Which would be easier, maybe, if my body believed it.
But it doesn't. It’s on high alert just because he’s breathing near me. I’m sitting here trying to act normal while it runs low-level diagnostics on every inch of space between us.
And the most annoying part? We didn’t hug.
Which—okay. Fine. Not that I care that much.
It’s just…that’s always been our thing. That’s how we say hi. Big, warm, borderline-too-long hugs. The kind where his arms wrap around my shoulders and stay there just long enough to mess with my head.
Today, after not seeing each other for a year, he just skipped right past it. Now there’s this polite buffer zone between us—like I’ve got something contagious and he’s trying to be nice about it.
I’m not going to say anything, though—I’ve got my dignity, even if it’s just a tiny, shriveled thing hiding in the corner of my heart.
“How’s the café?” Thomas asks, and I can tell he’s making an effort. Trying to steer us back toward something that feels normal.
“It’s good,” I say. “Busy today, obviously.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot it was Valentine’s.”
I almost snort. Sure you did. You stayed over at your new girlfriend’s place last night. What, trying to make up for the fact that you’re not spending today together?
But fine. If pretending makes it easier for you, I’ll play along.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to dull my anger and distract myself by thinking about the chaos atDriptoday—the line out the door, Logan steaming milk, me baking desserts on autopilot while trying not to think about seeing Thomas later. “We were slammed this morning. Everybody wanted heart-shaped latte art and those red velvet cupcakes we do.”
“Oh yeah, I love those,” Thomas says, smiling.
I know that, obviously. But I don’t say anything.
He clears his throat.
“It’s cool that the business is doing well.”
“Yeah. Very exciting,” I say, suddenly hyper-aware of how flat it all sounds. Like we’re clumsily filling space instead of talking about anything real.
Each word feels loaded with everything I’m holding back—all thewhy did you disappearanddid I mean anything to youandwhere did you spend last night.
God, I hate this. Hate myself for feeling it. For still caring this much when I know I’m not supposed to.
The car jumps a little as we hit a patch of ice, and I tense, correcting our course. Thomas grabs the door handle instinctively, and for a second, we’re perfectly aligned in the same quiet oh-shit moment.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Not your fault,” he says quickly. “Roads are getting worse.”
I nod, and we settle back into silence.
After a few seconds, I ask, “How’s work?”
Because okay, even if I’m still pissed about everything, he’s clearly trying—and I can meet him halfway. “Still atNook?”
Thomas perks up a bit, then shakes his head. “No, actually. I left about four months ago.”
I blink.
He left? That’s…news. I mean, he loved that job. I figured he’d stick around for years. I want to ask what happened, but that feels a little too personal for how things are between us right now.
So I just say, “Oh. Where’d you end up?”
