Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Definitely Not a Date

Emma double-checked the little corner table for the third time — clean mug, check. Candle flickering softly in a mason jar, check. Sanity? Questionable.

She wasn't sure why she was nervous. It wasn't a date. They hadn't said it was a date.

But still… she'd changed her shirt twice.

The bell above the door jingled.

Jake stepped in, carrying a book under one arm and wearing that crooked smile like it was custom-tailored. "You decorated," he said, eyes drifting to the candle.

Emma shrugged. "Just trying to keep up with the romance quota. You know, for the ambiance."

He chuckled and held up the book. "I brought this. I figured if we ran out of things to talk about, I could dramatically read poetry and make you fall in love with me."

Emma blinked. "Excuse me?"

Jake slid into the seat across from her, the candlelight catching the gold flecks in his eyes. "Too much? I was going for mysterious and charming."

She fought a smile. "You overshot and landed in rom-com cheese."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, then leaned forward. "But seriously. I just thought… we could sit. Talk. No competition. No sarcasm defense mechanism."

Emma softened. "I'd like that."

They sat in a slow, easy silence for a moment, sipping their drinks — hers a vanilla chai, his a plain black coffee.

"Why coffee?" she asked suddenly.

He looked up.

"You could've done anything. Why open a shop?"

Jake tilted his head. "Because coffee's honest. No matter how much you dress it up, the base always shows through. And people let their guard down over a cup of it."

Emma smiled. "That was beautifully cheesy. You've been practicing that line?"

He grinned. "Only in case you ever asked."

She reached for her drink again, hiding a blush behind the rim.

Jake tapped the table gently. "What about you? Why here? Why now?"

Emma looked out the window at the dimming street. "Because I needed to start over somewhere that still felt like home. And because I figured… if I was going to rebuild anything, it might as well be something that makes people feel warm."

He stared at her a moment too long. "You always had a way of making things warmer."

There was a pause — the kind that lives in the space between I like you and I'm not ready to say it yet.

Jake tapped the book. "Should I read you a poem?"

Emma raised a brow. "Only if you plan to use your most dramatic voice."

He cleared his throat and flipped to a random page. "'I love you as certain dark things are to be loved… in secret, between the shadow and the soul.'"

Emma blinked.

"Too much?" he asked again.

She laughed. "Absolutely. But weirdly… perfect."

Jake grinned.

And as they sat there, candlelight flickering and the city quiet around them, something gentle and entirely new settled between them — not fireworks, not declarations — just warmth. Familiar, steady, and maybe just a little bit dangerous.

Definitely not a date.

But maybe the beginning of something more.

Jake flipped the book closed and leaned back, grinning. "So? Did my dramatic poetry win you over?"

Emma sipped her chai, trying not to smile too much. "If I swoon, do I get a refund on the cheesiness?"

"No refunds," he said, eyes gleaming. "Only second dates."

She gave him a playful glare. "This isn't a date."

"Right," Jake nodded solemnly. "It's a deeply emotional… beverage exchange."

Emma laughed, the sound soft and easy, and Jake couldn't help but think how good it felt to make her laugh again — how good she felt to be around. He hadn't realized how much he missed this version of her. Or maybe, how much he was meeting a new version altogether.

The candle flickered low. Outside, the sky had deepened to navy, stars beginning to peek through like secrets.

"I should head home," Emma said quietly, glancing at the time on her phone. "It's getting late."

Jake stood before she could. "I'll walk you."

She opened her mouth to argue but then closed it again, smiling to herself. "Fine. But only if you promise no more dramatic poetry."

Jake crossed his heart. "Only dramatic storytelling."

They stepped out into the cool night, the town calm and sleepy around them. Their steps fell in sync, the kind of silence between them that didn't need filling. Occasionally, their hands brushed — not by accident, not quite on purpose.

"I forgot how peaceful it is here at night," Emma said, glancing at the glow from the antique streetlamps. "Everything feels… slower. Like the town knows when to rest."

Jake looked sideways at her. "It's not the town. It's you."

She glanced at him, caught off guard.

"You show up," he continued, "and everything feels softer. Even I slow down. It's weird."

Emma laughed gently, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "That might be the nicest weird thing anyone's ever said to me."

They reached her front porch too soon.

Emma turned to face him, key in hand. "Thanks for walking me."

Jake shrugged, his smile quiet. "Thanks for letting me."

They stood there for a moment, too long for casual, too short for goodnight kisses. Just long enough to notice the way her eyes lingered, and the way he looked like he wanted to say something more — but didn't.

Instead, Jake stepped back slowly. "Get some sleep, Emma Blair."

She opened her door, pausing in the frame. "You too, Jake Matthews."

He waited until she was inside before he turned and walked home — slower this time, the ghost of her smile burned into his mind, his hands in his pockets and a strange fullness in his chest.

It wasn't a date.

But it was something.

And he knew, without a doubt, it wouldn't be the last.