Countless times I’d imagined what I would say to Alex if I ever saw him again. In my mind, I was always witty and clever, my insults perfectly crafted to hit him where they’d make the biggest impact, like sharpened razors homing in on the tenderest flesh. But now that we actually stood face to face, my words were dried up. All I really wanted to do was cry. Since crying in front of him was not going to happen, I did the next best thing.
I fled.
“I gotta go,” I said. I turned and blindly pushed toward the coffee shop’s front door, with little heed to anything—or anyone—in my way. Until the someone in my way crashed into me, upending four of the six coffees I carried, splashing them all over the front of my dress. I stood there in shock, coffee dripping off the ends of my hair, soaking all the way through to my skin. It was even pooling up in my shoes.
“Watch where you’re going, lady,” a gruff voice said. I had half a nerve to punch the guy. I was the one covered in coffee, not him.
Of course, it only took a second for Alex to reach me. He pulled the two surviving cups out of my hands and set them on the table beside us. “Are you okay?”
I sniffed. “A little damp, but undamaged, I think.”
“You’re not burned, are you?”
The coffee was hot, but not so hot that I felt anything more than a temporary sting.
I shook my head, my shock finally giving way to embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? Can I . . . help at all? Maybe get you a cab to take you home?”
“You know how long cabs take around here. I don’t have time to go home, but it’s fine. I’ll figure something out.”
Chloe appeared beside us, a mop and bucket in hand. She handed me a stack of napkins. “I’m so sorry, Dani,” she said. “I can remake the drinks you lost.”
There wasn’t much that sounded worse than standing next to Alex, coffee dripping in between my breasts and into my belly button, long enough for Chloe to make another round of drinks. I looked at the surviving coffee cups, noting that one of the two was Sasha’s macchiato. “It’s really fine,” I said. I used the napkins to wipe off my hands and arms then tossed them into the trash can by the door before grabbing the remaining drinks from the table. “You can owe me next time.”
With that, I pushed through the door, the heat of the late August morning matching the fire that filled my cheeks and burned in my chest. I thought I heard Alex call my name as I crossed the sidewalk and rounded the corner. But this time, it was me who didn’t look back.
Chapter Two
Alex
It had been stupid to go to Java Jean’s. I should have expected the possibility of running into Dani, knowing full well that she worked right next door. But then, I was an adult. Avoiding her intentionally would have been childish.
I felt childish as I walked slowly back to the studio where Isaac was finishing up his photoshoot. I carried a bag of Java Jean’s breakfast sandwiches—our flight had landed early that morning and neither of us had eaten—but any appetite I’d previously had was gone. Seeing her, hearing the sound of her voice, had left me . . . derailed.
Autopilot took me down the street, into the lobby, and onto the elevator which carried me up to the third-floor studio.
When the elevator doors slid open, Isaac was waiting for me. “Dude, where have you been? I’m starving.”
I slammed the bag of food into his chest with a little more force than necessary and stalked past him. I needed a place to sit down. Somewhere to think and figure out why seeing a woman I finally thought I’d gotten over had me feeling so torn up inside.
Guilt, maybe. I’d handled the situation with Dani like an idiot and wouldn’t deny it. But it felt like more than that.
Isaac followed me to the center of the room where an assortment of couches and chairs they’d used to stage the photos sat clustered together. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You look terrible.”
I sank onto the nearest chair and dropped my head into my hands. I breathed out a sigh and looked up, finally making eye contact with my friend. “I ran into Dani.”