Chapter - Nineteen

Fleeting Longing

I was a liar.

The moment the bells above the café door chimed and she stepped inside, the world I had known just moments ago crumbled into embers. Every thought, every doubt, every shadow of my former self was set ablaze, reduced to nothing in the wake of her presence. If she had asked me to confess to crimes I had never committed, I might have done so without hesitation—because deep down, I already knew I was being swayed.

But love? No, love was too vast a word for what I felt then. It was something smaller, lighter—a spark rather than an inferno. A mere crush, perhaps. Yet, if something so fleeting could make me feel drunk on nothing but the sight of her, I dared not imagine what true love would do to me. That would be the end of me.

As she walked in, the café itself seemed to shift. The light caught in her hair, casting a golden glow as if she carried the sun within her. The air changed, thickened, became something more than just warmth and roasted coffee beans. She burned, not like fire that consumes, but like a flame that illuminates—spreading radiance to everything and everyone around her.

And I, helpless against the force of her gravity, knew in that instant that if she asked me to follow her to the end of the world, I just might.

As I sat there, utterly consumed by her presence, the world around me faded into a quiet hum. Nothing else mattered. Not the clatter of cups, not the murmured conversations drifting through the café—just her.

Then, her eyes met mine.

A jolt shot through me, like a spark igniting something deep in my chest. Hazel, warm yet unreadable, they held a thousand secrets I would never know, yet I longed to unravel them all. There was something regal about her gaze, something that made me want to bow as if she were a queen and I, a mere subject caught in the gravity of her presence.

She took her time walking toward me, each step slow, deliberate, as if she were measuring the weight of the moment. But beneath the quiet confidence, I saw it—exhaustion. A tiredness that clung to her like a shadow. She had been overworking herself, though I couldn't understand why. The café never stayed open late, nor was it ever bustling with customers.

Then again, with Emmet behind the counter brewing coffee that tasted like burnt regrets, it wasn't exactly a mystery why the place was nearly empty. 

"Hey, Aubrey. Didn't expect to see you here," Emma said, her lips curving into a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. There was warmth in her voice, but her body betrayed her—shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden, movements sluggish with exhaustion.

Her gaze flickered to the untouched coffee on the table. "I'm assuming you love our coffee way too much," she teased, amusement laced in her words.

I mirrored her smile, but something inside me twisted at the sight of her like this. She wasn't the same Emma—the one whose laughter rang like wind chimes in the breeze, whose presence could brighten the dullest corners of my world. Whatever was draining her, I wanted it gone. If she would let me, I'd fix it without hesitation.

"The coffee's really good," I said, lifting the cup as if to prove my point. I forced a sip, the bitter liquid burning its way down, but I swallowed it like a man desperate to make a lie sound like truth.

Emma sighed, and before I could react, she slipped into the seat beside me. Then, to my surprise, she reached out, her fingers brushing against mine as she plucked the cup from my grasp.

"You don't have to lie to spare my feelings, you know," she murmured, shaking her head with a tired chuckle. Her fingers, warm against mine for the briefest moment, pulled the cup from my grasp. But the sensation of her touch lingered—a whisper of something unspoken, something that made my pulse stutter.

"Let me make you a new cup of coffee," she continued, already rising to her feet. "Anything Emmet makes isn't edible, so just give me a second."

I should've let her go.

Instead—"Wait."

The word left my lips before I could stop it.

I reached out, fingers gently wrapping around her wrist without thinking. It wasn't tight, wasn't desperate—just enough. Just enough to make her pause.

She glanced down, then back up at me, brows raising slightly.

Realizing what I'd done, I quickly let go, retracting my hand as a quiet heat crept into my face. "I just mean... you look exhausted. It's okay, really. I can drink it."She tilted her head, amusement dancing beneath her fatigue. "You don't have to force yourself to drink this. Even though I'm tired, why make yourself suffer?"

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. My voice dropped to a murmur, barely more than a breath. "For you, I'd drink that a thousand times."

Her brows furrowed. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Nothing," I blurted, masking my words with an awkward cough. "If you insist on making me a new cup, then at least let me make it myself."

Her eyes widened, genuine surprise washing over her face. For a moment, she simply stared at me, as if the very idea was inconceivable.

"You?" she echoed, blinking.

I smirked, crossing my arms. "What? Think I'm incapable?"

She laughed softly, a tired but genuine sound. "Honestly? I think I'd pay to see this."

That laugh—light, genuine, and utterly infectious—was one in a million. A sound so rare, so precious, that I wanted to hoard it away, tuck it into the quiet corners of my heart where I could revisit it whenever the world felt too heavy. Seeing her smile felt like a reward, an unspoken approval I hadn't even realized I was craving.

I gestured for her to take a seat, and as I turned toward the counter, I felt her gaze trailing after me, following every step I took. My pulse quickened under her watchful eyes, a quiet thrill weaving itself through my veins.

"Where's the apron?" I asked Emmet, approaching him with a purpose I wasn't entirely sure I had.

He turned, arching an unimpressed brow. "And when did you start working here?" His voice dripped with skepticism.

I sighed, already regretting this interaction. "Since you started serving whatever that is to people," I shot back, nodding toward the cup Emma had confiscated from me moments ago.

His scowl deepened, and for a second, I thought he was about to launch into one of his infamous tirades about his craft—which, ironically, involved ruining perfectly good coffee beans. But then, as if sensing Emma's presence behind me, he exhaled sharply, biting back whatever words had been perched on the tip of his tongue.

With a grumble, he reached under the counter, pulling out a green-black apron, and all but shoved it into my hands.

"Don't burn the place down," he muttered.

I smirked, slipping the apron over my head. "No promises."

As I tied the strings behind my back, I turned to Emma, only to find her watching with open amusement, her cheek propped on her hand as she leaned against the coffee table.

"Enjoying the show?" I teased.

She grinned. "Very much."

God help me.