When The Rules Are Broken ✔️

Chapter One

If there was snow, there was always a snowman.    

It was what her Aunt Sherrizade, Sherri to everyone, was fond of saying. However, it was the icy sidewalk rather than the snowman that took Amelia Aslan by surprise in her haste. She skidded but managed to steady her balance. 

"Shit. That was close," she muttered, entering an old coffee shop, Victoria Coffeehouse. Its antiquated décor always transported her to an English railway station.

The place was her favourite haunt for spinning wild stories, bursting with tangled emotions, although today was different. She hurried to the counter, only to falter at the sight of the massive line-up.

She had a meeting with an important client, Henry Weston. No, scratch that. He was the biggest client she had snagged in her short, uneventful career as a writer. There was no way she would be late. If she screwed this gig, her writing career would never take off, and she would be stuck slaving away at a desk job. She shuddered at the thought. 

After waiting for the drink that Henry had requested, Amelia headed to the condiment. God! I need to get going, she thought, glancing at her phone while struggling to put the lid with the other hand. The distraction caused her to upend the cup. 

"Damn," Amelia exclaimed as the scorching liquid seared her skin. Grabbing a wad of tissues, she dabbed at herself and the hot mess. The day wasn't turning out to be her best friend. 

"Romero, where are you?" She stared at the relentless line-up, which now snaked all the way to the entrance door. Romero was the coffee wizard who whipped up drinks in no time. Normally, she came here late afternoons and it appeared he didn't do morning shifts.

A barista called out, "Medium latte coming right up for—"

Without thinking, Amelia snatched it from the man's hand. "I'll take it."

"But—"

"Look, I don't have much time. I've to be somewhere." She spun around to find the drink's owner with a ready explanation. "I'll pay whoever..." Her well-prepared speech died in her throat as her gaze fastened on a tall man who had a classic beauty of  David. 

His piercing, less-than-amused silver-blue eyes seemed to look right through her.

"I-uh, I know it's rude, but I don't want to be late for an important meeting. He requested a small latte. It's not the right size, but it can be amended. Please, I can't afford to lose this client," she rambled, wetting her lips. Damn, he is hot!

He was hotter than the male leads in the Turkish romcoms, which Aunt Sherri binged-watched, even her no-nonsense American mother was hooked on them.

The striking stranger didn't look appeased. He raked her over as if making sure she was not a psychotic episode. Unfortunately for him, she was very real. As real as the frigid cold outside.

"I hope you understand." Blushing, she dug into her handbag. "I'll pay you. I'm sorry about this. Stealing isn't my thing. I swear I've never done this before, but I spilled my order earlier, and I'm running late."

The dark-haired man's eyebrows climbed up at her audacity.

As Amelia handed him the cash, their hands touched. It made her tingly, like the heroines of her unfinished historical romances. Too bad, they were destined for her computer's recycle bin rather than become the sensation of the literary world.

With a frown, the stranger stared at the loose change in his hand.

Maybe I should give him something to think about. It's not like we will ever cross paths again, Amelia told herself. The goosebumps on the back of her neck refused to go away.