Page 19 of What Should Have Been Ours

I thought I was prepared for this, but the second I see her, I’m hit with just how wrong I was.

It’s like she owns every place she steps into without even trying.

She’s never known how beautiful she is. She stayed in such a tight shell growing up, it looks good to finally see her out of it.

The low hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, the whir of the espresso machine—it all dulled the second my eyes landed on her.

She’s all sun-kissed warmth and golden undertones now, like she’s been soaking up every bit of life after being outside of those sterile walls.

And those sky blue eyes, in contrast with her dark—almost black hair, have always been my weakness.

Her eyes have been burned into my memory ever since I was a kid. Bright, sharp, impossible to ignore. They’ve always been a contradiction—soft and fierce, open yet impossible to read all at once.

And right now, they’re staring right into my soul as she walks towards me.

She showed up. She’s really here.

Something deep and primal rolls through my chest.

She’s beautiful. Have I said that already?

But not in just some casual, passing-through kind of way. Not in a, she’s attractive, I should ask for her number kind of way.

No.

She’s wreck-you-from-the-inside-out beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes you forget everything else. The kind that has you questioning every decision you made that ever kept you apart.

She hesitates for half a second, biting her lip before finally stepping forward.

I immediately try to cut the tension. “I guess Wes owes me twenty bucks. He didn’t think you’d show.”

She smiles, then shrugs, “Doctor’s order, remember? They say you should never ignore professional medical advice, so.”

“Remind me to thank whoever ‘they’ are,” I say, smirking.

She slides into the seat across from me, and for a second, I forget how to make conversation like a normal human being.

She’s avoiding my eyes.

She’s nervous, which means I’m not the only one who feels like this moment is heavier than it seems.

“So,” she finally says, curling her hands around the steaming mug the barista just set in front of her. “What’s the verdict? Does this place live up to the memories?”

I huff a quiet laugh. “You’re the one who made me into this hot chocolate snob.”

Blowing gently on her drink to cool it down, she slowly looks up and catches me staring at her. Her lips curve up knowingly, and I continue.

“I’ve tried the hot chocolate in every cafe I’ve come across, and nothing can touch the hospital cafe’s or The Cocoa Bean’s hot chocolate. But I think that might have more to do with who I associate the taste with here.”

She hums in silent agreement, and we just sit there for a moment, soaking it all in.

Drumming my fingers against the table, I linger on her profile for a second before asking the question that’s been on the tip of my tongue since she sat down. “What made you decide to show up?”

She lets out a shallow breath as her grip around the mug tightens. “For the hot chocolate,” she answers. But there’s something else behind it. Something more.

I tilt my head slightly, giving her a knowing look. “Voss.”

“Okay, for the hot chocolate and maybe…I was just curious.”