He stepped inside.
The café was warm. Quiet. Smelled like espresso and clean wood. Soft jazz played somewhere above the clatter of cups and quiet conversations. No one looked up.
Not at first.
He scanned the room once, calmly. There was a woman near the window. Alone. Coffee in hand. Her posture was still, composed. She wasn’t scrolling. She was watching.
It hit him before he could brace for it.
Elizabeth Bennet.
He remembered the face. How could he not? The journalist. The one who had humiliated him at the gala with a single question. The one whose tweet had lit the internet on fire. The one whose words still rang in his head when the room was quiet.
She had given TrueNorth more visibility than a million-dollar campaign. Subscriptions had surged. Investors were ecstatic. But none of it had made Darcy forget her question about his love life.
And now she was here.
She looked in his direction, and for a moment, he saw the same shock reflected back at him. Her expression shifted—confusion first, then recognition, then something sharper. Her eyes, those eyes, stared at him with clear, stunned surprise.
Darcy froze. The air felt thinner. He bowed slightly, a reflex more than anything else. A concession to etiquette. It was the only gesture he could think of.
Before she could react, he turned away and walked to a table in the far corner. Sat down. Set his coat aside. Reached for his phone like it might ground him.
He wasn’t here for Elizabeth Bennet. He was here forBazile.
He took a breath. Then another. He glanced around the café. Five women sat alone. Any one of them could beBazile.
Except her.
He typed quickly. “I’m here. Where are you?”
He sent the message.
The reply came fast. “Can’t see you. I’ve got a clear view of the door.”
He responded without thinking. “Just walked in.”
A few seconds passed. Then another ping. “What are you wearing?”
He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. It was a familiar question. Something they always joked about since they started chatting. It was flirtatious, but he indulged it. He answered without hesitation.
“Grey coat. Black jumper. Reading glasses. Trying not to look like a man meeting a stranger from the internet”.
He looked up, scanning to see who’d smile among the women in the café. Then he saw her again.
She was already staring.
Recognition bloomed across her face like a flare. Her hand stopped midair. Her mouth parted. Her eyes widened with the same slow, stunned disbelief he had felt just moments ago.
She reached for her bag.
Darcy didn’t move.
She stood. Smoothed her coat. Walked right out without a word. No look back. No dramatic exit. Just clipped, purposeful steps and a door chime that sounded far too calm for what had just happened.
Then she was gone.
He sat very still, staring at the spot she had left behind.
