Proximity and Precision

Elena had never been the type to dwell on the past.

She had spent years training herself to be forward-focused, to keep her eyes on the horizon rather than looking back. In an industry as competitive as architecture, hesitation was a weakness, and nostalgia was a distraction she could never afford.

But as she walked out of that café, her heart was betraying her.

It wasn't beating fast—no, nothing so dramatic—but there was a certain heaviness to it, an awareness that lingered in the spaces between her thoughts.

Alex Carter.

She hadn't seen him in seven years, and yet, somehow, that brief encounter felt like picking up a conversation they had never actually started.

She tightened her grip on her bag's strap, pushing the thought away as she stepped onto the busy sidewalk. The city pulsed around her—car horns, distant sirens, the rhythmic footsteps of pedestrians lost in their own worlds. It should have been grounding, should have pulled her back into reality.

Instead, all she could hear was his voice.

"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?"

Damn him.

Ava had been right. Running into him had been inevitable. The circles they moved in were too small, the industry too interconnected. But she had spent so long treating him as a name on a list, a presence just beyond the edges of her reality, that seeing him in the flesh—sitting across from her, watching her with those sharp, assessing eyes—felt entirely different from what she had prepared for.

She didn't like that.

She didn't like the way he unsettled her, the way he made her wonder things she had buried years ago.

Because the truth was—

No.

She wasn't going there.

Elena exhaled and forced herself to focus on the symposium. She had a schedule to finalize, a speech to refine. There was no room for distraction.

And Alex Carter?

He was nothing more than an unexpected variable in an otherwise meticulously planned event.

Alex had every intention of leaving that café and getting back to work.

Instead, he found himself staring at the place where Elena had just been sitting, his fingers drumming lightly against the tabletop.

For someone he supposedly hadn't thought about in years, she had a remarkable ability to occupy space in his mind.

He didn't know what bothered him more—the fact that she had been so composed, or the fact that, for a fleeting moment, he had seen something beneath that composure. Something he couldn't quite name.

"Do you think we owe each other an explanation for the past?"

She had said no.

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if she had meant it.

With a sigh, Alex stood, tossing a few bills onto the table before making his way to the exit. Outside, the city felt colder than it had before—gray clouds rolling in, promising rain.

He had a full afternoon ahead of him. A project site to visit, a meeting with investors, a dozen unread emails waiting for his attention. He had no reason to keep thinking about Elena Murphy.

But the thing about unfinished business?

It had a way of making itself known.

Four days later, the symposium began.

Elena arrived early, dressed in an elegantly tailored black suit that exuded quiet authority. The venue was a sleek, glass-walled conference center overlooking the river, the kind of place where billion-dollar deals were sealed over carefully worded conversations.

The room buzzed with anticipation—architects, designers, urban planners all mingling over espresso and industry gossip. The air smelled of fresh paper and expensive cologne, the kind of scent that signified power and influence.

Elena had always liked these events. They were a showcase of intellect and creativity, a reminder that she belonged among the best.

But today, her focus felt fractured.

Because somewhere in this room, Alex Carter was here too.

She hadn't seen him yet, but she could feel his presence—like the shift in atmosphere before a storm. It was absurd, really. There were at least a hundred people in attendance, many of whom she knew personally. And yet, it was only his arrival that made her pulse tick up half a beat faster.

She turned, scanning the room.

And then, just like before, as if drawn by the same invisible thread—

Their eyes met.

Alex stood near the entrance, his posture relaxed yet entirely self-possessed. He wore a dark charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, no tie. Effortlessly polished, in that way he always had been.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, with the slow precision of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Alex lifted a glass of whiskey—because of course he had found a bar before the event even officially started—and took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers.

A challenge.

Again.

Elena exhaled through her nose, forcing her shoulders to relax. She would not let him rattle her.

So, instead of looking away, she tilted her chin slightly, offering the faintest, most unreadable of smiles.

Let him wonder what she was thinking.

Let him wait.

She turned back to the group she had been speaking with, pretending she hadn't just spent an entire moment locked in a silent battle of wills with a man she hadn't seen in years.

But her skin prickled with awareness.

Because she knew this wasn't over.

An hour later, Alex found himself standing next to her at the bar.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The bartender slid a drink in front of her—a glass of wine, deep red, just like she always used to drink at events like these.

Alex smirked. "Still a red wine girl, I see."

Elena didn't react right away. Instead, she took a sip, savoring it before finally glancing at him. "And you still drink whiskey like an old man."

He chuckled. "Classic never goes out of style."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Are we going to do this all night?" she asked, arching a brow.

Alex took a slow sip of his drink. "Do what?"

"This." She gestured vaguely between them. "The whole subtle digs and long pauses filled with unspoken history thing."

"Ah." His lips quirked. "Is it bothering you?"

She gave him a look. "I don't get bothered, Alex."

He didn't argue.

Because the truth was, he could see it—the way she held herself a fraction tighter than usual, the way her fingers curled around her glass just a little too deliberately.

She wasn't as unaffected as she wanted him to believe.

And for some reason, that made something settle inside him.

"Then let's make it simple," he said, setting his drink down. "Seven years. One project. One missed conversation. Tell me, Elena—if we don't owe each other an explanation, then why are we still standing here?"

For the first time, she hesitated.

Just for a second.

And Alex saw it.

The past wasn't as buried as either of them had thought.

And this?

This was only the beginning.