Page 51 of Rescuing Sophia

Sophia stands, moving around the table to settle into my lap. I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her scent, letting her presence ground me.

“Thank you,” I murmur into her hair.

She pulls back slightly, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. “For what?”

“For being you. For this.” I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. “For giving me something to come home to.”

Sophia’s eyes soften, a smile playing at her lips. “Well, when you put it that way…” She leans in, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that starts soft but quickly deepens.

As we lose ourselves in each other, the day’s worries fade into the background. There will be time for strategizing, chasing leads, and facing the dangers that lurk in the shadows. But for now, in this moment, there’s just us.

And it’s enough.

The weeks that follow settle into a rhythm that’s both comforting and energizing. I walk Sophia to the café each morning, our hands intertwined, sharing quiet conversations or comfortable silences. The air grows crisper as autumn deepens.

I watch with pride as Sophia blossoms in her new role. Her confidence grows with each passing day, her smile brighter, and her laughter more frequent. She comes home with stories of charming difficult customers, mastering complex orders, and forming friendships with regulars.

One evening, as we’re curled up on the couch, the soft glow of lamplight creating a cozy atmosphere, Sophia looks up at me with a contentment that takes my breath away.

“I never thought I could be this happy.” Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest, her voice barely above a whisper.

I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You deserve all the happiness in the world, Soph.”

She hums contentedly, nestling further into my embrace. The scent of her shampoo mingles with the aroma of the herbal tea she favors in the evenings, creating a fragrance that I’ve come to associate with home.

These moments of domestic bliss are interspersed with the ongoing challenges of the mission. We make slow but steady progress, each lead bringing us incrementally closer to our goal.

But we’re still grasping at straws. Sooner or later, reality will crash in.

It’s just a matter of time before everything unravels.

SIXTEEN

Sophia

Steam curlsup from the espresso machine, mingling with the rich aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastries that fills The Guardian Grind. I wipe down the counter, the steady hum of the café’s activity creating a comforting rhythm. The soft chatter of customers blends with the clinking of cups, offering a soothing backdrop to my thoughts.

“One vanilla latte and a blueberry scone, coming right up.” My voice is cheerful despite the melancholy tugging at my heart.

As I prepare the order, my hands move with practiced ease, and thoughts of how much I’ve come to love this life swirl in my mind. The rhythm of the work, the joy of crafting the perfect cup of coffee, the satisfaction of a customer’s smile, and the sense of belonging among my coworkers—it’s precious to me.

Beneath the surface, constant anxiety lurks, ready to crash down at any moment. I expected only days, maybe a week at most. Instead, I’ve had precious, beautiful weeks of falling in love, becoming part of a family, and finding a sense of belonging I never thought possible.

I’m destined to destroy all of it.

The day progresses as usual. I take orders, steam milk, pullespresso shots, and clear tables. Each interaction is tinged with a bittersweet awareness of its fleeting nature.

Nothing good ever lasts, and I hate that.

Something catches my eye as I approach a recently vacated table to clear the dishes. A manila envelope sits innocuously among the empty cups and crumb-strewn plates. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of my name scrawled across its surface in harsh yet familiar handwriting.

My hands tremble as I reach for the envelope, quickly pressing it to my chest to conceal it from view. I glance around nervously, but no one pays me any attention. Swiftly, I tuck the envelope into my apron pocket, its weight a ticking time bomb against my hip.

“Sophia? Are you okay?” Jenna’s concerned voice breaks through my panic. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The room spins, making me feel lightheaded and fearful. The envelope burns against my side like a brand, a stark reminder that this beautiful illusion is officially shattered.

“I-I don’t feel well. Do you mind if I take off early?” I force a weak smile, avoiding her gaze, and lean against the table for support.

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