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"I just…" I press my lips together, searching for the right words, picking at the corner of the coffee sleeve around my cup. "I didn't expect any of this to happen again."

"The Jace part?"

"Yeah." I glance up at her. "Or the part where we decide to try to make things work while we're on opposite sides of the country."

Bridge leans back on her stool, folding her arms as she studies me. After a moment, she nods slowly, like she’s piecing something together.

"History has a funny way of repeating itself… doesn’t it?"

"Or not," I blurt defensively.

She lifts one brow but doesn’t argue. She just waits.

And somehow that silence is worse.

"It didn’t work last time," I say quickly. "But—"

"But…"

"But it could," I insist, even though it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than her. "It could work this time."

There’s a beat before Bridget speaks again—like she’s giving me space to finish the thought I’m clearly still chasing.

"Because this time you think the long-distance will work?"

"That—or…" I start. The rest of the thought forms at the exact same moment the words do. "If I stay… there won’t be any distance at all."

Bridget goes still. She just studies me quietly while I replay everything I just said—words I never even considered until they were already out of my mouth.

"Just promise me something," she finally says.

"Hmm?"

"If you stay…" She taps the side of her cup with her thumb. "Make sure you're doing it because you want to stay. Not because you're afraid to leave your current situation."

A laugh escapes my chest. "Made that mistake before."

"Yeah," she says. "But the consequence last time wasn't giving up your dream."

I chuckle again in agreement—because what my sister's saying makes sense.

But it doesn't come out genuine.

Doesn't feel that way either.

"I know," I say.

But the truth is—I don't. And I can't quite figure out why.

Bridget watches me for a second longer, like she can see the gears grinding in my head. Her eyes narrow like she wants to say something else, but she doesn't. Not yet.

Instead, she gulps down the rest of her drink, then leans back in her seat. She shakes her nearly empty cup, and I watch as the few half-melted ice cubes left inside rattle against the plastic.

"Well, who knew?" she says, smirking. My eyes dart to hers. "The tea spilled at Drippy's might be even better than the coffee."

We both laugh, Bridget only stopping to order us the biggest cinnamon roll they have—her exact words.

The next hour passes and thanks to luck—or my sister's grace—we spend it talking about anything and everything that doesn't have to do with my next assignment or Jace.