Chapter 10 #2
I can’t stop staring at the umbrella. I trace my finger over the delicate roses pressed into the handle. They’re subtle, easy to miss if you’re not paying attention. This isn’t a cheap one. It’s the kind built to last, to withstand actual storms.
Pain blooms beneath my ribs. For five years, I’ve convinced myself we weren’t real. That we were just kids playing at forever. That he moved on completely when he chose Seattle and his prestigious career.
But the coffee he delivers every morning tells a different story. This croissant tells a different story.
I bite into it. It’s still warm, layers flaking perfectly. The cherry filling strikes that ideal balance between sweet and tart. I make a small sound—partly because it tastes incredible, partly because of emotions I refuse to name.
Questions spiral through my mind as I eat.
Did he wake up extra early to get this when he saw the forecast?
Did he choose this umbrella specifically for the roses, or was it coincidence?
Has he been waiting for a rainy day to surprise me with a cherry croissant, or did he just seize today’s opportunity?
I take another bite. Another sip of coffee.
Rain batters the windows relentlessly, but I’m warm now.
The heat spreads from my hands to my chest to somewhere deeper.
This isn’t just coffee anymore. This isn’t just breakfast. This is Zayn demonstrating he remembers me.
The real me. Not just the obvious things, but the small details that define who I am.
The tiny specifics you only notice when you truly see someone.
And that terrifies me more than any storm.
Because if he still sees the real me, then my walls aren’t working. And if my walls aren’t working, what happens when he gets close enough to hurt me again?
I set down the croissant and suddenly remember I’m still dripping wet, my hair making a small puddle on the paper bag.
Stella was right—I desperately need to change.
I need dry clothes. I need to pull myself together.
But as I grab the spare scrubs and head toward the bathroom, I can’t help glancing back at my desk.
At the coffee. At the croissant. At the umbrella with those delicate roses on the handle.
And even though it terrifies me, I know without question that I’m taking that umbrella home tonight.
It’s after lunch when I spot him through the clinic window.
Zayn strides past wearing a black suit, phone pressed to his ear, looking intense and professional—full lawyer mode.
I freeze mid-step, clutching my clipboard.
My heart kicks into overdrive. I hadn’t planned to thank him, hadn’t planned to acknowledge anything.
But watching him walk by without even glancing toward the clinic—something shifts inside me.
Without overthinking it, I grab the umbrella from my desk and rush toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Jen at reception, who raises her eyebrows questioningly. I ignore her.
Outside, the air hangs heavy with moisture from this morning’s storm, though the rain has stopped for now. Puddles mirror the gray sky, and my shoes make wet slapping sounds as I jog after him.
“Zayn!” I call out, my voice pitching higher than intended. A couple walking their terrier turns to stare. Fantastic.
He stops and pivots slowly, like he can’t quite believe I’m calling his name in public. The surprise on his face would be comical if my heart wasn’t hammering so violently. He pockets his phone and looks at me like I might evaporate if he blinks.
“Sophie.” Just my name. Nothing else. But the way he says it makes my stomach do a double flip.
I stand there on the damp sidewalk with absolutely no idea what comes next. A car rushes past, splashing water from a pothole that barely misses us both.
“I, um—” I grip the umbrella handle tighter, using it to anchor myself. “Thank you. For the coffee. And this.” I lift the umbrella slightly. “And the croissant.”
I sound ridiculous. Like I’ve never expressed gratitude before in my life. But this is the first time in three weeks I’ve even acknowledged all his gestures, and we both know it. That knowledge hangs between us in the humid air.
Zayn’s expression softens. “You’re welcome.” He stays perfectly still, hands in his pockets, maintaining distance. Like he’s afraid I’ll bolt if he moves too quickly. He’s probably right.
“Cherry croissants,” I say, studying a puddle instead of meeting his eyes. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”
His mouth quirks upward at one corner. Almost a smile, but not quite. “I remember everything, Sophie.”
My face flushes despite the cool temperature. I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously, scrambling for words. A mother pushing a stroller navigates around us, wheels squeaking on the wet pavement.
“Well, anyway. Thanks.” I turn to flee back to the safety of the clinic.
“Sophie, wait.” His voice stops me cold.
I turn back, stomach knotting. Here it comes. Some declaration about how he’s changed, how much he’s missed me, or—
“I’m helping Dr. Martinez organize a fundraiser,” he says instead. “For the clinic.”
That wasn’t what I expected. At all. “A fundraiser?”
He nods, shifting his weight slightly. “We’re aiming to raise enough for a down payment so she can purchase the building outright instead of renting. Long-term security.”
I stare at him, processing. “Purchase it? That would cost…”
“Approximately eighty thousand for the down payment,” he says, slipping into attorney mode. “We’re planning a major event at Town Square. Silent auction, live music, the works. Dr. Martinez is already securing sponsors and major donors.”
“You’re organizing this?” I can’t mask my shock. “Why?”
His eyes lock onto mine, direct and honest. “Because it matters to you.”
I can’t breathe for a moment. He says it so matter-of-factly. Not to impress me or manipulate me. Just stating truth. I care about the clinic, therefore he cares too. Simple as that.
A water droplet slides from his hair down his jaw. I desperately want to reach out and brush it away. Instead, I squeeze the umbrella handle until it hurts.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it completely. “That’s… that’s incredible.”
He shrugs, but I catch the small smile. “Just doing what I can.”
Wind gusts suddenly, and I shiver involuntarily.
“You should go back inside,” he says gently. “You’re getting cold.”
I nod, but part of me wants to stay right here talking with him. Out here on the sidewalk, it feels easier than inside the clinic where I’ve fortified all my defenses. “Yeah, I should.”
We both linger too long. Cars pass. A seagull cries overhead. Sunlight breaks through the clouds, making the puddles shimmer like liquid silver.
I start walking away, then pause. “Zayn?”
“Yeah?” Those blue-gray eyes focus entirely on me.
“I love the umbrella.” I allow myself a small smile—my first genuine one since he returned. “Really. Thank you.”
Something shifts in his expression—relief, maybe hope. But he doesn’t push for more. He just nods and says, “Anytime, Sophie.”
We walk in opposite directions. I clutch the umbrella, feeling its solid weight in my hand. The air smells like wet concrete and distant ocean. Zayn’s footsteps fade behind me.
A fundraiser to save the clinic. To help us purchase the building instead of renting. It’s exactly what we need, and somehow he understood that before I did. This isn’t about me anymore—it’s about Dr. Martinez, about the animals we care for, about everyone who depends on this place.
When I push back through the clinic doors, my face feels different.
Then I realize why—I’m still smiling. Stella notices immediately from across the waiting room, her eyes widening with unasked questions.
I pretend not to see her expression and return to my desk, carefully placing the umbrella in its new permanent spot.
Outside, clouds gather darker. More rain is coming. But for the first time in a long while, I’m not afraid of getting caught in the storm.
After all, I have an umbrella now. One that won’t break when things get rough.