Page 47 of Rescuing Sophia

Finally, Malia appears with a tray laden with our orders. The pastries look divine: flaky croissants and scones studded with berries. No muffins.

The drink she sets in front of me captures my full attention. It’s served in a large, hand-thrown ceramic mug with a deep blue glaze that reminds me of the ocean. A delicate design—a stylized guardian angel—is traced in the foam on top.

The aroma that wafts up holds complex notes of chocolate and something spicy, mingling with the rich coffee scent.

“Sophia’s special creation.” Malia winks, then flashes the prettiest smile at Walt. “She’s been working on it all week.”

I lift the mug, the warmth seeping into my palms. The first sip is... surprising. There’s the expected bite of espresso, but it’s smoothed out by what I think is dark chocolate. Then a hint of heat blooms on my tongue—chili, maybe? It’s followed by a subtle sweetness that balances everything perfectly.

“Damn.” I take another sip. “This is good.”

The team’s reactions to their drinks are similarly positive. We dig into the pastries, which are just as delicious as they look.

The croissant practically melts in my mouth, buttery layers giving way with a satisfying crackle. Walt and Gabe argue over the scones.

As we enjoy our treats, the café continues to buzz around us. I keep one eye on Sophia, watching as she efficiently manages the steady stream of customers. Her movements are graceful, almost choreographed, as she pulls espresso shots and steams milk.

Then, amid the pleasant hum of activity, a voice rises above the rest. “This is unacceptable. I asked for soy milk.”

I tense, my hand automatically moving to where my weapon would be if I were on duty. A middle-aged man’s face turns red as he gestures with his cup.

Malia moves toward him, but Sophia beats her to it. I half-rise, ready to intervene, but Ethan’s hand on my arm stops me.

He gives me a reassuring nod. “Let her handle it. She’s got this.”

Reluctantly, I sink back into my chair, every muscle coiled tight as the scene unfolds.

Sophia approaches the man, her posture open and calm. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up, sir.” Her voice is rock steady. “Let me remake that for you right away.” She takes the cup from him and lightly touches his arm with a flutter of her fingers.

The man continues to bluster, but Sophia doesn’t flinch. She listens attentively, nodding at appropriate moments. Her hands are relaxed at her sides, not fidgeting or clenched.

“I completely understand your frustration.” Sophia’s voice is smooth and soothing as she steps closer to the man. “We pride ourselves on getting orders right and failed you this time. Please allow me to remake your drink and offer you a complimentary pastry for the inconvenience.” Her eyes meet his, radiating empathy and calm.

The change in the man is almost comical. His anger immediately dissipates, replaced by a sheepish expression. “Oh, well, that’s very kind of you. Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure.” Sophia smiles, genuine and warm. “What kind of pastry would you like?”

She expertly navigates the interaction, using every skill she’s honed to diffuse the situation. Trained to please men and manipulate them if needed, she sways him effortlessly with a touch and a few kind words. It’s unsettling to see how easily she controls the exchange.

Her ability to handle the situation gracefully is a harsh reminder of what she’s endured and the skills she developed. My admiration for her strength is mixed with a protective instinct that surges to the forefront, making me want to shield her from ever having to use those skills again.

As she leads the now-placated customer to the pastry case, a swell of pride surges within me, so intense it’s almost painful. The Sophia I first met would have crumbled under such confrontation. Sophia handled this gracefully and professionally, which I wouldn’t have thought possible a few weeks ago.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gabe mutters beside me. “Girl’s got skills.”

The rest of the team shares similar sentiments. The rest of our visit passes without incident. We linger over our drinks, savoring the excellent coffee and the warm atmosphere. I catch Sophia’s eye a few times, exchanging smiles across the busy space.

As the morning rush tapers off, Sophia finally comes over to our table. She looks tired but happy, and a light sheen of sweat on her brow attests to her hard work.

“So,” she says, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice, “what’s the verdict?”

The team doesn’t hold back, showering her with genuine praise. Sophia blushes at the attention, but I can see how much it means to her.

When the others have had their say, Sophia turns to me, her eyes seeking mine. “And you? What did you think of your drink?”

I finally indulge my earlier impulse to brush the smudge of flour from her cheek. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I let my touch linger.

“It was perfect,” I tell her, my voice low and sincere. “Just like you.”

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