Chapter Thirteen
The Coffee Shop Collision
Sarah
Iwake up with my face pressed into the pillow and my eyes already sore.
Not from crying but from holding everything in.
Last night sits heavy in my chest the second I open my eyes. The date at The Bar. The look on Jace’s face when he saw me. The way my whole body reacted before I could even think.
And Brian.
God. Brian.
A genuinely nice man I basically abandoned mid-conversation because my heart decided to do emotional parkour the moment Jace walked through the door.
I groan into the pillow.
Before I can talk myself into rolling over and ignoring the day entirely, my phone buzzes somewhere near the foot of the bed. I stretch until my fingers brush the screen and drag it close.
Emma: Morning. How’s your heart? And more importantly, how hungover are your emotions?
Me: Emotions are… wobbly. Physically I’m fine.
Emma: Uh-huh. Now tell me the truth. And tell me about Brian, because I’ve been waiting all night. Ethan said it wasn’t good.
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead.
Me: The date wasn’t great. And none of that is Brian’s fault.
Emma: Oh no. How bad are we talking?
Me: Bad enough that I owe him an apology and maybe a fruit basket.
I pause, staring at the blinking cursor, because she’s going to drag the truth out of me anyway.
Me: Truthfully, I feel awful about last night.
Emma: About Brian or about… Jace?
Me: Both. Mostly Brian. He didn’t deserve to sit there while I mentally imploded.
Emma: I knew you were spiraling when you texted. I’m just glad you made it home in one piece.
Me: Same. Still mortified though.
Emma: That’s because you’re a decent human. So. What’s the plan?
A beat passes.
Me: I should definitely apologize. He was kind, and I bailed on him mid-date.
Emma: Good. Text him. Be honest. No overthinking.
Me: I will and I’ll try.
Before I can type more, another notification pops up.
Ellie: HOLD ON. I go offline for one night and suddenly there’s drama?? Someone explain before I assume Sarah burned something down.
Neither of us texts her back quick enough because she immediately texts again.
Ellie: Okay someone better catch me up before I start assuming crimes were committed.
My eyebrows lift.
Emma: She went on a date. And it… imploded.
Ellie: HOW??? Did she threaten him with a stapler? Did he hate documentaries? Did he insult The Brew House pastries??
Me: No. I just… left early. It was a mess.
Ellie: Is he alive?? Do we need to send a muffin basket? A fruit bouquet? A therapy coupon??
Emma: Ignore her. But seriously, text him. He seems like a nice guy.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. My chest still feels bruised, my stomach twisted with guilt I can’t shake. I hate that Brian was kind and patient while I sat there barely keeping myself together and pretty much ignoring him. He didn’t deserve the version of me he got.
But mostly, I hate that all it took was one look from Jace to send everything spiraling. To send me spiraling!
Me: I feel awful. Brian didn’t do anything wrong.
Emma: Then text him.
Own it.
Ellie: Yes. Be an adult. A hot adult. A hot adult who apologizes.
I huff out a weak laugh, then stare at my phone.
Emma’s right. Ellie’s… Ellie.
And Brian deserves better than what he got.
Ellie: You’re allowed to be in a weird emotional place, but don’t ghost the nice dude. That’s bad karma.
She’s right. She’s always right in the way only best friends are, it’s annoying, and she is relentless, but I love her anyway..
I close my eyes and exhale through the guilt sitting heavy on my sternum.
Brian was nothing but considerate. He told a story about his sister’s wedding, laughed easily, asked questions, and held eye contact. He wasn’t pushy and somehow managed to be genuinely good company without overstepping anything.
And I still left him there.
Because I’m an idiot apparently.
I sit up, grab my phone with both hands, and type slowly.
Me: Hi. I wanted to apologize for leaving so suddenly last night. It had nothing to do with you. The night was just… a lot, and I didn’t handle it well. I’m really sorry.
I hit send before I can rewrite it twelve times.
It takes less than two minutes for the three dots to appear.
Brian: Hey, no worries at all. I figured something came up. Hope you’re okay.
Of course he’s nice about it. That only makes the guilt twist harder.
Me: Thank you. Really. If you’re free this morning, can I buy you a coffee as a proper apology?
I hesitate before sending it. Not because I want it to be a date—it isn’t—but because it feels like the least I can offer. A gesture that says I’m not a terrible person even if my heart is a disaster zone.
His reply comes quickly.
Brian: Sure. I’m free. The Brew House at 10?
I blink at the screen.
The Brew House.
Of all places.
But maybe that’s better. Neutral. Familiar. Less pressure.
Me: 10 works. See you there.
I drop back against the pillows, phone resting on my stomach.
Emma immediately texts again.
Emma: Did you apologize yet??
Me: Yes. We’re getting coffee at The Brew House at 10.
Emma: GOOD. And remember what I said— It’s just coffee. Not a marriage proposal.
Me: I know.
Emma: Also, like Ellie said, you’re HOT. So maybe brush your hair this time.
Ellie: She sure as hell is!
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.
Me: Shut up. I’ll text you guys after.
Emma: You better.
Ellie: Sweet
Emma: And Sarah? I’m proud of you.
That one hits a little deeper than I expect. My throat tightens.
Because being proud of myself has been hard lately. Everything inside me feels tangled. Messy. Pulled in a direction I keep pretending I shouldn’t want.
But today isn’t about that.
Today is about doing the right thing.
I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. My reflection looks slightly less horrid than last night, but only because sleep blurred the sharp edges. I splash cold water on my face until my skin tingles, then pull my hair into something presentable.
Jeans. Sweater. Minimal effort, but not hiding.
While I get ready, I talk myself through it quietly.
“It’s just coffee. You’re being kind. You’re not leading him on. You’re allowed to make amends.”
It feels a little like lying, but only because the truth is complicated.
Brian deserves honesty in a way I can give it. Not romantic honesty, but human honesty. The kind that says I see the effort you made, and I’m sorry I didn’t show up the way I meant to.
When I step back into the hallway, the house is still, soft morning light slipping across the hardwood. My bag waits by the door from last night. I grab it, toss in my wallet and keys, and take one long breath that doesn’t quite steady me.
If this were any other situation, I wouldn’t feel nervous.
But everything feels different now. Charged. Unsettled. Like one wrong move could tip my entire world off balance.
I lock the door behind me.
“Just coffee,” I whisper to myself as I walk to the car.
But even as I say it, I know better.
It’s also a step toward being the version of myself I actually want to be, someone who doesn’t run, doesn’t hide, or hurt people just because she’s hurting.
I start the engine, grip the steering wheel, and pull out of the driveway.
Whatever happens today… at least I’m trying.
At least I’m not pretending anymore.
And for now, that’s enough.
The Brew House is already buzzing when I walk in 5 minutes before I’m supposed to be there. Saturday crowds. Soft indie music. The smell of espresso and cinnamon syrup. It’s familiar and comforting… until I remember why I’m here.
I pick a small two-top near the window. Neutral. Friendly. Not remotely romantic. I set my bag down, smooth my sweater, and tell myself for the fifteenth time that this is fine.
It’s just coffee.
I’m doing the right thing.
Brian walks in two minutes later, warm smile already in place. He lifts a hand in a small wave when he spots me, and something inside me loosens a little.
“Hey,” he says, easy and genuine as he sits. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for letting me,” I say. “Really.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal, even though it kind of is. “We’ve all had off nights. No harm done.”
God, he’s nice.
We order. Sit. Talk. The conversation is light. He tells me a ridiculous story about his dog eating an entire oven mitt. I laugh, actually laugh, and it feels good, even if it’s faint around the edges.
I try to stay present. I really do.
But my mind keeps drifting away from the possibility of letting him in and having fun.
I don’t want to hurt him twice.
He’s mid-sentence about his older sister’s new baby when the door chimes behind me.
I don’t turn and look. Not at first.
But a prickle crawls up the back of my neck.
It's like my body can sense something.
Something it recognizes before my brain does.
Brian keeps talking but my heartbeat goes off kilter.
So I finally look and sure enough, it was Jace that walked in.
Duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Practice gear I assume. Jaw shadowed. Hair a little damp like he showered quickly or ran a hand through it a hundred times. He looks tired, but still… him.
Too much him.
Ethan is beside him, coffee loyalty card in hand, clearly mid-conversation. He must be going with him to practice today.
But the second Jace’s eyes land on me, on us, his whole expression shuts down.
Just like last night.
Like it always has when he’s trying not to react to something that's bothering him.
His steps falter. The bag slips slightly on his shoulder. That muscle in his jaw ticks once, twice and then his teeth grind together.
Ethan follows his stare, then mutters, “Don’t,” under his breath.
It’s so quiet I shouldn’t hear it. But I do. Or maybe I think I do. Because really all I can hear is the pounding of my own pulse and how fast it is.
Jace ignores him completely and walks toward our table.
My stomach drops immediately.
Brian turns as Jace stops beside us, offering a tight nod like he’s rehearsing it in real time.
“Hey,” Jace says. Neutral. Too neutral. “Morning.”