Chapter 21
My mornings now began with a memory. A flash of the past, served with my coffee. Every new day came with an old memory to keep me going.
Every returned memory was a piece of a blueprint. A blueprint of the man she had fallen for, and the man who had later failed her. They weren’t just nostalgic memories. They were motivation, fueling a single, focused goal.
I had given Alessia the divorce because it was what she wanted. What she needed. It was the one selfless act I could manage. To stop fighting for the broken thing I’d made of our marriage and finally, truly, listen to her.
But a signed document didn’t mean I had to let her go from my heart. It didn’t mean I had to accept a future without her in it.
I was not going to let her go. Not in the way that mattered.
I was going to earn her back. Not as her husband. Not through reminders of the past or grand, empty promises. I would earn the right to stand beside her again by becoming the man she should have had all along.
She left because of me. Because of my absence, my silence, my failure to share my burdens, my choice of my company’s survival over our marriage’s heartbeat. I was the variable that broke the equation.
Therefore, I was the variable that needed to change.
I needed to learn how to be better. Not just for her, but because the man she had loved once was buried under layers of stress and silence, and it was time to dig him out and build someone stronger in his place.
I needed to become someone worthy of standing beside her again. Someone who could stand beside her without dimming her light.
The memories were the map, and the work had already started.
Today, I got to relive our first meeting.
I hurried into the cafe and checked my watch. I was five minutes late. Liam hadn’t given me much time when he’d told me about her.
My eyes searched the cafe, passing over an old couple at one table, two women at another, and then finally landing on the single woman sitting at a table near the window.
Her hands were folded around her cup, light spilling across the table in front of her.
My attention stalled there.
I took a steadying breath and hurried to the table. “Alessia?”
She looked up. Her eyes met mine for a second before flicking pointedly to her watch.
I thrust my hand out for a handshake. She didn’t take it. “Hi. I’m Cassian Sterling. I know I’m late. Liam only told me about this half an hour ago, and I’d just left a breakfast meeting across town. I came as fast as I could.”
She frowned, a faint line appearing between her brows. “Why are you here and not Liam?”
Because he’s an idiot.
“Because he’s an idiot,” I blurted out.
My eyes widened the moment I said it. A flush of heat climbed my neck.
Her brows lifted, and a flicker of amusement softened her features. Finally, she reached out and took my hand.
Her skin was icy. A shock of cold against my palm, as if she’d been holding snow.
Without thinking, I tightened my grip, my thumb pressing lightly against the back of her knuckles, hoping to transfer some warmth.
“Nice to meet you, Cassian.” She released my hand, the cold lingering on my skin. “How is Liam an idiot?”
I glanced at the empty chair across from her.
“You can sit,” she said.
I took the seat. “I didn’t mean idiot idiot. He’s just… chronically date-blind. When we were kids, I had to remind him of the important days. He tries on his own, though—calendars, alarms, the whole system—but there’s always one thing he forgets to log. One thing that slips through.”
She smiled. It was a polite, practiced curve of her lips that didn’t touch her eyes. “And this time, I got the honor.”
My gaze stayed on that empty smile. “It seems so.”
“So I’m guessing he’s either not in the city,” she said, “or somewhere so important he can’t leave?”
I sighed. “He’s out of the city.”
She shook her head, a tiny, exasperated movement, and muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “This will be a fun story to tell.” Then she looked at me, her expression shifting back to polite finality. “It was very nice meeting you, Cassian. I should get going—”
A loud, low grumble cut through the quiet cafe.
My hand flew to my stomach, pressing down as if I could silence the betrayal. I closed my eyes, a wave of pure, undiluted embarrassment washing over me.
Liam was going to owe me for life.
I opened my eyes to find Alessia studying me, her head tilted. “Were you in one of those breakfast meetings without the breakfast?”
I cleared my throat, my hand falling from my stomach. “No, there was food.”
“Did they tell you they wouldn’t work with you if you ate?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Do you get shy eating around other people?”
“No.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her gaze intent. Almost instinctively, I mirrored her, leaning in across the small space.
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “This is the part where you tell me the real reason you couldn’t eat at the meeting and stop me from making assumptions.”
I straightened, a flush creeping up my neck again. “Right. Sorry. My brain… it sort of short-circuits when I’m this hungry.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I’m just… really, really hungry.”
Amusement danced across her features. “I can tell.” She leaned back and opened the menu, her eyes scanning it with efficient speed. “Do you have any allergies?”
“Oh, no. None.”
She caught the server’s attention, then glanced back at me. “Any preferences?”
“Anything’s fine,” I said automatically.
She ordered two breakfast platters and coffee. It wasn’t until the server nodded and walked away that the social circuitry in my brain finally processed the sequence of events.
Wait. She just… I didn’t… She ordered for me. I let her order for me. I was supposed to—
“Oh, shit,” I blurted out, panic sharpening my voice. “I’m sorry, I would’ve ordered. I should’ve—it’s just that my brain—”
“…is all jumbled because you’re starving,” she finished.
I paused. Exhaled.
“Yes,” I admitted. “That. Exactly that.”
A smile slowly spread across her face, reaching all the way to her hazel eyes and warming them to green.
My eyes remained fixed on her, captivated by the change that had come over her face. The smile wasn’t the careful one she wore when she was being polite or the teasing curve of her lips. This one reached every corner of her face.
“So that’s what it looks like,” I murmured, too absorbed in her to remember she could hear me.
Her smile lingered, but her brows pulled together in confusion. “What?”
I met her gaze. “Your real smile.”
She blinked, the confusion in her expression deepening. “My real smile?”
I nodded, unable to look away now that I’d seen it. “Yeah. The one that crinkles the corners of your eyes.” My eyes traced her face before returning to hers. “The one that brings out all that green in your hazel eyes.”
My chest tightened with a tenderness I wasn’t prepared for.
“It’s beautiful.”
The air between us stilled, charged with a sudden, unexpected vulnerability.
The sounds of the café faded into a distant hum.
For a heartbeat too long, neither of us moved.
Then, almost in unison, we broke the connection.
I cleared my throat, looking down at the table.
She turned her gaze toward the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.
“You asked me a question,” I said, my voice a little rough, pulling us gently back.
She nodded, her gaze fixed on a sugar packet she was turning slowly between her fingers. “I did.”
“Right. Okay,” I started, gathering my thoughts. “So, when I’m working, I like to focus on just that. Completely.”
I met her gaze, willing her to understand the system.
“If I’m eating, part of my brain is on the taste, the texture, not dropping crumbs.
It requires a different kind of attention.
It splits my focus. I feel like if I’m eating, I’m not fully hearing.
So, if a meeting involves food, I don’t eat.
I work.” I shrugged. “I can just eat later.”
She tilted her head, not judging, but processing. “What happens on a very long work day? Do you just… not eat the whole day?”
A flicker of memory surfaced before I could stop it—the sterile glow of library lights humming past midnight, a graveyard of empty coffee cups, my phone screen lighting up with ignored messages.
The visceral memory of a protein bar eaten in three frantic bites between assignments.
The half-sandwich left on my desk, forgotten until it was cold and unappealing.
She saw the truth flicker across my face before I could hide it. Her eyes widened just a fraction. “You actually do that, don’t you?”
I looked down at the table, tracing a grain in the wood with my thumb. “I don’t have to answer that,” I muttered.
The food arrived then, saving me.
She thanked the server, then her eyes returned to me, analytical. “So how does this work? Will you not be able to eat if I’m talking to you right now?”
I shook my head, already reaching for my fork.
“No, that’s completely different. That meeting…
the stakes were high. My company’s future was literally on the table.
Decisions that could change everything. When I’m in something like that, my brain narrows.
” I took a bite, the flavors exploding, grounding me.
“Here? This is good. This is… pleasant. Easy. I don’t have to use my brain that much here. ”
She leaned back, a smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, you’re definitely not using your brain here.”
I pretended to wince, placing a hand over my heart. “Ouch.”
She laughed.
The sound hit me square in the chest. It was bright, unguarded, and seemed to unlock something in the atmosphere, flooding the space between us with a sudden, palpable warmth. I paused, my hand halfway to my mouth, arrested by the feeling.
A quiet, unexpected thought drifted through my mind: Were her hands so cold because she spent all her warmth like this? Giving it away to the people around her?
After that, the conversation didn’t stop. It just… kept finding new places to go.