# CHAPTER 3: Tuesday Again

The pattern continued.

Tuesday and Thursday mornings, Tamotsu arrived at Moonbeam Coffee like clockwork. Sakura brought him different drinks and pastries, sat with him during her breaks whether he liked it or not, and slowly—painfully slowly—extracted tiny pieces of information about his life.

She learned he lived alone. He didn't have family in the city. He'd grown up "around." He liked his coffee hot enough to burn. He read mystery novels when he wasn't working. He thought her energy was "excessive" but had stopped actively telling her to leave.

Progress.

By the fourth week, Sakura had memorized his schedule as well as her own. She knew he usually left around 10 AM on Tuesdays but stayed until 11 on Thursdays. She knew he preferred window seats on sunny days and corner booths when it rained. She knew he rubbed his left shoulder when he was tense, suggesting an old injury.

She definitely wasn't overthinking this.

It was a Thursday in late September when everything changed.

The morning had been slow, just a few regulars and a couple of college students camping out with laptops. Tamotsu sat in his usual spot—corner booth today despite the sun—with coffee and some kind of report he was reading.

Sakura was at the counter, reorganizing the syrup bottles (they didn't need reorganizing, but her hands needed something to do), when the door chimed.

Three men walked in.

Sakura's first thought was that they didn't look like coffee people. They looked like trouble—leather jackets, aggressive postures, scanning the room like predators checking for threats.

Her second thought was that they were looking at Tamotsu.

One of them, a guy with a shaved head and neck tattoo, nodded toward the corner booth. The other two fanned out slightly.

Sakura's dad had taught her to read situations. Years of self-defense classes meant recognizing when violence was about to happen. And this—this had all the signs.

She glanced at Tamotsu. He hadn't looked up from his report, but his posture had changed. Subtle, but she'd been studying him long enough to notice. He was ready.

The three men approached his table.

"Tamotsu Nakamura," the bald one said. It wasn't a question.

Tamotsu finally looked up, his expression neutral. "Gentlemen. You're making a scene."

"You've been hard to find."

"I haven't been hiding."

"Our employer would like to speak with you."

"I don't take unsolicited meetings."

The man's jaw tightened. "This isn't a request."

Sakura's heart hammered. She should call the police. She should definitely call the police. Her hand moved toward her phone.

"You have three seconds to leave this establishment," Tamotsu said quietly. His voice was calm, almost bored, but something about it made Sakura's skin prickle.

"Or what?"

Tamotsu stood. He moved with the fluid grace of someone who'd spent years training their body as a weapon. "Or I make you leave."

The bald man laughed. "Three on one. You sure about those odds?"

"Positive."

They moved simultaneously—the two flanking men reaching for Tamotsu while the leader pulled something from his jacket.

A gun.

Sakura's body moved before her brain finished processing. She grabbed the half-full coffee pot from the warmer and hurled it at the gunman.

It hit him square in the face. He screamed, hot coffee scalding his skin, and the gun clattered to the floor.

Everything happened fast after that.

Tamotsu was already in motion, catching the first attacker's arm and using his momentum to send him crashing into the second. The bald leader, still clutching his burned face, swung wildly. Tamotsu ducked under the punch and delivered a brutal strike to the man's solar plexus. He crumpled.

The other two scrambled to their feet, one pulling a knife.

"Sakura, get back!" Tamotsu barked.

But Sakura was already moving. The knife-wielder lunged at Tamotsu's blind spot, and she intercepted with a side kick that would have made her Muay Thai instructor proud. Her foot connected with his knee, and he went down hard.

The last man standing looked between Tamotsu and Sakura, seemed to calculate his odds, and bolted for the door. His companions followed, the bald one grabbing his gun and stumbling after them.

Silence.

Jenny stood frozen behind the counter, phone in hand. The college students had ducked behind the furniture. And Sakura stood in the middle of the cafe floor, adrenaline making her hands shake, staring at Tamotsu.

He was staring back.

"What," he said slowly, "was that?"

"I—" Sakura's voice came out higher than normal. "You were about to get shot!"

"I had it under control."

"He had a gun!"

"I noticed."

"So I threw coffee at him!"

"I noticed that too." Tamotsu ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she'd never seen him make before. He looked... rattled? "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I told you. Taekwondo and Muay Thai. My dad—"

"That wasn't recreational training. That was a combat kick."

Sakura's brain was still catching up. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? Who were they? Why did they have a gun? Should we call the police? Oh god, Jenny already called the police, didn't she? We should—"

"Sakura." Tamotsu crossed the space between them in two strides. He grabbed her shoulders—the first time he'd ever deliberately touched her—and looked directly into her eyes. "Breathe."

She breathed. His hands were warm even through her sleeves. He smelled like coffee and something else, something clean and masculine.

Focus, Sakura.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't have intervened. You could have been hurt."

"You could have been shot!"

"It's my job to handle situations like that. It's not yours."

"Yeah, well, you're welcome anyway!"

They glared at each other. Then, impossibly, Tamotsu's expression softened. Just slightly, just for a second, but she saw it.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "That was... reckless. And brave. And I'm grateful."

Sakura's anger deflated. "You're welcome."

Sirens wailed in the distance. Jenny was giving a statement to dispatch. The college students were filming on their phones—because of course they were.

Tamotsu released her shoulders and stepped back. "The police will want statements. Don't mention my name or occupation."

"What? Why?"

"Because those men weren't random thugs. They knew who I am and came specifically for me. Which means someone sent them." His expression darkened. "And I need to find out who before they send more."

"Tamotsu—"

"Stay out of this, Sakura. Please." He grabbed his laptop bag. "This isn't your problem."

"But—"

He was already moving toward the back exit, the one that led to the alley. Before disappearing, he looked back at her one last time.

"Don't come to work tomorrow. Stay home until you hear from me."

Then he was gone.

Sakura stood there, heart racing, mind spinning, as police cars pulled up outside.

What had she just gotten herself into?