I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could because I knew she was right. “Things change. I no longer despise his company. Just like how you love Finn now. And how Goldie doesn’t think Tristan’s an arsehole.” I turned to her. “People change.”
Perching on the counter, she took a sip of her coffee, her eyes narrowed on me. “Alright then, if things have changed, can I tell you how into this I am?”
I rolled my eyes even though I was too. “No, seriously, I’m so happy for you. Just the way he looks at you is enough to know that he's borderline in love with you.”
If nothing had happened between me and Marcus over the past few months, other than scowling contests, then I would have told her she was crazy. But knowing what I did, knowing what I saw, and felt and heard him confess back in London… I simply couldn’t.
I blinked to find Rory’s eyes on me. “You aren’t going to say I’m wrong?”
My cheeks heated instantly. “No… because… ugh, I don’t know. I think he… maybe, might?”
Her reaction was everything. It was the reaction kids have when they walk into the living room on Christmas morning. She placed her coffee down and bounded over to me, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me like a ragdoll. “Really?”
I scrunched up my face. “I just get this feeling, you know? Like, I can feel him watching me when I’m talking, and not just like he’s listening—it’s more like… like I’m the only thing he wants to listen to. Like he could listen to me for hours.”
Her eyes were globes. “And please tell me you feel the same.”
I didn’t need to tell her; my face said it for me.
Rory squealed loud enough to draw stares, but I couldn’t have cared less. In fact, with the way I was feeling, I would have stood on the counters and declared to all twenty people in here that I liked someone, and they potentially liked me back.
But I loved my job. More than my other one anyway.
Which reminded me.
When Rory let me go, our conversation fading back and forth as we served, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, remembering the emails I hadn’t replied to from Louellen. She must have known I was avoiding her, seeing as though I’d bailed on all the events she had me scheduled to attend since coming back from London.
Something had changed since then. What that was, I hadn’t quite pinned down. But I just couldn’t work myself up to go to any more. It was the same with my socials. Ever since going back to classes, and finding my feet with my art, it had been made abundantly clear that I hated anything and everything to do with that life.
I wanted quiet happiness, not the kind that people made up and declared on social media for the world to compare themselves to. I didn’t want to show it off to anyone who wasn’t a part of it.
And as for paying for Mum’s care? Well, I knew it was cocky of me, but if I threw myself into my art, truly dedicated my time to it, I could sell it. Or try to. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
For now, the bottom line was that I didn’t want to be the internet’s IT girl. I just wanted to be regular, normal, unapologetic Cora Holland.
Knowing this wasn’t new, but the idea of accepting it was, and that was all I’d ever wanted.
The rest of the closing shift went as smoothly as it could go. The rain that was forecast hit around seven, meaning people took shelter whilst it died down, and with that we managed to sell the last of the day’s bakes. That sweet English man who’d come in a few months back, Arthur, came back in and chatted for a while too.
Now we were waiting for the last few tables to finish so we could close down for the night. The café had that hushed, restless feel it always did before closing—chairs scraping, cups clinking, conversations dwindling. But it was so real and grounding that I'd grown to love it.
I crouched beneath the counter, counting the last of the pastry boxes, the cardboard edges dry beneath my fingertips. Something in my gut shifted—like a string being pulled taut forno reason at all. I told myself it was nothing, just end-of-shift fatigue.
With Rory in the back, sorting the floats, I murmured the number under my breath and rose from my knees.
The bell above the door chimed.
My head snapped up. The sound was ordinary, but it landed like a warning.
“Hey guys, we’re closing soon so it’s slim pickings on the bakes, but I’m sure—”
“Hi, Cora.”
That voice hadn’t changed. Not one bit. And I didn’t know why that was what I was focusing on and not the fact he was standing there, but I was. He looked the same too. A little more rugged than when I saw him outside his address a few months back, but it was still him.
Jamie.
Although beside him was Sofia, his wife. I’d only met her once or twice, but her eyes were this gorgeous golden-green fusion that was hard to forget. Even harder with the way she was looking at me like a bird with a broken wing.
