The Daily Grind buzzes with the afternoon crowd as I collapse into the worn leather chair across from Sara. My vanilla latte arrives in my favorite oversized pink mug, steam curling upward in lazy spirals. I wrap both hands around it, craving the warmtheven though it’s not actually cold outside. Tremors still run through my hands from the festival meeting, and my face feels flushed. Sara watches me with those calm blue eyes, waiting for me to completely lose it. Which I do, right on time.
“This is insane,” I hiss, leaning forward so the college students at the next table can’t hear me spiraling. “First the clinic, then dinner at The Pearl, and now the Spring Rose Festival? I literally cannot escape him.”
Sara sips her herbal tea, serene and unbothered while I’m practically vibrating out of my chair. The coffee shop smells like fresh-ground beans and cinnamon rolls, which normally soothes me but today does absolutely nothing.
“It’s like the universe is playing some cosmic joke on me,” I say, tracing my finger around the rim of my mug. “Or I’m trapped in one of those small-town romance novels where the heroine keeps accidentally running into her ex until she falls for him again.”
“Is that what’s happening?” Sara asks gently.
“What? No!” I practically yelp, making the guy with the laptop beside us glance up. I lower my voice to an urgent whisper. “I’m not falling for him again. It’s just frustrating. And awkward. And…” I trail off, not wanting to admit scary out loud.
Sara tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Have you considered that maybe these aren’t coincidences?”
“You think he’s stalking me?” I grip my mug so hard my knuckles go white.
“No,” she says with exaggerated patience. “I’m saying you both grew up here. This is his hometown too. Maybe it’s not some grand conspiracy—maybe you’re both just back where you belong.”
I roll my eyes, but my traitorous heart does a little flutter. “That’s very profound, Sara. But it doesn’t help me figure outhow to work with him at the pet adoption booth without having a complete meltdown.”
“Was dinner really that terrible?” she asks, studying my face too carefully.
I look down at my latte, at the delicate heart shape in the foam that’s already starting to dissolve. The truth is complicated. Dinner wasn’t terrible. It was… good. He remembered my favorite dish without asking. He listened intently when I talked about the clinic’s struggles. He told that ridiculous story about his first case court disaster that made me laugh until my sides hurt. We walked to my car under the harbor lights, the water reflecting gold.
“It wasn’t terrible,” I finally admit. “He was… nice. Professional.”
Sara’s eyebrow arches. “But?”
“But it’s Zayn,” I say, and Sara immediately understands. She was there for everything—the breakup, the sobbing, the emergency ice cream interventions, the nights I couldn’t get out of bed. “Every time I think maybe he’s changed, I remember how he just left. He chose Seattle over me. He broke every promise he made.”
I gaze out the window at the town square. Workers on ladders string lights across the gazebo for the festival’s live music stage. A large banner flutters in the breeze: “27th Annual Spring Rose Festival” I’ve lived in this town my entire life—I know every street corner, every shop owner, every annual tradition.
“It’s a small town,” I say, watching a worker wrestle with a tangled strand of lights. “But that doesn’t mean I have to let him back into my life.”
Sara reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. Her touch is warm and grounding when everything feels chaotic. “No, but you probably can’t avoid him entirely either.”
I slump back in my chair, knowing she’s right. “I used to love how small Bellrose is. How you know everyone. How you can’t go to the grocery store without running into three people you know.” I take a sip of my latte, the vanilla sweetness coating my tongue. “Now it feels like I’m trapped here with him.”
“Or maybe,” Sara says quietly, “you’re finally being forced to deal with things you’ve been running from for five years.”
I shoot her a look. “Whose side are you on?”
Sara meets my gaze steadily. “I’m on your side, Sophie. Always. But people make mistakes. And sometimes we’re harder on ourselves—and them—than we need to be.”
I don’t have a good response to that, so I look out the window instead. The town clock chimes three times, its familiar sound echoing across the square. People stroll past, waving to each other, stopping for quick conversations on the sidewalk. This is my hometown—the place where I’ve always felt safe and rooted. Until Zayn came back and disrupted everything.
“We still need his help with the clinic,” I admit quietly. “And now the festival too.”
Sara nods. “The people who can hurt you the most are often the same ones who can help you the most.”
“That’s profoundly annoying,” I mutter, which makes her smile.
“Doesn’t make it less true,” she says. “You don’t have to be his friend. You don’t have to forgive him. But maybe you can work with him without completely falling apart.”
My phone buzzes against the table, and I nearly knock over my coffee lunging for it. I glance down and dread pools in my belly.
Zayn: Got last year's vendor paperwork. Found some potential issues with the microchipping station setup. Can we meet tomorrow to figure it out? I'll buy the coffee.
I stare at his text, my pulse racing. It sounds so normal and professional. Like we’re just two people collaborating on a festival booth. Not two people with five years of heartbreak and unresolved feelings between us.
