Chapter Eight: Echoes of the Past

Chapter Eight: Echoes of the Past

The coffee shop on West 10th Street was a slice of Greenwich Village charm, with exposed brick walls, mismatched wooden tables, and the rich aroma of espresso hanging in the air. Henry Carter sat at a corner table, his fingers tapping the edge of a ceramic mug, his eyes fixed on the door. It was a rare day off from the relentless pace of Carter Capital, but he felt anything but relaxed. Sophia Gray was due any minute, and the weight of their history pressed against him like a storm cloud.

He hadn't told Ava about the meeting—not because he was hiding it, but because he wasn't sure what to say. Their staged kiss in Central Park had lingered in his mind, the warmth of her lips a stark contrast to the cold terms of their contract. But Sophia's text, her voice at the gala, had stirred something else—a nostalgia for a time when love felt simple, unburdened by mergers or media scrutiny. He needed closure, or at least clarity, and this coffee was his chance to get it.

The bell above the door chimed, and Sophia stepped inside, her blonde hair catching the morning light. She wore a loose sweater and jeans, a canvas tote slung over her shoulder, looking more like the art student he'd loved at Harvard than the polished artist she'd become. She spotted him and smiled, a hesitant curve of her lips that made his chest ache.

"Henry," she said, sliding into the chair across from him. "You look… exactly the same."

He chuckled, the sound tighter than he intended. "You don't. Paris suits you."

She shrugged, setting her tote on the floor. "It's been an adventure. But New York's home, you know? I missed it."

The barista brought her a latte, and they sat in a moment of silence, the hum of the coffee shop filling the gap. Henry sipped his coffee, searching for the right words. "So," he said finally, "why now, Sophia? Why reach out after all this time?"

She traced the rim of her mug, her eyes distant. "I heard about your engagement. It… threw me. I guess I wanted to see you, to make sure you're happy."

He leaned back, his jaw tightening. "You didn't care about that when you left for Paris."

The words came out sharper than he'd meant, and Sophia flinched, her fingers stilling. "That's not fair," she said softly. "You know why I left. I needed to find myself, to chase my art. You were building an empire, Henry. I couldn't keep up."

He remembered that night—their last fight, in his cramped Cambridge apartment, the air thick with frustration. She'd wanted freedom, a life unscripted by his family's expectations. He'd wanted her to stay, to fit into the world he was creating. They'd been young, stubborn, and neither had bent. "You didn't even say goodbye," he said, his voice low. "Just a note on my desk. 'I'm sorry. I have to go.'"

Sophia's eyes glistened, but she didn't look away. "I was scared. Scared of losing myself in you, in your world. I loved you, Henry, but I couldn't be what you needed."

He exhaled, the weight of her words settling over him. "And now?"

"Now," she said, her voice steadier, "I'm not that girl anymore. I've built my life, my art. But seeing you at the gala, with her… it made me wonder what we could have been."

Her words hung between them, heavy with possibility. Henry's mind flashed to Ava—her sharp wit, her unyielding strength, the way she'd kissed him back in Central Park, like she was daring him to feel something real. He pushed the thought away. "I'm engaged, Sophia," he said, his voice firm. "That's my life now."

She nodded, her smile sad but genuine. "I know. She's… formidable. I can see why you chose her."

He didn't correct her, didn't tell her the engagement was a contract, a deal to save their families' empires. Instead, he said, "She's more than that. She's… unexpected."

Sophia's eyes softened. "Then hold onto her, Henry. Don't make the same mistake we did."

He didn't respond, the weight of her words sinking in. They finished their coffee, the conversation shifting to lighter topics—her latest exhibit, his firm's expansion—but the past lingered, a ghost neither could fully exorcise. When they parted outside the shop, Sophia hugged him, her touch brief but warm. "Take care, Henry," she said, then disappeared into the Village's bustling streets.

Henry stood there, the autumn wind tugging at his coat, his mind a tangle of old wounds and new questions. Sophia was his past, but Ava was his present—and maybe, just maybe, something more.

Across town, Ava sat in her office at Lin Ventures' Manhattan headquarters, a sleek glass tower overlooking Bryant Park. Papers were spread across her desk, her laptop open to a patent dispute brief, but her focus was shot. The Central Park kiss had haunted her all week, replaying in her mind like a scene she couldn't pause. It was supposed to be fake, a performance for the cameras, but the way Henry had looked at her, the way her heart had raced—it felt real, and that terrified her.

Her phone buzzed, a text from Mia: Tabloids are obsessed with you two. That kiss was HOT. You sure this is just a deal?

Ava groaned, typing back: It's a job, Mia. Nothing more.

But as she set the phone down, she wasn't so sure. She'd seen the way Henry's eyes had lingered on Sophia at the gala, the way he'd hesitated when she'd confronted him about the text. He was meeting her today—she'd overheard him confirming the time with his assistant. The thought shouldn't have bothered her, but it did, a sharp jab of something she refused to call jealousy.

A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. "Come in," she called, expecting her assistant with another stack of documents.

Instead, Henry stepped inside, his overcoat draped over his arm, his expression unreadable. Ava's heart skipped, but she leaned back in her chair, her voice cool. "Shouldn't you be sipping lattes with your ex right now?"

He closed the door, his lips twitching. "Good to know you're keeping tabs on me."

"I'm not," she said, crossing her arms. "But you're not exactly subtle. What are you doing here, Henry?"

He set his coat on a chair and leaned against her desk, closer than necessary. "I wanted to see you. After the park, after last night… I owe you an explanation."

She raised an eyebrow, her defenses up. "You don't owe me anything. This is a contract, not a confessional."

"Maybe," he said, his voice low, "but I don't want you thinking I'm playing games. I met Sophia today to clear the air. That's all."

Ava's chest tightened, but she kept her expression neutral. "And did you? Clear the air?"

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers. "I think so. She's part of my past, Ava. A big part. But I'm not chasing her. I'm here, with you."

The words hit harder than she expected, stirring a warmth she didn't want to feel. She stood, putting the desk between them, her hands gripping the edge. "Don't do that," she said, her voice sharp. "Don't act like this is real. We kissed for the cameras, Henry. We're playing a part."

He stepped closer, his gaze intense. "What if I don't want it to be just a part?"

Her breath caught, memories of Mark flooding back—his promises, his betrayal, the way he'd left her feeling like she wasn't enough. She couldn't let Henry do the same, not when he was still tied to Sophia, not when this was all temporary. "You don't get to decide that," she said, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "We have rules. No lies, no games. You agreed."

He nodded, stepping back, his hands in his pockets. "You're right. I did. But for what it's worth, Ava, you're not just a signature to me. Not anymore."

She didn't respond, her throat too tight. He picked up his coat and headed for the door, pausing to look back. "I'll see you at the penthouse tonight. We've got that investor brunch tomorrow. Get some rest."

As the door closed, Ava sank into her chair, her hands trembling. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the warmth in his voice, but trust was a luxury she couldn't afford. Not with Henry Carter, not with a man whose heart was still tangled in the past.

She turned back to her brief, forcing her focus to the words on the page, but Henry's face lingered—his eyes, his voice, the way he'd looked at her like she was more than a deal. And for the first time, she wasn't sure she could keep pretending she didn't feel it too.