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“Do you want to see me again?”
I clutched the phone tighter, feeling the edges of it dig into my hand. “Paisley…”
“I got coffee. And I ordered your favorite, too.”
I paused. “I… believe it would get cold before I could get there anyway.”
She laughed. “Is it that far out of the way? Given the punch cards I saw in your wallet when you visited Bayview, there’s no way you’re walking hours to get here.”
It took too long to settle in. I blinked fast, staring at the window, and I found myself standing up, my heart racing. “You’re here,” I said, voice tight.
“It’s a loud city. Even at night. How do you sleep here?”
“Paisley—when did you—”
“I told the barista I’m waiting for you and asked if you have a regular, so you have a soy cappuccino with your name on it here.”
“Oh my god. Why are you—”
“Why?” She laughed. “Why do you think?”
I fumbled the phone, my heart hammering, and I hung up the call. I stood there at the window just staring for what might have been forever before I bolted—I wasn’t sure what it was, but something came over me, and I hurried for the door so quickly I almost tripped, catching myself on the closet door and holding it as I stepped into my shoes, pulled on the warmest coat I had, and I barely paused to grab my keys before I was out the door. I took the stairs down two at a time and rounded into the street, nearly taking out an old man who was walking past, and I gushed apologies as I raced around him and tore down the street, my whole body burning.
The front door of my regular café—of course she saw the damn punch cards—I flung it open, stumbling over the step at the entrance, and Joyce behind the counter smiled warmly at me, nodding to the corner. I followed her gaze, over to where—a surreal image, not sure if I was dreaming, Paisley Macleod sat at the corner table, by the window.
She smiled at me. She was so… so beautiful when she smiled. I wished I could have just…
Maybe I could.
I moved in a trance, walking over to her table, and I sat down across from her—she was dressed casually now, wearing her glasses again, her hair a little messy, but she was wearing her yellow coat. Her favorite.
“Paisley,” I said, simply. Maybe that was all that could be said.
She smiled. “I’m not gonna lie, I was hoping for better coffee from your favorite place.”
“Did you get the drip coffee?”
“Yeah. It tastes like burned rubber.”
“Yeah, the place sucks at drip coffee. I come here for espresso.”
She made a face. “Well, now she tells me.”
“Paisley… why are you here?”
She tucked her hair back behind her ear, looking up shyly at me. “I wanted to ask you another question.”
God, I already knew what the question was. And I… I didn’t know how to answer it. There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to go back, to turn it all back and be happy where I was—but I knew I couldn’t, and it was…
“You could have included all these questions in the email,” I said. She laughed.
“Some things are more impactful in person. And I wanted to make sure if you tried to run away, then I could tackle you to the ground.”
I swallowed. “I’m not running,” I said. “Go ahead. Ask your question.”
She gave me an odd kind of smile, her head cocked a little, and she said, “You’re… you aren’t Harper, are you?”
I’d just picked up the paper cup for my cappuccino, and it slipped out of my hand, thumping back down on the table’s surface. A cold sensation swept through me, and I struggled to breathe as something pounded in my head. “I… what?”
