Mile High Daddy: Chapter 15

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon fills the air as I move behind the counter, wiping my hands on my apron.

The café is small, warm, and always filled with the low hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter from the students who frequent it. Sunlight filters through the large windows, casting golden streaks over the polished wooden floors and the chalkboard menu above the counter, which boasts an array of drinks and pastries.

It’s the kind of place that feels safe.

A world away from where I was months ago.

I adjust my apron and grab a fresh dish towel, wiping down the espresso machine. My shifts at Dewdrop Café have become the one thing I can count on. Every morning, I step behind this counter, and for a few hours, I can pretend that life is normal. That I am normal. That I didn’t spend months living in fear, looking over my shoulder, waiting for the past to catch up to me.

So far, it hasn’t.

“Leah,” a voice calls, breaking through my thoughts.

I glance up to see Maggie, my coworker, grinning at me from where she’s stacking fresh croissants into the display case. She’s petite with short auburn curls and an endless supply of energy, the kind of person who can charm anyone into buying an overpriced oat milk latte.

She jerks her chin toward the seating area. “Check out the guy at table six.”

I follow her gaze toward the large windows, where the afternoon sun streams in, illuminating the man sitting alone at the far end of the shop.

The moment I see him, my pulse jumps.

He’s dressed in a dark suit, crisp and tailored, the expensive fabric standing out in a place like this, where most customers wear sweatshirts and jeans. His fingers drum lightly against the wooden table, a cup of untouched black coffee in front of him. There’s an air of quiet confidence about him, the kind of presence that commands attention without asking for it.

A slow unease trickles down my spine.

For a second, just a single, horrifying moment, I think it’s Mikhail.

My hands tighten around the dish towel, and my body reacts before my mind can process, my stomach clenching, breath hitching, every muscle tensing as if preparing to run.

But when I look closer, the panic fades slightly.

His hair is too light. His jaw isn’t as sharp. He doesn’t have Mikhail’s suffocating presence, which makes every room his kingdom.

It’s not him.

But my heart still pounds against my ribs, and I feel the weight of the past pressing against my chest like a warning.

Maggie whistles low under her breath. “Damn, that look on your face. You good?”

I swallow, forcing my grip to loosen on the towel. “Yeah. Just spaced out.”

She eyes me like she doesn’t quite believe me but doesn’t press. “Well, if you’re not interested, I’m taking my break in five minutes,” she teases. “Might have to go test my flirting skills.”

I force a small laugh, shaking my head. “Go for it.”

She winks before heading toward the back, leaving me standing there, my pulse still racing.

I exhale slowly, turning back to the counter and gripping the edge to steady myself.

Months. It’s been months. I shouldn’t still feel like this. I shouldn’t still be looking over my shoulder, expecting to see him lurking in the shadows.

Mikhail isn’t here.

He can’t be.

I ran. I disappeared.

I built a new life.

And I pray every day that he never finds me.

When I first got here, I didn’t think I’d stay.

I never planned that far ahead.

I arrived in Camden Hill, a small university town in upstate New York, with nothing but a fake ID, a wad of cash my mother sent me, and a backpack stuffed with a few clothes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start over.

Mom handled everything—an apartment rental under a new name, forged paperwork, a backstory that was simple enough to hold up under scrutiny. The ID she gave me says my name is Leah Carter. It feels foreign on my tongue, but I use it anyway.

The questions still linger, though.

How does my mother know how to do all of this? How does she have people who can create new identities, secure apartments under the table, and transfer money without a trace?

I’ve asked her, more than once.

She refuses to answer.

The only thing I do know? She knows more about Mikhail than she’s letting on.

She won’t talk about it, but I can hear the tension in her voice whenever I bring him up. The only thing she ever says is, You need to be careful, Lila. You don’t know what he’s capable of.

But I do.

I know exactly what Mikhail is capable of.

And I know he hasn’t stopped looking for me.

That’s why I keep my head down. I don’t make close friends. I work the morning shifts at the coffee shop, I go home, I avoid unnecessary attention. It’s easier this way.

It has to be.

Because I have someone else to protect now.

I rest a hand against my stomach, feeling the soft swell beneath the loose sweater I’m wearing.

I’m almost seven months along now.

At first, I thought I was losing my mind. I convinced myself it was stress, that my cycle was just delayed because of everything I had been through. But my mother convinced me to take a test. I went to a small clinic outside town, paid in cash, and got the confirmation of what I already knew deep down.

Mikhail’s baby.

I thought about leaving Camden Hill, running even further. But I was exhausted, broke, and tired. And the truth is, this town is quiet. No one asks too many questions, and I blend in here. I’m tall, which helps hide the bump, and I wear baggy clothes whenever I can.

As far as anyone knows, I’m just Leah Carter, a tired barista saving up for community college. No one would ever guess that I’m the pregnant wife of a Bratva boss.

And that’s exactly how I need it to stay.

I adjust my apron and force myself to focus as I continue to wipe down the counter. The café is quieter now, most of the university students off cramming for midterms. Only a few people remain—an older professor reading in the corner, a couple chatting by the pastry case, and the man at table six who nearly stopped my heart earlier.

The smell of espresso, the rhythmic sound of steaming milk, the hum of conversation—it’s predictable. Safe.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

I move to the back, grabbing a fresh tray of croissants to restock the display case. As I do, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my sweater.

Only two people ever text me—Maggie and Mom.

I set the tray down and slip my phone out, my stomach tensing when I see my mother’s name flash across the screen.

Mom: How’s everything there? Everything good?

I stare at the message, my grip tightening on the phone.

I quickly type back.

Me: Yes. Why?

A moment passes. Then⁠—

Mom: Just checking.

Just checking? That never means just checking.

I frown, staring at the message, my stomach twisting.

Ever since I left, my mother has been on edge. I know she’s afraid, but I don’t know why—or at least, I don’t know the full reason. She acts like she knows more about Mikhail than she’s telling me.

I wish she were here with me. That would make things so much easier. But it’s too risky, especially with Mikhail’s men keeping watch.

A soft sigh pulls me out of my thoughts.

I glance up to see Maggie leaning against the counter, giving me one of her looks. The kind that says she’s about to start prying.

“What?” I ask, pocketing my phone.

“You,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’ve been weird ever since I pointed out mystery guy at table six.”

I force a laugh, shaking my head. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Maggie narrows her eyes like she doesn’t believe me but lets it go. “Anyway, that guy just invited me to a party so I guess it’s a date.”

It’s my turn to frown. “Are you sure about that?”

“You’re starting to sound like my mother, Leah.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Just wary, that’s all.”

“His name’s Ryan—he’s some finance guy, apparently, but he’s new in town,” Maggie says.

Something about that doesn’t sit right.

“A finance guy?” I repeat, glancing back at him. “In Camden Hill?”

Maggie shrugs. “Yeah, I thought it was weird too. But he said he likes the quiet, and he’s just here for a little while. Probably hiding from the feds,” she adds with a wink.

I don’t laugh.

Something is off.

I don’t know what it is exactly, but my instincts are prickling in a way I don’t like.

Maggie, however, is oblivious. “Come with me,” she says, tugging on my sleeve.

I recoil slightly. “Maggie⁠—”

“Come on, Leah. You never go out. I swear, you live between your apartment and this café.”

For good reason.

I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She pouts. “Why not?”

I hesitate. Because you don’t know who you’re dealing with. Because nothing in my life is simple anymore. Because I have too much to lose.

Instead, I say, “You just met him.”

“So?” she says, flipping her curls over her shoulder. “Leah, this town is tiny. We don’t exactly have a booming social scene, and you know I’m not interested in the drunk frat parties.”

I exhale, rubbing my hands on my apron. “It just feels…weird. Why is some rich guy throwing a party here?”

Maggie sighs. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine. You should come. Maybe it’ll help you loosen up a little.”

I glance at Ryan again.

He’s still on his phone, but for the briefest second, I swear I see him looking at me through the reflection in the window.

My stomach knots.

I don’t like this.

Not one bit.

But if I push too hard, Maggie will get suspicious. And the last thing I need is her asking more questions about why I’m so paranoid.

So I force a tight smile. “Just…be careful, okay?”

Maggie grins, patting my arm. “Always.”

But I don’t believe her.

The bell above the café door jingles, and I glance up, expecting to see another student or professor stopping in for their afternoon caffeine fix.

Instead, I spot Alex.

A familiar warmth spreads through my chest before I can stop it.

He strolls in like he always does—relaxed, hands in the pockets of his well-worn hoodie, dark hair falling into his eyes. He’s got this effortless charm about him, the kind of presence that makes people feel at ease.

And judging by the way Maggie suddenly perks up from where she’s restocking the pastry display, I already know what’s coming.

“Well, well, well,” she murmurs under her breath, nudging me as he approaches the counter. “Your boyfriend is here.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet,” she whispers before winking and turning away.

I roll my eyes, but there’s no point in arguing with her. She’s been convinced for months that Alex has a thing for me. I don’t believe it.

Alex is just…Alex.

He stops in a few times a week, usually during my shift, and always orders the same thing—a black coffee, no sugar. He lingers sometimes, chatting about whatever book he’s reading or complaining about the terrible film adaptation of some classic novel.

It’s easy with him. Comfortable.

And in a life where everything else feels like a ticking time bomb, I don’t take that for granted.

“Hey, Leah,” he greets, resting his arms against the counter. His dark eyes flick over me, warm and steady. “How’s your day going?”

I wipe my hands on a dish towel and smile. “Same as usual. You?”

“Better now that I have coffee coming my way.” He grins, but there’s something softer in his gaze, something I don’t know what to do with.

I turn to the espresso machine, shaking off Maggie’s words.

“So,” he says after a pause. “Got any plans tonight?”

I glance back at him. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just wondering if you finally plan to do something fun instead of working and hiding away in that tiny apartment of yours.”

I huff out a small laugh, shaking my head as I prepare his drink. “I do fun things.”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”

I hesitate. The truth is, I don’t do anything outside of work. I go home, I rest, I avoid attention. But before I can come up with a lie, Maggie swoops in.

“She’s not doing anything, but I am,” she says, smirking as she leans against the counter. “I got invited to a party by this super-hot finance guy.”

Alex’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but I catch it—the slight narrowing of his eyes, the brief tension in his shoulders.

“A finance guy?” he repeats.

Maggie nods, grinning. “Yeah. Tall, good-looking, kind of mysterious. Leah thinks it’s a bad idea.”

Alex’s gaze flicks to me, his brows lifting slightly.

I shrug. “I just think it’s weird that some rich guy is throwing a party in a college town.”

“She’s paranoid,” Maggie teases, nudging my shoulder. “You’d think she’s in witness protection or something.”

I freeze for half a second before forcing a laugh.

Alex doesn’t laugh. He just keeps watching me.

The coffee machine beeps, breaking the silence, and I turn quickly to grab his drink, handing it to him. His fingers brush mine as he takes it. It’s barely a touch, but I feel it.

I clear my throat. “Enjoy your coffee.”

He nods, but something lingers in his expression, something unreadable.

“See you around, Leah,” he says, his voice softer than before.

I watch as he turns and heads for the door, my pulse still unsteady.

Maggie leans in, wiggling her eyebrows. “He totally has a thing for you.”

I shake my head, forcing a smile. “You’re imagining things.”

But as I glance back at Alex, now just a silhouette beyond the café window, I wonder if maybe, just maybe, Maggie’s right.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not sure how I feel about that.