Hot Temptation

Maya never liked summer in the city—it was sticky, noisy, and impatient. That’s why she took the job at the seaside café. She told herself it was just temporary, just a paycheck. But deep down, she knew it was an escape.

The café was a little place tucked into the corner of the boardwalk, with chipped teal paint and a smell that could stop strangers in their tracks—fresh coffee, baked bread, and the whisper of cinnamon. On her first day, she thought she had the whole kitchen to herself. That illusion shattered the moment he walked in.

Adrian.

Tall, sun-browned, and carrying the scent of sea salt and rosemary, he looked like trouble in a perfectly fitted white shirt. He wasn’t the kind of man who tried to charm you—he didn’t need to. His voice was low, his eyes dark enough to make you forget your own name, and he had a way of leaning just close enough to make the air feel heavy.

“This place is mine now,” he’d said that first morning, leaning on the counter with a lazy smile. “I hear you’re the pastry genius.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “I’m the pastry employee. Big difference.”

But he’d just chuckled, as though he already knew she’d be the most interesting part of his summer.

For weeks, they danced around each other. She worked the morning shift, rolling dough and piping cream while Adrian prepped for lunch, humming some tune she could never place. She told herself she was imagining the way his gaze lingered, the way he always managed to brush past her a little too close in the narrow kitchen.

It wasn’t until the stormy Friday night that everything shifted.

The sky had turned black by noon, waves crashing against the shore hard enough to rattle the café windows. By closing time, the rain was falling in thick, silver sheets. Maya stayed behind to finish a custom cake order—three tiers of chocolate mousse with intricate sugar roses. She didn’t hear the door until it clicked shut.

“Forgot my jacket,” Adrian said, though he wasn’t wearing one when he left.

She didn’t look up. “You own the place. You can come and go as you like.”

He moved closer, his footsteps slow. “And leave you here alone in a storm? Not a chance.”

The air grew warmer as he leaned against the counter beside her. She kept her eyes on the cake, but her hands betrayed her, trembling slightly as she smoothed the icing.

“You’re careful,” he said softly. “Precise. Every detail perfect. But I think you’re hiding behind it.”

She froze. “Hiding behind what?”

“Perfection,” he murmured. “It’s safe. No one can hurt you if you don’t let them close.”

Maya set the spatula down. “And what makes you think you know anything about me?”

His eyes didn’t waver. “Because I do the same thing.”

The storm roared outside, lightning briefly illuminating the kitchen. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he reached for her hand. Warm. Steady. Certain.

She should have pulled away. She’d sworn never to let another man get close—not after the last time, not after the promises that turned into lies. But Adrian’s touch wasn’t demanding. It was an invitation.

“Maya,” he said, her name tasting like something sweet on his lips, “life’s too short to pretend we don’t feel this.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She stepped closer. Not all the way. Not yet. But enough to let him see the answer in her eyes.

And then, just as the silence thickened, a phone buzzed on the counter.

Adrian’s.

He glanced at the screen—and in the flash of lightning, she saw the name.
Daniel Carter.

Her stomach dropped. That was the name she had been trying to forget for two years. The man who had broken her heart, stolen her savings, and vanished without a trace.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Maya… I can explain.”

But she was already stepping back, her chest burning.

“You know him?” she asked, voice cold.

His silence was her answer.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the air turned sharp as steel. Whatever temptation she’d felt moments ago had been doused in ice. Because now she knew—Adrian wasn’t a stranger. He was the best friend of the man who had ruined her life.

And she couldn’t decide which was worse: that he hadn’t told her… or that part of her still wanted to kiss him anyway.