“Because you shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else in your own kitchen.”
Under my breath, I muttered: “It’s not my kitchen. It’s yours.”
Connor paused, just long enough for me to notice.
“Well,” he said, lifting his coffee with the ghost of a smile, “that explains why everything’s in the wrong place.”
I huffed a laugh, dying to change the subject before I started crying into my scrambled eggs. “So where do you live in New York?”
He leaned back in his chair, following my redirection. “Battery Park City. Corporate housing that came with the relocation package.”
“Fancy.”
“Bland,” he corrected. “Beige walls, beige furniture. Fully stocked with a Keurig and plastic plants. It’s like living in a hotel.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“It’s temporary.”
His phone buzzed on the table. With just a short vibration, Connor’s shoulders straightened, already back in business mode before he even looked at the screen.
“Good morning, Victoria,” he said simply, lifting it to his ear.
I turned back to my plate, pretending to care deeply about eggs instead of remembering all those weekend mornings my old bosses interrupted to drag me into the office.
The call was short. When he hung up, he didn’t immediately move, just sat staring at his half-finished plate. Then he closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose—seemed like resignation, not frustration.
I didn’t look at him. “Let me guess. She snapped her fingers?”
Connor didn’t take the bait. “She’s leaving in twenty minutes. If I don’t catch a ride with her, it’s double the time on the train.”
I lifted my mug, needing something to hold. “So that’s it? You’re just gone again?”
“I wasn’t supposed to be here at all,” he said gently. “I came for the piano, the reunion. The rest was…”
The rest was… what? An accident? A detour? A mistake?
“I get it. Work calls, you go. Been there,” I said, cutting him off before I could let myself hope for something more than what this was: a one-night almost that we both knew wouldn’t go anywhere.
He stood, started clearing the plates. Even when leaving, he couldn’t help but tidy up after himself.
I let him. Not because I needed the help, but because I didn’t have the energy to stop him.
He rinsed the dishes methodically. When he dried his hands on a dish towel, he finally spoke: “I’ll be back in two weeks. My former boss Alex? He's got an engagement party at Donnelly’s.”
Something loosened in my chest. Not hope, exactly, but something to replace the simmering disappointment.
Connor reached for his suitcase by the door—already packed, of course. He checked his watch, then his phone, then the door like he was calculating exactly how fast he needed to move to meet Victoria downstairs.
But he didn’t leave, just stood there with his hand on the doorknob…
Then he turned back. “Hannah.”
I looked up from where I was still sitting at the table, my pulse suddenly loud in my ears.
“I know I said we’d pick this up in the morning.” His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I felt my breath catch.
He took two steps back toward me, but not close enough to touch. I stood slowly, my chair scraping softly against the floor.
