The sun is higher now, streaking gold through the treetops as we reach the far side of the park.
I hesitate again.
The fountain should be here. The old wishing well, cracked and moss-covered, where we used to throw in pennies and make ridiculous bets.
But it’s gone.
Replaced by an empty stretch of concrete.
Ben frowns, scanning the space. “What happened?”
I exhale. “Funding cuts.”
His brow furrows. “Seriously?”
I nod. “The council shut it down a few years ago. They said the maintenance costs weren’t worth it.”
Ben stares at the empty space for a long beat.
I don’t know what I expect. Some offhanded remark, some arrogant, ‘not my problem’ attitude.
Instead, he surprises me.
“That’s bullshit,” he mutters.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His jaw tightens. “It was part of this park for decades. They can’t just rip it out.”
I fold my arms. “They can, and they did.”
Ben’s still staring, like he’s cataloguing the loss, trying to piece together something that isn’t there anymore.
For the first time in fifteen years, I see it. The boy I used to know.
The one who threw in coins just to make me laugh. The one who bet me a milkshake that I couldn’t hit the centre with my eyes closed.
The one who promised me always.
I clear my throat, shoving the memory aside. “Not everything lasts forever, Ashcroft.”
His gaze flicks to mine, something unreadable in his expression.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
For some stupid, stupid reason, that hurts.
We keep walking. I let the quiet stretch between us, let the streets we used to haunt guide us without thinking. It’s only when I glance up, when I see the faded awning, the potted plants lined up by the window, the Bloom & Bean sign hanging slightly crooked, that I realise where we are.
I stop short.
Ben slows a second later. “Huh.” His gaze flickers over the front of my cafe, taking in the details like he’s seeing it for the first time.
Like he’s actually seeing it.
“I didn’t mean to…” I trail off, folding my arms, exhaling sharply. “We weren’t supposed to end up here.”
Ben doesn’t look at me. He’s still taking it in. The way the morning light catches on the glass. The way my mother’s orchids are thriving in the window. The way the cafe, our cafe, has survived despite everything.
