“CAN I HAVE COFFEE WITH YOU?”
Romário sat at the head of a long dining table, scrolling through his phone. The table was filled with food: breads, fruit, juices, and a perfectly baked carrot cake he almost never touched.
Then a small voice broke the silence.
“Can I have coffee with you?”
He looked up, irritation flickering across his face.
She stood beside the empty chair next to him—tiny, with messy blond hair, a pink backpack hanging from one shoulder, and enormous blue eyes filled with curiosity.
“How did you get in here?” he asked coldly.
“Through the kitchen door,” the girl replied cheerfully, as if it were obvious. “My mom works here. She went to get medicine for you, but I was hungry… and I saw the cake. And you’re alone. Nobody should drink coffee alone.”
Romário didn’t respond—not because he was angry, but because something long frozen inside him suddenly shifted. It felt as if someone had found a door in his chest and knocked.
“Does your mother know you’re here?” he asked.
She bit her lip.
“She told me to wait in the pantry… but I saw the cake and…” Her gaze drifted longingly to the table. “I can sit just a little bit and then I’ll go back, I promise.”
His eyes moved to the empty chair beside him. No one had sat there in three years.
Not since the accident.
Not since his wife and four-year-old daughter, Isabela, died.
Not since he turned his home into a tomb.
He didn’t know why he said it—but he did.
“Sit.”
Her eyes widened.
“Really?”
Before he could change his mind, she climbed onto the chair, dropping her backpack onto the floor. Her legs swung in the air, too short to reach the ground.
“Wow…” she whispered, staring at the table. “Is it always like this?”
“Always.”
“And all this is just for you?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed a piece of cake with her hand without waiting for permission and took a large bite, closing her eyes in delight.
“It’s sooo good…” she mumbled through a full mouth. “My mom makes cake sometimes, but it doesn’t get this fluffy. We don’t have a mixer.”
Romário realized he was simply watching her—how she ate, how she spoke, how she looked at him without fear or awe.
As if he weren’t the intimidating billionaire everyone avoided…
Just a man having coffee.
