A Game of Seconds

The moment stretched between them—longer than it should have, shorter than it felt.

Alex Carter had spent years perfecting the art of control. He was the kind of man who measured his words before speaking, who calculated every move before acting. But standing there, caught in Elena Murphy's gaze, control felt like a fragile thing.

He should have looked away first. Should have turned, walked out, pretended he hadn't seen her.

But he didn't.

Instead, he did something far more dangerous.

He walked toward her.

Elena watched his approach like she had been expecting it—like she had already played out the possibilities in her mind and accepted whichever one came to pass. Her dark eyes remained unreadable, giving nothing away.

"Alex Carter." Her voice was smooth, effortlessly poised, as if seven years had been nothing more than seven days.

"Elena Murphy." He said her name the way he might study an unfamiliar structure—curious, assessing.

She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "You might as well sit. If you walk away now, it'll look like you're avoiding me."

His lips curved slightly. "And if I sit?"

She shrugged, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "Then I suppose we have to pretend this isn't the first time we've spoken in seven years."

He considered her for a moment, then pulled out the chair and sat down.

The café around them continued on as if nothing significant was happening. Baristas called out orders, the scent of freshly ground coffee lingered in the air, and the faint hum of conversation filled the space. But to Alex, the world outside their table felt muted, blurred around the edges.

He had imagined running into Elena over the years, but never like this. Not casually, not unplanned. And certainly not with the sudden awareness that he had no idea what to say to her now.

"Did you know I'd be here?" he asked, breaking the silence first.

Elena lifted a brow. "At this café? No. At the symposium? I saw your name on the list."

"So did I."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "And yet, you still decided to come?"

"That makes two of us," he pointed out.

She smiled at that—a small, knowing thing that made his stomach tighten in a way he didn't particularly appreciate.

Elena had always been an enigma to him. Years ago, she had been the woman who walked away with the project that should have been his. He had spent too much time wondering how and why it had happened, what the deciding factor had been. Not because he had wanted to take it from her, but because something about it had never quite settled in his mind.

And yet, despite the questions, despite the years of distance, he had never resented her.

He had respected her.

And now, sitting across from her in a place neither of them had planned to be, he found himself wondering if she had ever thought of him at all.

Elena leaned back, crossing her arms. "Tell me, Alex. Are we going to pretend we're just two professionals who happened to run into each other, or are we acknowledging the fact that we both know there's a history here?"

He took a slow sip of his coffee, meeting her gaze over the rim of his cup. "That depends. Do you think we owe each other an explanation for the past?"

Something flickered in her expression—brief, nearly imperceptible. But Alex caught it.

She exhaled, shaking her head. "No. I don't think we owe each other anything."

That should have been the end of it. A clean conclusion to an unexpected meeting. But Alex had always been the kind of man who noticed the details others overlooked. And the way she had said it—the way her fingers curled just slightly around her cup, the way her shoulders tensed for half a second before relaxing again—told him she wasn't entirely convinced of her own words.

Interesting.

"Then why do I get the feeling you're lying?" he asked, his voice even, unhurried.

Elena's lips parted slightly, as if surprised he had caught on so quickly. But then, instead of denying it, she did something else entirely.

She laughed.

Soft, amused, just a little self-aware.

"Maybe because you always were too perceptive for your own good," she admitted.

Alex let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "I'll take that as a compliment."

A moment of silence stretched between them—not uncomfortable, but weighted. It was the kind of silence filled with things left unsaid, with questions neither of them had asked but had both carried for years.

Eventually, Elena glanced at her watch, then back at him. "Well. I suppose I should be going."

Alex watched as she gathered her things, slipping her tablet into her leather bag, finishing off the last of her coffee.

"You're leaving already?"

She smirked. "Would you rather I stay?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same calculating intensity that had always made people uneasy in meetings.

Then, casually, he said, "I'm sure we'll see each other soon enough."

Elena paused, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag for just a second. She knew he was right. The symposium was only days away. There was no avoiding what was coming.

But instead of acknowledging it, she merely smiled—a slow, unreadable thing.

"Maybe," she said, before turning and walking away.

Alex didn't watch her go. Not immediately, at least. But as the café door swung shut behind her, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

For years, they had been nothing more than distant echoes in each other's lives.

But that distance was closing now.

And something told him that whatever had been left unfinished between them…

Was about to resurface.