool, unreadable, but there was fire beneath it. Passion. And, quite frankly, she was someone to be admired. A role model, even.
They lingered long after their plates were cleared, their conversation winding through topics, refilling their drinks multiple times. The flirtation between them was subtle, woven into their words, their glances. But it was there.
When the waitress finally set the bill between them, both of them reached for it at the same time.
And then,
Holy shit.
Their fingers brushed.
It was nothing. A simple touch. And yet,
Time stilled.
Their gazes snapped up, locked again in that way that made the world narrow.
Marta’s lips parted slightly. Fina felt her own breath catch.
Something shifted.
Something clicked.
And just like that, Fina knew,
She was in trouble.