Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

He left a note on her bedside table the first morning. Just a practical thing — coffee’s on, took the dog, back in an hour — but she stared at it for a long time in the early light.

She had not had a note on her bedside table in three years.

She had not let anyone stay in three years.

She and Tom had been circling each other for six months — work friends, then friends, then the charged territory of more-than-friends that she’d been carefully not naming because naming things made them real and real things could be lost.

She’d lost enough real things.

But last night something had shifted. She wasn’t sure who had moved first. She knew they’d been talking on her sofa and the space between them had become a question and she had answered it.

She sat in bed with his note and felt the fear arrive right on schedule.

He came back with the dog and coffee. He read her face immediately.

“Hey,” he said. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Whatever is happening in your head right now — “

“I’m not good at this,” she said. “I want you to know that upfront.”

“In what sense?”

“In the sense that I will self-sabotage. In the sense that I find reasons to leave before I can be left.” She looked at him. “I’m telling you this so it’s not a surprise.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Why are you telling me?” he said. Not challenging — genuinely asking.

“Because I don’t want to do it this time.” Her voice was steadier than she expected. “And saying it out loud makes it harder to pretend it’s not happening.”

He set the coffee down on the nightstand. Beside his note. He looked at her with the specific attention of a man who had decided something.

“Okay,” he said. “Then here’s what I want you to know upfront: I’m not going anywhere. Not because I don’t think it’ll be hard, but because — “ He paused. “I’d rather do the hard version of this than the easy version of anything else.”

She looked at him.

She had spent three years being very sensible.

She picked up his note. “What if I keep this?” she said. “As evidence. For when I forget.”

He reached over and moved the coffee so the note was on top.

“Keep it,” he said. “I’ll write you more.”

So you made it to the end… which probably means you’re the kind of person who enjoys a little romance with their coffee ☕. If you’re in the mood for more stories about messy feelings, stubborn attraction, and women who absolutely refuse to settle for boring love, you can find all my books here.

Fair warning though. One story tends to lead to another. I’ve seen it happen. Repeatedly.