#incorrect order

Nesta tapped her foot on the polished restaurant floor impatiently. Five minutes. If her order isn't complete in another five minutes, she's getting the hell out of here, her food and money be damned. No, maybe she'll try to get her money and shall personally have a chat with the manager. She'll probably get a chocolate bun and some coffee from the grocery store for breakfast later.

That was exactly when the girl behind the counter called out her order. She rushed forward to take her plate. The smell alone made her mouth water, the staff preparing her food the exact way she liked. It took her a moment or so to realise that there was a larger pair of tanned hands gripping her plate too.

She looked up to find a massive handsome man with half of his hair in a man bun, the rest brushing his collar. An enormous cocky grin was already splitting across his face, "Hello, gorgeous. Hope you're good. Unfortunately, I think that plate is mine," he said with a pointed look at her plate and damn her if the timbre of his voice didn't send a bolt of electricity through her. The plate in question was subjected to a subtle tug-of-war match, the end of its service nearing by each second.

Nearby, a throat was cleared. From the waitress behind the counter. Of course, they had an audience. Nesta turned to her —finally freeing the poor plate— and asked, "Is this order for table 22?"

The waitress quickly checked through the receipt and confirmed, "Yes, ma'am.” Nesta smirked “ I am extremely sorry for the confusion. Both tables; 7 and 22 ordered the same meal almost at the same time. The staff will try their level best to avoid this from being repeated." The last sentence was punctuated with a desperate glance at Nesta. A silent plea, please don't bring this matter to the manager.

Apparently, the man was too blinded by his ego to see the hidden request (she wasn't surprised).

“What?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Your fault,” she murmured.

“I came here long before her,” he trudged on, ignoring her. “How does she get the food first?”

The waitress swallowed, “I am extremely sorry, sir,” She disappeared to the door behind her and quickly came back with his order all while he scowled at her as if she was the bane of his existence.

The waitress reappeared with the man's order in hand, “Again, truly sorry.”

The man took the plate from the waitress, huffed, mumbled, “It's fine. I guess. I do hope you keep good on your promise to avoid repeating such situations,” and stalked away.

The waitress let out a relieved breath and repeated her apologies to Nesta. Nesta gave a curt nod and went away, hoping to get done with this narrative as soon as she could.

* * * * *

Cassian was mostly a nice guy. But today he wasn't that nice. He didn't know why either. He just knew that he should go and apologise to the waitress for freaking her out. And probably to the pretty woman there too.

He could probably say that he was in a shitty mood because he was preparing himself for the disappointment to come when he realises that Nesta, his sister-in-law, isn't coming to the family party coming around the corner too.

Focus, Cass, he mentally chastised. He strode through the mall, searching for the shop he needed to collect his brother, Rhysand's first-anniversary gift. His brother deserves that much. Well, brother of sorts. He, Rhys and Azriel weren’t actual brothers. But Rhys's mom took him and Az in 2 years before her cancer took her away which was probably 15 years ago. The three of them did almost everything together.

Cassian reached the shop he ordered Rhys's gift from, collected his gift and was heading to the mall's exit with a cup of cold coffee he grabbed on the way, when—

When he bumped right into the woman from the restaurant before. Bumped, as in, literally bumped. Oh and spilt his coffee gracefully on her blouse. White blouse. Wonderful.

She had her mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ before her eyes blazed in anger. Not the puny anger when one bumped into someone. This was the rage when you have coffee spilt all over your previously stainless fashionable white blouse. This was the rage when your purchase bag fell on the floor with your newly bought clothes spilling from the bag onto the floor.

Oh no—

Okay, calm down, Cass. Just, calm down. This will be fine.

And then the dam broke.

“What do you think you were doing?” she seethed. “Were you even looking in front of you? Or I suppose people like you don’t need to look. You’ll just slam into someone and talk your way out of it. Oh, wait, no, maybe you were too blinded by your ego to see it. Or maybe—”

“Or maybe you could just listen to me?” he cut in. She snapped her mouth shut. “Look, it isn’t as if I purposely spilled coffee on your clothes.”

“White clothes,” she murmured.

“It isn’t as if I bumped into you just to drop your bags on the floor,” he continued.

“But you did.”

“Though I am honoured that you think my wit is good enough to talk my way out of such situations—”

“I said no such thing.”

“Please, darling, I don’t like being interrupted,” he paused to see if she would say anything else. She didn’t. He let himself rejoice in this small victory. He bent down to pick her purchase bag from the floor and passed it to her. She jutted out her chin and hissed, “I do not need your help,” and stalked away.

He shrugged and watched as their audience dispersed and was about to head back to the exit when he noticed a lilac purse on the floor. The woman’s. She was still walking in his sight.

“Wait!” he called. She stopped but didn’t turn back. He supposed that was a good sign. When he didn’t say anything more, she started walking again at a much slower pace. To let him catch up to her, he supposed.

“Wait,” he repeated once he got much closer. She whirled mid-stride to face him, damn near bumping into her. Again. No, he would never want that to happen. He’ll at least hope.

“What do you want?” she fumed.

He held his hands up in innocence. He had no intention of dying before his brother’s anniversary.

“You left your purse,” he said, hesitantly giving her the purse. She snatched it from him. “I thought we established the fact that I don’t need your help?”

Cassian had enough of this. “What is wrong with you?” he snarled. “Here I am, trying to help you as compensation for this morning while you are acting as if I’m some… thing you’re disgusted about. You don’t need my help, huh? Go on. Keep acting as if you wouldn’t have rushed back once you find your purse missing. Keep acting as if there isn't a part of you —however small it is— which isn’t grateful to me for giving you your purse.”

She growled, a slight trace of red creeping up her neck. He growled right back.

She swung her free hand to his face. He caught her wrist with his hand and leaned closer. He whispered in her ear, “You wouldn’t want that, sweetheart. We’ve got an audience.”

“Let. Me. Go, ” she snapped.

“Uh-huh,” he loosened her grip and she pulled her hand back. Her face was getting a darker shade of red. “Thank you,” she grumbled as if she didn’t mean it at all. She probably didn’t. Still, it was progress. He grinned, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

* * * * *

Nesta felt like punching something. Or rather a certain someone. A someone with hazel eyes, a well-cut body, with stark black tattoos creeping over muscled arms and a—

Stop it, Nesta. Stop mooning over an insufferable bastard. You’re better than that. Get your shit together.

But she couldn’t. There wasn’t anything in her mind but his god-damned face. Someone like him shouldn’t look this good. No, it was highly illegal. There was also another reason she couldn't and wouldn't admit out loud; he was the only one who saw through her no-nonsense façade. That, made her want to do everything possible to double up her security system. Plus, she didn’t like someone like him. Arrogant. Ignorant. Insufferable.

There was a part of her screaming, kind, handsome, caring, generous. A part bigger than she’ll want to admit. She ignored that part and hoped she won’t be seeing his face again.

* * * * *

His encounter with the woman left him speechless. More mind-blown than he'd ever been. It took him some time to realise they hadn't even exchanged names, let alone numbers.

She was all he could think about through the rest of the day. Her storm-grey eyes which conveyed all her emotions she thought she kept well-hidden. Her hair, the correct mixture of golden and brown. Hell, he even liked her snarl, however feral it was.

But what he felt when he was near her, a seed threatening to blossom if they had another encounter, was dangerous. Very, very, dangerous. Cassian likes danger. But this is not the danger one should indulge in. So, even though he had a feeling it would kill him, he hoped he'd never have to see her again.

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