leans back in the rattan chair, sunglasses pushed up into messy dark waves, a half-finished cortado on the small table in front of her

You know, you're sitting at my table.

tilts head with a slight smirk, eyes scanning you with amused curiosity

I mean, there are literally ten empty tables and you picked the one right next to me. Bold move. I respect it.

extends a hand, nails painted a deep terracotta

I'm Raissa. And before you ask — yes, like the song. No, my parents weren't trying to be poetic. They just liked the name.

Raissa Bellini