It’s brief.
For barely a second.
But it’s enough.
Emotion flickers across his face—surprise, recognition, then it shutters blank—before he looks away again, as if the moment never happened.
He takes his coffee. Says thanks. Turns and leaves.
The bell jingles cheerfully behind him. I stand there, frozen, long after the door closes.
“Well,” Gigi says softly. “That answers that.”
My throat feels tight. “Answers what?”
“That he’s really back.”
I swallow. “I’d heard a rumor.”
Gigi studies me. “You sure you’re okay?”
I force a smile that feels like it might crack if I push it any further. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Because the past just walked into my café and left again without a word.
Because I built this life to survive him.
Because some loves don’t fade — they just wait.
After finishing their breakfasts, Gigi and Selena grab their bags, press quick kisses to my cheek, and promise to check in later. Gigi squeezes my hand a little tighter than necessary, her eyes searching my face like she’s trying to memorize it.
“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “Call me if you think you don’t.”
“I will,” I promise.
Selena lingers a moment longer. “You’re not alone,” she says quietly.
I nod, even though the words slide right past the ache settling deep in my chest.
The bell jingles again as they step out into the cold, the sound far too cheerful for the way my insides feel hollowed out.
I turn back toward the counter, forcing myself to breathe normally. The café hums around me. Cups clink, the espresso machine hisses, someone laughs softly near the back. Life, uninterrupted. Unbothered by the fact that the past just walked in, ordered a coffee, and left again like it never mattered.
I busy myself wiping down the counter I’ve already wiped twice, my movements precise and unnecessary. I tell myself it’s fine. That seeing him doesn’t change anything. That I have learned how to live with the absence of what I wanted once.
Still, my hands won’t quite stop shaking.
“You okay?” Nancy asks quietly, leaning toward me from behind the register.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m just going to step into the back for a minute.”
She nods, already turning back to the next customer. The café doesn’t pause for my momentary existential crisis. It never has.
I slip into the back room and press my palms against the cool stainless steel prep table, bowing my head. For a long moment, I just stand there, breathing, counting the inhales the way I learned to when Daisy was a baby and sleep deprivation made everything feel too big.
Get through the moment. Then the next one.
That’s how I’ve survived the past ten years. It’s how I’ll survive the next ten minutes.
