“You just never let up, do you?” I stood there, crossing my arms in front of myself as Lucas sat inconspicuously in the corner.

He was reading a large book called “Plants of Michigan.” Out of the corner of his right eye, he saw me and set down the paperback. “Where else would I be? There ain’t much to do in this town, you know,” he said.

“There’s a coffee shop a few blocks north,” I retorted. I grabbed a towel and dunked it into the bleach bucket and sloppily cleaned his table off.

“Yeah, well I heard their coffee sucks,” he said. “Read it on Yelp.”

I looked at him and tried not to laugh. “You looked it on Yelp, huh?”

“Is that funny to you? Seems like everything I do is to your benefit.” He was looking at me with a stern gaze. His white muscle shirt suffocated his muscles. Every peak and valley from his six-pack rippled against the fabric. There I was, staring a hole through his body. I immediately noticed myself gawking and snapped out of it.

“I can’t imagine you owning a smart phone,” I laughed. “You, a tough guy from Detroit.”

“Everyone has a smart phone. Even tough guys from Detroit,” he said. He picked his book back up and started reading.

I couldn’t believe this guy. Everything he did seemed to be a contradiction. At least it was something interesting. He was right about one thing: there wasn’t much to this town. And after living here for a while, the days started to blend together. “You a gardener now or something?”

He sighed and set the book back down. “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” he said.

I felt my heart race as my eyes trailed his body downward to his belt. I kept imagining him slowly threading the leather through each loop, opening the buckle like a box of treasure. I had these fantasies where I fell to my knees, waiting patiently for him. I was obedient and hungry for him. His presence filled the room, that ashy-wood smell, and he was more than willing to let me know who was boss. “Give me that cunt,” he whispered, holding his leather belt between his hands.

I had to snap myself out of it. I had a child for fuck’s sake. I had responsibilities. I couldn’t be reckless like I used to be. I gulped down, hearing that tiny click in the back of my throat. I said “I was just wondering.” I quickly shielded my red face and turned to help another customer. Finally, there are other people to distract me, I thought to myself.

“Don’t you leave without taking my order,” he said.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Without turning around, I said “Red eye with a quiche, right?”

“Hm. No, I should get something different. What do you recommend?” Fuck. He was going to force me to face him. That bastard!

“The quiche is good. I recommended the red eye last time. It’s a standard knock your socks off kind of a drink,” I said.

“Give me an iced latte. Extra shot. And a ham and cheese omelet. Make it pepper-jack.” I could feel him smiling behind me.

“Coming right up,” I said. An Iced latte? Was this guy for real? Next thing I’d know, he’d be asking me for extra caramel.

He made me feel so weird. It constantly felt like his dark and heavy eyes were staring at me. Yet, every time I turned to look at him, he was invested in that stupid plant book of his. My cheeks felt hot. Okay, just relax Dahlia, I had to tell myself. I posted his order in the kitchen window. “Order up,” I said, making eye contact with Joel, the new fill in for Carmelo.

I was actually kind of worried about Carmelo. The past few days he had called in sick and the day before that it was as if he had seen a ghost. It wasn’t like I couldn’t handle myself here. We probably got around a total of 30 customers a day. It’s just that the old Italian was never sick. He was always energetic, sometimes even rambunctious. He was just one of those guys who was happy to be alive. But ever since Lucas came into town, something had changed in him.

I tamped the espresso and pressed the button on the machine, watching carefully as the dark clay-colored liquid poured into the cup. For fun, I drizzled caramel on the bottom. Smiling to myself, I mixed it together, poured the milk, and let the ice cubes slide inside slowly. Voila! “One extra-sweet caramel latte for the tough guy in the corner!” I yelled out.

He looked up from his book, frowned, and then looked back down. “I’m over here,” he muttered. Ugh! I grabbed it and slammed it down on his table. It was childish of me, but he was being a total prick.

“There. Happy?” I asked him, steaming at this point.

“Very. Thanks, babe.” To save myself from smacking him in the face, I put my hair into a ponytail and took a few deep breaths. “I’m just messing with you. Calm down.”

“Yeah, just pay when you get a chance,” I said, turning to walk away.

“Wait just a second.” He grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop short.

“What?” I asked.

“I have some business to take care of in Detroit tonight and maybe tomorrow,” he said.

“And?” Initially I had tried to pull my hand out from under his, but after a few seconds, I stopped. He was repulsive, offensive, and every kind of wrong, and yet he was every kind of right. The strength, and his overall level of control made me stop pulling away. But the man needed to either let me go or pull me in, because I was not the girl to mess with.

“So we won’t be able to have our little lunches,” he said. “And, who knows? Maybe I won’t be coming back.” He let go of my hand and sat back in his chair, waiting for my reply.

I put my hands on my waist and thought about what he just told me. On one hand, who cared? He was just some pig who walked into town one day and made my life that much harder. On the other hand, it was a blow, straight to the stomach. Never coming back? Why? Was it something I did? Something I said? I needed answers.

“You’ll be back.” I found myself saying. “I’m sure of it.”

He chuckled to himself lightly. “Yeah? Why? You think you’re that special?”

I shook my head and smiled. “For one, your car is here. Two, you came here for a reason. Maybe that reason is simple. Maybe you just need some time to yourself. Or maybe there’s something else you came for? Either way, I don’t see you leaving without either. Not yet, at least.”

“You’re observant,” he said. “That can be dangerous for a girl like you.”

Dangerous? The only dangerous thing was my slow-building obsession with the thickness of his cock. “But wait, there’s a third reason why you’ll be back. And I’m willing to bet all my money on this one.”

“What is it? Enlighten me,” he said, eyes perking up.

“Your love for the café, of course!” I exclaimed.

“Cute,” he muttered back, eyeing me up and down. I felt my heart push against my chest and this time it was hard for me to keep my breathing normal. Cute.

“Yes, I think that’s it for sure,” I said, proud of my detective skills.

“Well, you got me. I’ll be back. Next time I’m thinking about trying that double-fudge Nutella swirl brownie. Is it as good as it looks?”

“It’s even better,” I whispered with a wink. But before I walked back to the counter, I said “My name’s Dahlia. There, now you know.”

He straightened his shoulders and outstretched a solitary hand. “Pleased to meet you, Dahlia.” I shook it, feeling his strong grip wrap around my fingers. When he released, goose bumps shot up on my skin.

I walked back behind the counter and Joel was looking at me intently. I resumed practicing my latte art, but every time I turned around, Joel kept staring at me. After about five full minutes of this, I finally hissed at him. “What is it?”

“Who’s the guy?” He asked me.

“Joel, you’re new here so I’ll be nice to you. Mind your own business,” I said, turning away from him as quick as I could.

“Wow, it really bugs you that I asked. Something’s going on between you two, isn’t there?” He stopped looking in my direction now, knowing that he had my attention. He went back to kneading some dough.

“Nothing is going on. He’s some creep that almost hit me the other day on the road. He’s been stalking me ever since.” I shouldn’t have used such harsh words, but I wanted to make it clear that I had no intention of being with that jerk. The fantasies were just fantasies. It was normal for a woman to have them, right? Er, I hoped so, at least.

“Stalking you? I didn’t realize smiling and laughing at your stalker will get them to stop following you,” he sarcastically replied. Was every guy this annoying?

“The customer is always right,” I said. “Besides, this is his last day here. He’s a visitor. A tourist.” A tourist? That word sounded so funny when it came out of my mouth, that I almost immediately apologized for using it. Him, a tourist? Yeah, we got a lot of hardened men coming to Monroe by themselves for the view. Give me a break, Dahlia.

“Sure. Whatever you say. All I'm saying is be careful. He doesn't really look like the type of guy who lives a normal, safe and secure lifestyle.” He began rolling the dough up into crescent-shaped formations. I knew he was just watching out for me.

After some time, he finished Lucas’s dish. “Order up.” Joel winked at me, setting down the omelette on the counter for me. “Be careful.” He mouthed at me. I rolled my eyes back and pretended like I was being strangled.

I walked over to Lucas and set his omelet on the table. “Thanks, Dahlia. Looks delicious as always.” I stood there, standing on the balls of my feet.

Finally, after mulling it over a bit, I spat out what I had to ask. “Should I be worried?” I suddenly said, feeling ashamed I had even asked the question.

“Everyone should be worried,” he said with a straight face. “But I’m assuming you need to worry less than most people.” He shrugged.

“No, I mean, should I be worried about you? Are you, like, stalking me?” I asked, feeling my voice rise up until it barely squeaked out. I hated confrontations, especially ones like this. But I thought maybe it would be wise to lay ground rules down before he came back next week.

He burst into laughter, pounding his fist down on the table. The few customers that were inside looked up at us and I embarrassingly took a step back to hide from their gazes. I knew behind me, Joel shook his head at me, but I didn't care much about what he thought.

“Worried about me? Lady, you're not on my list. I think you're nice. Feisty too. I like that in a woman,” he said, taking a big sip of his latte. “You make a good drink too.”

“Okay. But you have a list?” I asked him, looking out of my peripherals, trying to gauge whether people were still staring or not.

He suddenly stood up from his seat and gripped his palm around my waist. He brought me in close until I could practically feel his lips against mine.

“Maybe you should be worried about me. I look like a risk don't I?”

I slowly nodded my head, feeling my body tense up. He trailed his fingers from my waist down to my ass. He squeezed my right cheek lightly. I felt a sense of pressure swell up inside of me, like a balloon that was about to burst. I had the sudden urge to pull up my dress right then and there, while he wrapped his burly mouth around my soaked panties.

“I know you want me,” he said. “Don't shake your head. Don't do anything, dammit. Just look into my eyes. I know you need me,” he said, staring into my own eyes. His pupils had a fire to them, and an air of mystery that drew me to the flames.

He said “I'll make you mine. Soon enough.” He ran one finger across the lining of my panties. I was dripping wet and shaking. Oh God, what is happening? Is this a dream? I thought. But it was all too real and in the moment.

“Don't you dare nod,” he whispered. He took his lips and lightly pressed them against mine. His beard rubbed against my cheeks and he slowly bit down against my lower lip, pulling back. Then he let go. “See you soon, Dahlia.”

He didn't even stay for his omelet. He simply walked outside, pulled a cigarette out of his pack, and walked away from the café never looking back. “Fuck me,” I whispered to myself.

I turned around and of course, Joel shook his head at me.