Chapter 4 The Walls

The second time she saw him, it was raining again.

Just a soft drizzle this time. Rodney was sitting on the chair by the side walk, holding a paper cup of coffee like he'd been waiting for her. Maybe he had. Maybe it was another well-timed coincidence. Daphne was familiar with these tricks.

Daphne was on a lunch break that day so she decided to grab some snacks. Although it was drizzly outside, she never skipped any lunch breaks. Not necessarily to eat, just to clear her head off the incessant noise and stress of the office.

"You again," she said flatly, stepping away from the mobile food truck.

Rodney smiled like her presence wasn't a surprise. Like this was exactly what was supposed to happen next.

"Bagels," he said, pointing at her in mock greeting. "Expected you to be more of a croissant person."

She arched a brow. "Why's that?"

"Croissants are fancy, delicate-kind of like you seem. But well, first time I saw you was a "less than one star" club. I don't think my expectations will over be correct"

"I'm not in the mood for witty banter today."

"I don't think you ever are."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes away.

Rodney took a sip of his coffee and studied her, eyes calm but sharp. "Do you ever let people know what you're thinking, or is mystery just part of the brand?"

Daphne exhaled through her nose. "Depends on who's asking."

"And what do I count as?"

She gave him a long, unreadable look. "A stranger with a habit of showing up."

"Maybe I'm just intrigued."

"Maybe you're just bored. Some of us have work that stresses us out; we don't have time to banter or appear at certain places."

"Are you stalking me?" Daphne continued as she stopped in her tracks to look at him.

Rodney tilted his head. "You always this difficult?"

"I've earned the right to be."

It wasn't defensive. Just true.

And that was the first time he realized it: she didn't say things to impress. She said them to create space. Distance.

He liked that.

More than he should have.

They walked. Although Daphne was secretly enjoying the banter with Rodney, she didn't let it show. Her guard had to be up at all times.

Daphne didn't offer details. Not about work, not about her past. Every time he asked something personal, she deflected-cleanly, artfully, like a woman trained in war.

"You have that look," Rodney said after a pause.

"What look?"

"The one people get when they've survived something and don't want to talk about it."

"Abd you always speak like you know everything. You don't."

Her tone was sharp, it made Rodney stop in his tracks. But Daphne, she just kept walking.

Rodney had gotten Daphne's number from her assistant. He faked as an old cousin when he called the office and said it was urgent to speak to Daphne. Her assistant, Greta although skeptical gave Rodney Daphne's personal phone number. When Daphne confronted Greta, she said he sounded very convincing and even sent a picture of them together so that made her believe him.

"I'm sorry for intruding. Please allow me know you better."

Daphne let out a small smirk as she saw the message. It had been almost two years since her divorce. Maybe it was time to try something new.

They ended up in a late-night jazz bar. It was quiet. Warm. Dark wood and dim lighting. The band played like no one was listening.

Rodney ordered whiskey. Daphne got water with lemon.

"Let me guess," he said. "You don't drink around men you don't trust."

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. "I don't drink around men who think I owe them trust."

He smiled. "Fair."

There was a long silence between them.

She watched the saxophonist with deliberate focus, her posture straight, her jaw tight.

"You ever relax?" Rodney asked softly.

"This is me relaxed."

"I don't believe that for a second."

She turned to him, expression unreadable. "Why are you so interested?"

Rodney met her gaze without flinching. "Because you don't flinch. And that makes me wonder what you're protecting."

Daphne's fingers curled around her glass.

"That sounds like the beginning of a psychology report."

He shrugged. "Or a warning."

She didn't blink. "You should know-I don't do charming mysteries."

"No?"

"I do predictable. Measurable. Controlled."

Rodney leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. "And does that work for you?"

A pause.

Then Daphne stood, picking up her coat.

"We're done here."

Rodney stood too, hands up in surrender. "Did I hit a nerve?"

"No," she said. "You hit the wall. Everyone does."

Outside, the rain had stopped.

Rodney followed her to the curb. "Let me walk you to your car."

"I'm not parked nearby."

"Then let me call you a car."

"I can call my own."

He didn't push. Just smiled.

"You're good at this," she said, turning back briefly.

"Good at what?"

"Playing patient."

Rodney's smile faded a bit. "Maybe I'm not playing."

She gave him a long, almost curious look.

Then she slipped into the back of a black car that wasn't his.

Didn't say goodbye.

She didn't know why she couldn't stop thinking about him the next day.

Maybe it was the quiet confidence. Maybe the fact that he wasn't desperate for access. Maybe it was the way he looked at her like he already knew something she hadn't admitted to herself.

Whatever it was, it stayed.

Pressed against her thoughts during a deposition. Haunting her when she went to get her bagels during lunch. Lingering when she lay in bed that night, eyes open, phone in hand, not texting him-but not deleting his number either.

She wasn't sure if she wanted him closer.

She told herself she did not need this at the moment.

She had a trial brief due, a stubborn associate to correct, and a charity board meeting that she regretted joining. She didn't have time to entertain men who showed up without last names and lingered like songs you couldn't skip.

But still, she checked her phone too often.

Woke up thinking of the way he looked at her in that jazz bar-curious, calm, unbothered.

Most men tried to impress her. Rodney didn't.

He studied her.

And that was the problem.

Daphne Baker had spent her life building herself into something people couldn't touch. But Rodney, he made himself feel at home.

It started with small shifts.

The next time she went to the café by her office, she sat at the same table they'd once shared. She didn't expect him to show up, but still looked up every time the door opened.

She began choosing darker lipsticks. Pinned her hair back a little softer. None of it deliberate-just reflexes. As if part of her was preparing for him, whether or not he arrived.

At night, she scrolled through their text thread. Just two messages. Dry, functional. Still, she reread them like they were poetry.

But she didn't reach out. She didn't need him.

A week later, she ran into him.

Literally.

She was coming out of a bookstore-coffee in one hand, a legal thriller in the other-when she nearly collided with him at the door.

Rodney caught her elbow before her drink could spill. "I thought you only read case law."

She didn't smile, but her voice softened. "Are you stalking me now, Mr Rodney No-Last-Name?"

He let out a small laugh and nodded at the book. "Want to grab a drink and discuss whether the cross-examination in chapter twelve was credible or completely ridiculous?"

Daphne hesitated.

Then shook her head.

"I have a call."

Rodney didn't argue. "Another time then."

She started to walk away-then turned.

"One drink," she said.

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Progress."

They went to a quiet rooftop bar. Low lights. Faint music.

Daphne chose the seat closest to the edge. She liked the illusion of control.

They talked-but not about anything that mattered.

She asked about his favorite albums. He asked about her least favorite wine. She told him about a trial where a client burst into tears mid-testimony; he told her he once impersonated a financial advisor to sneak into a hedge fund party.

"Did you get caught?" she asked, sipping her drink.

"I left with a job offer."

That earned him a smirk. "So you're a con artist."

"I prefer resourceful."

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then: "You're still hiding something."

Rodney didn't flinch. "So are you."

They sat in silence for a beat, the tension slipping into something else. It was deafening.

Later, as they walked to the elevator, Rodney didn't reach for her. Didn't push. He only paused.

"You don't let people in easily," he said.

"No."

"Are you ever going to?"

She looked at him.

And for a split second, her guard slipped.

Just enough.

"I haven't decided."

Rodney stepped closer. Not too close.

Just close enough for her to feel the heat of him.

"When you do," he said, "I'll still be here."

Then he pressed the elevator button and allowed her step inside first and followed after. No one said anything as they went down. As they stepped out of the elevator into the building reception, Daphne saw her driver.

"This is me. I guess I'll see you some other time." She said as they walked towards her driver.

That night, she lay awake longer than she meant to. Sapphire was feeling something she wasn't supposed to.

Possibility. Warmth.

She didn't know what to do with it.

So she locked it away.

Daphne Baker didn't have time for dreams.

She had power to maintain, a name to protect, and a future to build on solid ground.

But still, when her phone buzzed the next morning with a single message-"Chapter twelve was totally ridiculous."-

She replied without thinking.

"Told you so."

And for now, that was enough.

The wall stayed up.

But for the first time, it had some kind of opening.