Chapter Twelve
Vanessa
Favorite Crime
Olivia Rodrigo
Sunday mornings in my apartment are usually quiet in the best possible way.
No alarms. No deadlines. No museum donors pretending they understand restoration techniques because they watched a documentary once.
Just coffee, soft music drifting through the speakers in the kitchen, and the slow comfort of a day that belongs entirely to me.
Vinny stretches across the foot of the bed as sunlight filters through the windows in pale golden strips, one lazy paw extending dramatically when I finally push the blankets back.
“Yes, your life is very hard.”
He blinks at me without concern.
I pad barefoot into the kitchen, pulling my hair into a loose knot as I start the coffee machine. Outside, the city feels slower than usual. Late October has settled fully over Chicago now, the trees lining the street below painted in a fresco of bright colors.
I sigh because I know in less than two weeks, most of the trees will be bare. It’s cold enough this morning that half the people outside already have scarves wrapped around their necks. I like this time of year. The holidays are just around the corner, and with them, the city becomes a wonderland.
The apartment smells faintly like sandalwood from the candle I forgot to blow out last night. My gaze drifts automatically toward the living room window, and despite myself, I smile. I know I should be concerned, but I’m not. It’s just his way.
The text exchange from last night loops through my head again before I can stop it. Hayden outside my apartment. Hayden somehow getting my number. Hayden making me laugh. It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous… But I won’t lie to myself; he always was my favorite crime.
I make up my mug of coffee and lean against the counter, staring down at my phone for a second longer than necessary before opening my messages. No new texts from him. Which is probably for the best. And somehow slightly disappointing.
“This is embarrassing for you,” I mutter into my coffee. Vinny meows from somewhere behind me like he agrees.
I spend the next hour pretending I’m not thinking about my ex-boyfriend from a decade ago. I fail spectacularly. By ten-thirty, my closet looks like a minor emotional breakdown occurred inside it. “This is ridiculous.”
Three sweaters lay discarded across the bed. One pair of jeans abandoned on the chair near the window. Two different jackets folded and rejected beside them. It’s coffee. Not a date. Except, it kind of feels like one.
My phone buzzes against the dresser just as I’m pulling on a cream-colored sweater that somehow manages to look effortless despite the fact I’ve clearly thought too hard about it.
Nicole’s name flashes across the screen. I answer with a sigh. “You have excellent timing.”
Her face appears immediately, dark hair piled into a sleek clip while oversized sunglasses rest on top of her head despite the fact she’s clearly indoors. “You’re just getting dressed?”
“I’m dressed.”
Nicole’s expression stays perfectly flat. “Vanessa.”
I walk toward the mirror and reach for a pair of gold hoops. “What?”
“You canceled on Spencer Thursday night.”
“I rescheduled.”
“Mhm.”
I slide one earring into place. “You’re being annoying already.”
“And you’re avoiding the topic already.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth despite myself. Nicole notices instantly.
“There it is.” She points a finger at me through the screen.
“What?”
“That look.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely have a look.” She narrows her eyes slightly. “You’re smiling at your phone like a teenager and reorganizing your entire closet for coffee.”
“I changed twice.”
“How many times?” She calls me out like the pro she is.
I pause. “Okay, maybe three times.”
Nicole laughs softly. “This is the bassist, right?”
I groan quietly and move toward the kitchen for more coffee. “When you say it like that, I sound unstable.”
“You texted me at midnight.”
“I was processing.”
“You used three question marks, Vanessa. You were spiraling.”
“I do not spiral.”
Nicole just lifts a brow. The worst part is she’s not entirely wrong. I lean against the counter again, curling both hands around my mug. “It’s just strange.”
“That he’s back?”
“That I still-” I stop myself before the sentence fully forms.
Nicole’s expression softens slightly. “There it is,” she observes quietly.
The words settle deeper than I expect. Not because she’s talking about Hayden. Because she’s talking about me. The version of myself I thought had disappeared somewhere between growing up, rebuilding my life, and learning how to survive disappointment without letting it hollow me out completely.
“You know what the funny part is?” I glance at myself in the mirror across the room. “I thought seeing him again would feel smaller somehow. Like enough time had passed that it wouldn’t matter anymore.”
“And?”
I let out a slow breath. “It mattered immediately.”
Nicole studies me through the screen for a second too long. “Are you happy about that?”
The answer comes too quickly. “I think I am.”
That seems to surprise both of us. A small smile pulls at the corner of Nicole’s mouth. “Well, that’s got to be terrifying.”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head.
“I’m serious,” she continues. “You don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Get emotionally involved.”
“It’s coffee.”
“It’s the second time within a week that you’re seeing the man you’ve compared every relationship to for the last ten years.”
My eyes narrow. “That feels a bit inflated.”
“It’s accurate.”
Unfortunately, it is. I walk into my living room and glance toward the clock on the stove.
10:47.
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
Nicole bursts out laughing. “Vanessa, you alphabetize your skincare when you’re anxious.”
“I like organization.”
“You color-coded your bookshelf after he texted you.”
“That was unrelated.”
“Sure.”
I shake my head, but she’s grinning now and somehow it shakes some of the nerves free. This feels normal. Easy. Like maybe I’m allowed to want this without immediately questioning my own judgment.
Nicole’s expression softens again after a moment. “Just be careful with yourself.”
The teasing fades enough for the concern underneath to show through. Not judgment.
Not even a warning. Just letting me know she cares.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” She tilts her head slightly. “That’s the problem.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes against the counter beside me. One new message. Hayden.
Here.
And just like that, my stomach flips. The message shouldn’t affect me the way it does.
It’s one word. Simple and direct. Completely Hayden. And somehow my pulse still stumbles over itself.
Nicole watches my expression shift through the screen and immediately points at me. “Oh, there it is again.”
“Shut up.” I defend through a smile as I grab my coat off the back of the chair. “I have to go.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I absolutely am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
I end the FaceTime before she can say anything else, though her laughter follows me right up until the screen goes dark.
“Traitor,” I mutter at my phone.
Vinny looks up from his spot on the couch, entirely uninterested in my emotional crisis.
I take one last glance in the mirror near the door, smoothing a hand over the front of my sweater before immediately catching myself. Get it together. It’s coffee. Not a life-altering event.
The second I step outside, cold October air wraps around me sharp enough to sting my eyes. The city feels quieter on Sunday mornings; traffic thinner, sidewalks crowded more with joggers and couples carrying paper coffee cups instead of tourists and business people.
The café sits exactly where I said it would, tucked beside a small independent bookstore next to the museum.
Warm light spills through the front windows, the inside crowded with worn leather chairs, dark wood tables, and the smell of espresso strong enough to settle deep in my nostrils before I even step through the door.
And then I see him. He’s standing near the back corner with one hand wrapped around a coffee cup, dark charcoal sweater pulled over broad shoulders, sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms. Faded, but crisp jeans. Boots. Casual in a way Hayden almost never used to be.
It catches me off guard slightly. So does the fact that he’s already watching the door.
Like he’s been waiting specifically for me to walk through it.
His expression changes the second our eyes meet.
Not dramatically. Hayden would never allow dramatic.
But something in him visibly eases, tension slipping loose beneath the surface with a subtlety most people probably wouldn’t notice.
But I do. Because I always did. And God help me, he’s still devastatingly attractive. Older now. Sharper around the edges. More self-contained somehow. But still him. Still the man capable of pulling every ounce of oxygen from a room just by looking at me too long.
His gaze drifts over me as I approach, not possessive exactly, but aware in a way that sends heat curling low in my stomach anyway.
“You look beautiful.”
The corner of my mouth lifts because I was just thinking the exact same thing about him. “Trying to make up for the stalking last night?”
“No.” He sets a second coffee down on the table beside him. “It’s the truth.”
That presses against something tender inside of me. I glance toward the cup. “You ordered already?”
“I hope that’s okay.” His eyes flick toward the counter. “I got you a double espresso, shot of chocolate.”
The warmth that moves through my chest is immediate and deeply unfair. “You remember my order?”
“I remember everything about you.” The words settle between us quietly. It’s not a flirt.
Not exaggeration. It’s just his truth. And somehow that’s worse. Or better. I honestly don’t know anymore.
A small smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “Still subtle, I see.”
“I don’t think I was ever subtle with you.”
No. He really wasn’t. I look away first, partly because I need the second to steady myself and partly because he’s watching me with entirely too much focus for eleven on a Sunday morning.
He’s chosen a small table near the window, tucked partially away from the rest of the café. Not hidden exactly. Just quieter. Intentional. Always intentional.
“You picked the least people-filled corner in the entire place.”
“I like hearing you talk without distractions.”
There it is again. That impossible intensity. Not overwhelming. Not performative. Just… Hayden.
I settle into the chair across from him, wrapping both hands around the warmth of my cup while outside, leaves tumble down the sidewalk beneath a cold gust of wind.
For a second, neither of us speaks. And strangely, it’s not awkward. It feels familiar. Like slipping into something I thought I lost years ago and somehow finding it still fits.