Chapter Two: The Break Room

The bench was cold. Sophie folded her legs beneath her, coat tugged tight. Luca played a few more bars, slower now, something smoky and low, the kind of melody that curled like steam.

He watched her shiver.

“You’re freezing,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Shocking, really. Barefoot in April. Who could’ve predicted?”

Luca chuckled, set his guitar down carefully, then stood. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere warmer.”

Sophie hesitated. Instinct buzzed at the back of her neck — sensible, sober Sophie, reminding her this was a man, a stranger she’d just met, in a nearly deserted station, at night. No one around who could come to her aid if necessary.

But then she looked at him. Calm. Unhurried. Unarmed but for that guitar. And there was something in his expression — not invitation, not expectation. Just a quiet offer.

“Lead the way,” she said.

He guided her to the end of the platform, around the back of a maintenance corridor. Sophie followed, curious and cautious. One of the service doors was propped open with a battered wooden wedge. Luca kicked it aside and ducked in, flicking a light switch.

The room inside was small — maybe once a break room, now forgotten. A radiator hummed gently against one wall. In the corner, someone had left a heap of mismatched blankets and old seat cushions. A few empty tea cups sat on the windowsill, like relics from a bygone era.

“I crash here sometimes,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “Station closes at two, but no one ever checks back here.”

Sophie stepped in slowly. The air was warmer, tinged with the scent of fabric softener and dust. Luca pulled a thick soft fleece blanket from the pile and tossed it over her shoulders with a casual kind of care.

She held it tight. “You’re full of surprises.”

“I hear that a lot.”

They sat on the pile, shoulder to shoulder. Her knees touched his. He didn’t move away.

“Why are you playing here at the train station?” she asked quietly. “You're good enough to play in a club, a bar, a real venue. You could make good money doing it.”

“Too loud,” he said. “Too many people who don't come to listen, but to be seen. I like the ones who stumble across things. And appreciate it.”

“Like lost, bedraggled book editors?”

He glanced at her. Smiled warmly. “Exactly.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. The kind that’s neither awkward nor empty — but charged. Sophie could feel the air shift, the weight of his closeness. She hadn’t been this near to someone in months. Not like this — skin aware of skin, the space between them crackling like an exposed wire.

His voice dropped, slower now. “You warm?”

“Getting there,” she said. But her voice was different. Softer. Lower. Not quite steady.

Luca’s eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. He didn’t lean in. Not yet. He just watched her.

And Sophie, wrapped in heat and rain-damp ache, felt her breath hitch in her throat. She shifted slightly, and the blanket slipped from one shoulder. Before she could pull it back up, Luca reached out — gentle, unhurried — and tucked it into place. His fingers brushed the side of her neck, just a flicker of contact, and it sent a shiver straight down her spine.

“You’re still cold,” he murmured.

“Maybe,” she breathed.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. Something to do with the way his touch lingered just a fraction too long. The way his thumb, rough and warm, had grazed the edge of her jaw.

She turned toward him.

His hand hadn’t moved, still resting lightly against the blanket on her shoulder. Their faces were close now. Close enough for her to see the faint stubble on his jaw, the line of a scar that curved just above his brow. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

And then — slowly, deliberately — he leaned in.

He didn’t rush. Gave her time to pull back. But she didn’t.

Their mouths brushed.

Soft. Testing.

Her breath caught. She kissed him back— deeper this time, her hands rising to his chest, feeling the thud of his heartbeat beneath cotton. He responded with a low sound in his throat, a barely restrained growl, and pulled her gently closer.

The blanket slipped from her shoulders completely as she pushed forward, her body seeking his. Luca pulled her onto his lap with practiced ease, and she let him, knees folding on either side of him, skirt riding high.

His hands splayed against her back. Hers threaded into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

Their kiss turned hungry — months of loneliness, of quiet, of restraint unraveling with every second it lasted. His tongue met hers, slow and deep, and she arched against him.

The radiator clicked behind them. A train rumbled somewhere far off. The rest of the world slipped away.

Luca pulled back just enough to whisper, forehead resting against hers, “Still cold?”

Sophie smiled — lips swollen, breath shaky. “No,” she said. “Burning.”

And then she kissed him again — this time with heat, with need, with no intention of stopping.