Chapter 15 Alex
ALEX
The bell above the coffee shop door chimed as I stepped inside, and instantly the smell of espresso and sugar hit me. Normally, I liked it here with Belle’s sarcastic commentary, the cozy tables, and the chance to grab a cookie before rehearsal.
But today?
Today I was here for one reason.
Well . . . one person.
Ever since our date, I hadn’t been able to get her out of my head.
The way she laughed, the way she tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the way her eyes softened when she talked about Ava.
Even the moment outside her car, when she’d stopped the kiss, it hadn’t scared me off. If anything, it made me like her more.
Slow.
I could do slow.
I ordered my coffee, fingers drumming lightly against the counter.
Belle raised an eyebrow at me, smirking like she’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“Are you meeting someone?” she asked, sliding a cup toward me.
I tried to be casual. Failed miserably.
“I don’t know what you're talking about.”
“Mm-hmm.” She leaned on the counter. “Tall, gorgeous viking queen, emotionally unavailable but in like . . . a sexy way?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Belle.”
She grinned. “Don’t worry. She’s here.”
My heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.
I turned, scanning the tables, and there she was.
Tucked in the corner, hair falling around her face, pencil tapping as she sketched in a way that made the whole world seem softer around her. She looked peaceful. Focused. Beautiful.
“Go,” Belle whispered dramatically. “Before I go ask her out myself.”
I gave her a look.
She winked.
I took a breath, grabbed my coffee, and headed toward the corner table.
Each step felt ridiculous, like I was sixteen again, approaching the girl I’d been crushing on for months. My palms were sweating. My stomach was a mess. And I still couldn’t stop smiling.
She didn’t notice me at first. She was deep in her work, brow slightly furrowed, tongue poking out just a little in concentration. Adorable.
I cleared my throat gently.
Her pencil paused. She lifted her head.
And when she saw me, that smile.
That soft, startled, radiant smile that lit up her whole face.
I swear something in me just . . . melted.
“Is this seat taken?” I asked, trying and failing not to sound hopeful.
Her cheeks flushed just a little. She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”
“Good.”
I pulled out the chair, sitting across from her like it was exactly where I belonged.
Because, honestly? It felt like it was.
“Hi,” she said, voice warm.
“Hi,” I echoed, unable to stop the grin pulling at my mouth. “I, uh . . . hope it’s okay that I joined you.”
“It’s more than okay,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Her words went straight to my chest.
And sitting there across from her, watching her fingers curl around her pencil, and her eyes shine in the morning sunlight, I knew one thing for sure. I was already falling.
Up close, she was even more beautiful than I remembered.
Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, sunlight catching the pale gold strands like they were lit from within. Her cheeks were pink and her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. And her body . . .
God.
I tried not to stare. I really did. But my eyes kept slipping to the curve of her waist, the soft roundness of her hips and thighs in those jeans, the way her tank top hugged her chest just enough that I had to force myself not to look directly at her cleavage.
She was . . . stunning. In the kind of way that knocked the breath out of you if you weren’t prepared for it.
And I absolutely wasn’t prepared.
I cleared my throat, dragging my gaze upward before I got caught.
“So,” I said, nodding toward the sketchbook, “what are you working on?”
She glanced down, almost bashful, like she’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Um—just . . . something for fun.”
“For fun?” I leaned forward, intrigued. “Eleanor, this is—”
I reached out, stopping myself before I actually touched the page. “—this is incredible.”
Her blush deepened. “Thank you. I haven’t really worked on anything new in a long time.”
I let myself actually take in the page. A little girl on roller skates. Wild hair. Scuffed knees. Determination radiating off the page.
“She’s fierce,” I said.
“She’s trying to be.”
She shrugged, that shy little gesture that made my heart tighten. “I think she’s the kind of girl who gets knocked down a lot but just . . . keeps going.”
“She looks like she could take on the world,” I said, smiling. “Kind of reminds me of someone.”
Her eyes flicked up in surprise. “Of who?”
“You,” I said simply.
Her breath caught, just the softest inhale, and suddenly I was very aware of how close we were sitting. How much I wanted to reach across the table and tuck that loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Instead, I forced myself to stay still.
“So . . . is this for fun?” I asked, gesturing lightly. “Or something else?”
Her fingers traced the edge of the page almost unconsciously. “Something else. Maybe a book. I’m still figuring it out.”
“A book?” My eyebrows shot up. “Wait.. are you writing and illustrating something new?”
She nodded, nervous and excited all at once. “I actually emailed my agent with the idea.”
“That’s amazing.”
I meant it. Every word.
We sat there for a moment, just smiling at each other like absolute idiots.
“How was your day?” she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m not going to lie . . . it was rough. Leo outgrew his favorite pants. And I can’t seem to find any seamless pants in his size now. And you know there is no enemy like seams.”
A smile covered her face. “Don’t I know it. Seams are dangerous things in my house, too.”
We chatted as she continued to draw. It was dangerously close to smitten with this woman, but I wasn’t sure of my next move.
I hadn’t had any ‘moves’ since Becca . .
. and those were really moves. That was more like asking her father for permission.
I was thrillingly out of my depth with this woman.
I stood to grab us both a refill, mostly because I needed a second to breathe.
As I approached the counter, Belle raised an eyebrow the second she saw my face.
“Damn,” she whispered. “You’ve got it bad.”
I ignored her.
Or tried to.
I returned to our table with the coffee, and there she was, running her fingers lightly over her sketch, brow furrowed in concentration, lips parted just a little like she was lost in the world she was creating.
It hit me like a punch right in the ribs.
There it is.
That feeling.
Warm.
Terrifying.
Hopeful.
Yearning, if I was brave enough to name it.
“Thanks,” she said, wrapping both hands around the cup like it was a precious thing.
“You’re welcome.”
My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
“So,” I said, “how’s Ava doing school? I know it’s a big adjustment.”
She exhaled, but it wasn’t the stressed kind, more the kind where you finally let yourself hope. “Honestly? She’s doing better than I expected. She still has rough days, but . . . she’s making friends. Or at least acquaintances. And she loves the Penguin Project.”
I grinned. “That’s huge.”
“It really is,” she said, brushing a crumb from her lap. “I think the mentor system helps her feel safe. And she said Leo sat with her at music yesterday.”
“I know,” I said, chuckling. “He came home talking about how she likes the ‘good creepy stuff,’ whatever that means.”
Her smile went radiant. “She probably told him about her monster drawings.”
“Oh, she definitely did,” I said. “He came home and asked me if we could build a haunted house in the backyard. In April.”
She laughed.
It wasn’t a polite laugh. It wasn’t a little chuckle.
It was full, bright, musical, from the belly.
It made her eyes crinkle, and her shoulders relax, and she tilted her head back just enough that her hair fell over her shoulder in a perfect golden wave.
And I swear to god, her laugh might have been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
I felt it in my chest.
“So what did you tell him?” she asked, still smiling.
I shrugged, leaning closer without meaning to. “I told him we could draw out plans. He’s been working on a cave made out of cardboard boxes.”
She laughed again, softer this time, but still warm. “You know you’re in trouble, right? If you encourage him, he’ll drag you straight to the ends of the earth.”
“I know,” I said. “Honestly? I kind of like going there with him.”
Something flickered in her eyes, admiration, maybe. Or affection. Or something I shouldn’t think about too hard yet.
We kept talking about the kids, about the Penguin Project, about the weirdness of small-town life. It felt easy. Natural. Like we’d fallen into the middle of a conversation we’d been having for years.
Before I knew it, rehearsal was nearly over.
She gathered her sketchbook while I tossed our cups, and we walked side by side toward the rehearsal room, our shoulders brushing once, soft and electric.
“I should get her,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
For a moment, we stood there, not quite touching, not quite ready to say goodbye.
She smiled at me.
And something tender and dangerous pulled tight in my chest.
Her laugh, I thought, might be my new favorite sound.