Page 25 of The Moment I Knew

This was so much worse than the chaos of my house. I rubbed my temples, eyes skimming the page without landing anywhere, and wondered how a place built for quiet could feel so unbearably loud.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to work.

I closed the book with more force than necessary and immediately winced, glancing around like the librarian might materialize again. No one looked up thankfully, but I still packed up fast, my movements clipped and efficient. The chair squeaked again as I pushed it away from the table and stood, like it was one last laugh from the quiet building. With a sigh, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and slipped out, pushing through the heavy doors into the night. On the steps outside, I stopped and pulled out my phone. Okay. New plan. Coffee shop. The usual one—warm, low hum of voices, espresso machine hissing like white noise, music always just loud enough to blur the edges of everything else. I opened the browser and tapped in the name, excited to see if they posted the new seasonal menu yet, already picturing my regular table by the window. It all seemed great until the page loaded: Temporarily Closed After Vehicle Collision.

The headline was bold and unmistakable. There was a photo beneath it: shattered glass, a car half-embedded where the front windows used to be, yellow caution tape sagging like it had given up.

“What?” I whispered to my phone, glancing around even though the sidewalk was empty. I refreshed the page. Same article. Same picture. I scrolled, hoping for a correction, a just kidding, but it only got worse—estimated reopening date unknown, investigation ongoing.

I pulled up the map and searched again, widening the radius. A few options popped up, but there was only one close enough to matter: The Corner Cup.

I hovered my thumb over the directions, heart sinking. I could go home. I could try again tomorrow. But the assignment deadline loomed, heavy and immovable, and the thought of walking back into that house made my stomach twist.

“This is important,” I muttered and jammed my thumb on the Start button.

I questioned whether I should just go back home about five times into the walk there—and considering that walk was only fifteen minutes long, that was quite a bit— but I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus at home. Not with the music and paint swatches taped to my wall and the guilt heavy in my stomach.As I reached the door, I took a deep breath and reassured myself that maybe Cole wouldn’t be there. Maybe he wouldn’t be inside and everything would be okay. I would just go in, get a drink, sit down at a table, and get my work done like any normal person. It took a solid minute of these affirmations for me to be able to open the door, but I finally did it.

And immediately saw Cole at the register.

Just my luck.

He looked just like he had the other night, in a dark shirt with the sleeves pulled up and his dark hair a mess that he kept trying to tame by running a hand through it. I kept my gaze on my feet as I walked slowly to the register, mentally preparing for yet another interaction with Cole that was sure to end in him calling me “princess” again and making my blood boil. Once I got to the register, I lifted my eyes, pasted on a neutral expression, and started to order.

“Hey, can I get a⁠—”

“Gingerbread loaf and a Heartbreaker,” Cole interrupted, eyes on me as he turned the machine around without even typing on it. But there it was—my order, already set on the screen, just awaiting my payment. Almost in a trance, I tapped my card against it slowly but kept my eyes trained on him, trying to figure out how exactly he’d read my mind so well. And trying to decide whether or not I hated that he knew my order.

“You didn’t want to try to guess my payment method too?” I said as I tapped “no receipt” and turned the screen back to him.

“I wanted to see how much you’d leave as a tip.” He eyed the screen, pretended to look impressed, nodded. “Exactly as much as I expected.”

I rolled my eyes, wishing I had put zero instead just to spite him, but it was too late. He tapped something else on the machine then glanced up at me, his long lashes fluttering as he realized I was staring at him. “What?”

“The…” I gestured vaguely, still processing the fact that he knew my order. He followed my hand motion with an impassive face but didn’t say anything. His floppy brown hair fell in his eyes as he did. “You already ordered for me.”

He just shrugged. “I saw you walking up, so I was just saving myself time.” His voice was flat and dismissive, almost like he was annoyed that I’d made him do that even though I hadn’t asked him to.

“But…” I played back the other night in my mind. It was hard to say for sure, but I didn’t remember telling him which drink had been mine. I blinked, not sure whether I should be freaked out or not, and did my best to play it off with a dismissive shrug. “Sorry. I guess it didn’t occur to me that you were watching me that closely.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m not watching you,” he said, almost sneering.

I just raised my eyebrows. He glanced over his shoulder at the other barista who was in the midst of making my drink, probably counting down the seconds until he could give it to me. I guess he didn’t like what he saw because he turned back to me, his facial expression having changed from the tiny sneer to the tiny smirk. Tiny because his face really barely changed expressions and it was almost impossible to see without studying him. Not that I was studying him. I just… noticed.

“It’s not my fault you come in here constantly,” he said.

“This is literally the second time I’ve been here.”

“Which time are you not counting—the one where you doused the place in coffee or the one where you committed a crime?” He held a hand as if to stop my response before it even came. “Not that I can blame you for either. If I were you, I’d sure want to forget about them both too.”

“I was just trying to forget every interaction I’ve ever had with you. I guess a few still slipped through, though.”

His mouth tightened, like he’d just bitten down on something sharp. For a second I thought he was going to brush it off again, but he stayed silent.

I wasn’t ready to lose this battle with him, so I tilted my head. “You don’t have to lie, you know.”

He exhaled slowly, like he was trying not to lose a fight he hadn’t meant to pick. “Fine. I’ve been watching you. Happy?”

The intonation of his voice still barely changed, so the words sounded flat and dismissive, even though the meaning was anything but.