Page 6 of Rogue’s Reckoning

"Okay," I agree, my pulse quickening. "And thank you... Um, I didn't catch your name?"

Another pause. "It's Rogue. See you soon, Willow."

The line goes dead. I sit there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, processing what just happened.

Rogue... The name suits him somehow—strong, a little mysterious.

I jump out of bed, suddenly energized. As I rifle through my closet, I try to calm myself down. It's just coffee to get my notebook back. Nothing more. But I can't ignore the butterflies in my stomach, or the way my hands shake slightly as I apply mascara.

I settled on a flowing, floral dress and a white cardigan—feminine but not trying too hard. As I head out the door, I catch sight of my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with anticipation.

Get it together, Willow, I chide myself.You barely know this guy.

The walk to The Grind helps calm my nerves. The crisp morning air and familiar sights of campus ground me. This is my world—books and classes and the promise of shaping young minds someday. What do I know about mysterious guys in leather jackets?

I spot him the moment I enter the coffee shop. He's impossible to miss—tall and broad-shouldered, radiating an aura of danger that seems at odds with the cozy cafe setting.Our eyes meet, and that same jolt of electricity I felt at the bar courses through me.

"Willow," he says as I approach, my name sounding different, thicker, and silkier in his deep voice.

I nod, my cheeks heating. “Yes. Thank you so much for meeting me, Rogue.”

"It's no problem," Rogue says, pulling out my notebook from inside his leather jacket. When he hands it to me, our fingers touch for a moment. The brief contact is enough to send a shiver through me.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" I ask. "To thank you for going out of your way."

“Sure,” he says with a shrug.

We order and find a small table in the corner. He didn’t let me buy him coffee. Instead, he paid, and when I tried to protest, his gaze sliced to me, so I stopped speaking.

Up close, I can see the fatigue etched on his face. He looks like he hasn't slept. There's a blooming bruise on his jaw that wasn't there last night.

"Rough night?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

His eyes narrow slightly. "Something like that. Work stuff."

I nod, not pushing further. We sip our coffees in silence for a moment. I'm hyper-aware of his presence across from me; the way his large frame dwarfs the cafe chair; the subtle scent of leather and something distinctly masculine.

"So," he says finally. "You're studying to be a teacher?"

I blink in surprise. "How did you know that?"

He gestures to the notebook. "Lesson plans. I, uh, took a look to see if there was contact info inside."

"Oh, right," I say, feeling a bit foolish. "Yes, I'm in my first year. I love working with kids."

As I start talking about my classes and my part-time job at the daycare, I see something in Rogue's expression soften. He asks thoughtful questions, seeming genuinely interested.

"You must be good with them," he says. "Kids, I mean. You've got a... gentleness about you."

I blush at the compliment. "I try. Every child deserves patience and kindness."

Something flashes in his eyes at that—pain, maybe? But it's gone so quickly, I question whether I imagined it.

"What about you?" I ask, eager to shift the focus. "What do you do?"

He hesitates. "I work in security, of sorts. For a local business."

I nod, sensing he doesn't want to elaborate. We chat a bit more about neutral topics like the unseasonably warm weather and the best pizza places in town. But all too soon, I realize I need to leave for class.

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