Page 82 of Between Here and There

Emily takes a step forward, her mouth slightly open as she takes it all in. Flowering vines climb wooden arbors, their petals glistening with dew under the lights. The lush greenery is a world away from the concrete jungle below, a little slice of magic hidden in plain sight.

“Wow,” she breathes, her voice hushed. “This is… stunning.”

I glance at her, and the way her face lights up makes my chest tighten. She looks like she belongs here, surrounded by all this quiet beauty. For a moment, I think I’d bring her here a thousand times just to see her smile like that.

“This is where I go when life gets overwhelming,” I tell her, my voice softer now.

“I can’t imagine what must be overwhelming for Joshua Santaigo,” she says. “You look like you’re made of steel.”

I shrug. “Oh, you know, even Superman has bad days.”

“You can tell me about it, you know,” she says. We take a seat on the bench by the fountain. We’re surrounded by flowers and beautiful plants, but despite all the beauty around me, she stands out. She pats the empty seat beside her, and I follow. We’re closer now, and I can smell hints of her perfume that only amplifies the smell of flowers around us.

“It’s just… a different kind of pressure,” I start. “To inherit a solid company and maintain everything. Some days, I get really overwhelmed. It’s not just about running the thing, you know. It’s living up to my uncle’s legacy and meeting the expectations of the people who have been there much longer than I have. Every decision feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.”

This is the first time I’ve opened up about this. No one really asks me about it, and I’m not one to divulge. I glance at her, expecting her to brush it off or crack a joke, but she doesn’t. She just listens, her attention steady and grounding, urging me to continue.

“And then there’s the family part of it,” I say. “Everyone thinks I have it all figured out, like I’ve got this perfect life—career, success, stability. But I’m still trying to figure out who I am in all of this.”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. “Sorry, this is probably more than you signed up for when you agreed to come with me.”

Emily shakes her head, her expression softening. “Don’t apologize. You don’t get to play the ‘steel man’ all the time. Sometimes you need to just… be human.”

Her words settle over me like a warm blanket, comforting and disarming.

“I guess it’s easier to just pretend everything’s fine,” I admit, leaning back against the bench. The cool night air brushes against my skin, carrying the faint scent of roses and lavender. “But pretending gets lonely after a while.”

“Yeah, I get it,” she says. “But lonely doesn’t suit you. Let people in, sometimes.”

I look at her, and for a moment, the thought strikes me—I’m letting you in right now.

“And please,” she continues. “You have access to a garden, add some plants to your apartment.” She laughs, probably trying to shift the tension that just simmered there.

“The caretaker actually asks me to take whatever I want, I just never really had a preference, I guess,” I admit. I look around, thinking about which flower I want to bring back home. Only one thought comes to mind: roses.

“Anyway, you?” I ask, turning the focus to her. “What do you do when life gets overwhelming?”

She smiles, but there’s something bittersweet in it. “I escape,” she says. “I go to random places and give a fake name. A fake me. It’s easier.”

“You go on random dates with strangers you meet in the back of a café?” I ask, smiling.

“That happened once. And frankly, I don’t think I’ll do it again.” She chuckles. “But if I had a place like this, it’s all the escape I’d need.”

“Well,” I say, nudging her playfully. “You do now.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling sincerely.

After a few seconds of silence, I break it with a question that’s been on my mind. “So, are you quitting your job?”

Emily exhales, her gaze drifting toward the fountain in front of us. “I can’t resign from the café. My work visa is tied to them.”

I blink, genuinely surprised. “How in the world did you manage to get a café to sponsor a visa?”

She grins, clearly amused by my reaction. “I’m a really good barista,” she says, her tone teasing but confident.

I raise an eyebrow. “No, really. How?”

“Okay,” she relents, leaning back on the bench. “Back in college, I took a few barista and mixology classes for fun. When I applied to the café, I pitched a new menu item—this layered coffee-drink-dessert hybrid thing. Frank, the owner, loved it so much it became a bestseller. It turned into this huge event for the café. You know, posters, social media campaigns, the works. After that, Frank begged me to stay.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the pride in her voice is unmistakable.

---