There’s a flicker of something in his expression when he sees me. Simply recognition, maybe. Or relief?
I step toward him. Not quite ready, but willing.
“Hey,” he says, smoothing one hand over his thigh as I approach. “You found it okay?”
“Yeah.” I slide into the seat across from him, setting my phone facedown beside the salt shaker. “Google Maps is forgiving when you’re ten minutes late.”
A crooked grin tugs at his mouth. “You used to be worse.”
“And you used to drag me out of the library when I forgot to eat,” I reply, a small smirk rising unbidden. “Different era.”
He nods once, chuckling softly. “Yeah.”
The pause that settles between us doesn’t feel tense so much as unfamiliar. Like returning to a city you once called home, only to find the streets narrower, the buildings repainted. Different, but still recognizable in places.
“I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” Landon says after a moment, his voice quieter now. Less rehearsed.
I meet his eyes across the table. “You know me better than that,” I say gently. “I wouldn’t bail on you.”
His gaze softens, and some of the hesitation in his shoulders eases. We begin to talk—about classes, mutual professors, the job hunt, how Sophie’s sense of humor has sharpened over the years while Carolyn’s taste in men still hasn’t.
It’s cautious, almost choreographed, but not unpleasant.
There’s something soothing about speaking in half-remembered rhythms, the kind we used to share without effort. I’m aware of what we don’t talk about—the night things splintered, the long stretch of silence after—but for now, the spaces between words feel like safety, not evasion.
I sip my tea. He jokes about the overly academic playlist playing through the café speakers—Gregorian chants mashed up with Bon Iver—and I laugh, real and easy. For a moment, I forget the weight of Nathaniel’s parting kiss, forget the phantom sensation of his hand ghosting down my spine before I left.
And then Landon’s expression shifts.
His features tighten, mouth flattening as his gaze fixes on something behind me—no,someone.
The air between us contracts. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and whatever warmth was there drains, leaving behind something brittle.
My breath stills in my chest as I turn my head, slow and unwilling.
Of course it’s him.
He doesn’t rush. He never does. He moves through the café like the space was built to accommodate him—shoulders squared, eyes steady, coat already undone like he hadn’t planned to stay long but knew he’d be welcomed all the same. His gaze is locked on me, unreadable, unwavering.
I turn back to Landon, who’s now glaring at me across the table.
“Did you invite him?” he asks, low and taut.
I shake my head. “No—I don’t?—”
“Afternoon,” Nathaniel says, his voice smooth as silk pressed to skin. He doesn’t spare Landon a glance. His full attention is on me. “There you are.”
Landon exhales a sharp breath. “Unbelievable.” He turns to me, eyes tight with disbelief. “You said you wanted to talk. Didn’t realize you needed a chaperone.”
“But I didn’t—Nathaniel, how did you?—”
“You’re not that hard to find when I need to.” His tone is light, even affectionate, but I feel it coil beneath my skin.
“Right. Of course,” Landon mutters. “What, he can’t let you out of his sight now?”
Nathaniel finally shifts his attention, unhurried. “Funny,” he says mildly, “coming from someone who lost the right to proximity long ago.”
Landon laughs, short and incredulous. “And you think you earned it? You think stalking her is romantic?”
