Chapter 4
Gianna
The café was packed with the usual late afternoon crowd—students hunched over laptops, remote workers being productive, a group of grad students arguing loudly about something philosophical in the corner.
Archie reached the door first and held it open, gesturing me through.
We found a small table near the window.
“I can pay for my own coffee,” I said, out of habit more than anything.
“I know you can,” he replied, already handing his card to the barista. “But I asked you here, so I’m paying. Consider it the price of three years of curiosity.”
I let it go because honestly, watching him be quietly insistent about something so small was oddly charming.
We sat across from each other and for a moment neither of us spoke. I wrapped my hands around my cup, absorbing the warmth, trying to figure out what you were supposed to say to someone you’d spent one perfect night with three years ago and never expected to see again.
He looked different in the daylight. Still handsome, but I could see details I’d missed that night—the way his hair fell slightly when he leaned forward, how his eyes looked lighter with the afternoon sun coming through the window.
Archie broke the silence first. “I tried to find you after that night. Asked Hector once how you were doing, but he just said you were fine and didn’t offer details.”
“That sounds like Hector,” I said, relaxing slightly. “He’s protective of people’s privacy. Wouldn’t give you my number even if you’d asked directly.”
“I figured.” He turned his cup in his hands.
Then he looked at me, and something in his expression made my pulse forget its normal rhythm.
“That night on the terrace meant something to me. You meant something to me. Maybe the timing just wasn’t right.”
Suddenly, my coffee cup felt too hot in my hands. I’d spent three years telling myself that night had been a fluke, a moment out of time that didn’t need to mean anything beyond what it was. But sitting here looking at him now, I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t mattered.
I set the cup down carefully, buying myself a second to think. To decide how honest I wanted to be.
“It meant something to me too,” I admitted finally.
His expression softened, relief visible in the way his shoulders dropped slightly.
“Though I should probably be embarrassed,” I added, “about how much I told a complete stranger.”
“Don’t be.” His voice was quiet, sincere. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t usually share that much either. Something about that night made it easy.”
“Still. I don’t usually overshare like that.”
“Good. I’d hate to think I wasn’t at least a little special.” His mouth curved and there it was, that smile that had made me forget my own name three years ago.
I took a sip of my coffee, needing something to do with my hands.
“So what about now?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “Is the timing right?”
I looked at him, at the way he was watching that made my pulse skip. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re both just nostalgic.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying me in that way he had that made you feel like you were the most interesting thing he’d encountered all day.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think it’s just nostalgia.”
The directness of it caught me off guard. Most guys I’d met—not that there had been many—played games or tried to be mysterious or at least pretended they weren’t interested even when they obviously were. Archie just said what he thought.
“You’re very sure of yourself,” I said.
“Not really.” He laughed, and the sound was self-deprecating. “I’m actually terrible at this. I haven’t been on a date in over a year and even that was a disaster. My friend Jake says I’m too intense and it scares people off.”
“Are you intense?”
“Probably. I tend to care too much about things that I’m not supposed to care about.” He paused. “Sorry… that sounded less pathetic in my head.”
I laughed softly. “No, I get it. Caring too much is exhausting.”
We sat in that moment, the café noise fading into background static while we looked at each other across a small table littered with coffee cups and napkins.
“So,” I said, needing to redirect before the silence stretched too long. “Real estate development,” I said. “Do you like it?”
He was quiet for a moment, turning his cup in his hands. “Honestly? I’m trying to like it. Or at least trying to make it into something I can live with.”
“What does that mean?”
He was quiet for a moment, like he was deciding how honest to be.
“I’ve spent the last few years realizing good intentions don’t mean much when the business model itself is the problem.”
“That sounds frustrating.”
“It is.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I keep thinking if I can find the right approach, I can make it work differently.”
“That’s better than not trying,” I said. “Most people in positions of power don’t even bother with reform. They just maintain the status quo and call it business.”
Something crossed his face that looked like relief, like I’d said exactly what he needed to hear.
“What about you?” he asked. “How’s law school treating you this time around?”
“Hard,” I admitted. “I’m the oldest person in most of my classes, which makes me feel ancient in law-school years.
And I’m constantly behind because I didn’t do the whole law review thing the first time around, so everyone else has connections and internships and I’m just trying to keep my head above water. ”
“But you’re doing it.”
“I’m doing it,” I confirmed. “One more round of exams and then I’m actually a lawyer to protect people’s rights.”
“That’s good,” he said. “The world needs more lawyers willing to fight for people instead of corporations.”
We talked for another hour, conversation flowing easily between serious topics and lighter ones.
He told me about auditing classes at NYU, about how he was trying to understand legal frameworks better so he could be more effective at his job.
I told him about working at the legal aid clinic, about how satisfying it was to actually help people instead of just reading about helping people in textbooks.
The café started to empty out as afternoon turned to early evening. Students packed up their laptops and headed out, the remote workers finally admitting defeat and calling it a day. We’d been sitting there for almost two hours, though it felt like twenty minutes.
“I need to head back now,” I said reluctantly. “I have case files to review before tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I have a meeting later anyway.” He stood when I did, and we gathered our things.
Outside, the late afternoon air was crisp and clear.
“Can I drive you home?” Archie asked. “If it’s not too far.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware of how that sounded. “I think I’m good with the subway,” I said, trying to sound casual.
His mouth quirked. “Am I moving too fast?”
“What makes you think we’re moving at all?”
“Instinct.” He stepped slightly closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him properly. “Something tells me I’m going to see you again. And maybe next time we could do dinner instead of coffee?”
The invitation was clear. I wanted to tell him that I had finals coming up, a massive case to prepare, a million reasons why dating anyone right now was a terrible idea.
But when I opened my mouth, what came out was: “Dinner sounds good.”
His smile could’ve lit up the entire street. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me your number so I can actually contact you this time instead of hoping I randomly run into you again.”
I recited my number and watched him type it in, his fingers quick and sure on the screen. My phone buzzed a second later with a text that just said:
Archie
It’s Archie. In case you forgot.
“I didn’t forget,” I said.
“I know.” He looked at me for a long moment. “I’m really glad I ran into you today.”
“So am I,” I replied.
“I’ll see you soon.”
I walked toward the subway with my heart beating faster than it should.
I met Sam at our usual spot an hour later, a place called The Redwood that his boyfriend Tyler owned.
It was tucked into a basement in the Village, all exposed brick and warm lighting with a bar made from reclaimed wood.
Tyler had bought it two years ago and turned it into the kind of place that attracted professionals who wanted craft cocktails and actual conversation instead of club music.
Sam was already there when I arrived, sitting at the bar and talking to Tyler about something that was making them both laugh. He saw me walk in and immediately stopped mid-sentence, his eyes tracking me as I crossed the room.
“Well, well,” he said as I approached. “Look who’s glowing.”
“I’m not glowing.”
“You’re definitely glowing. Tyler, is she glowing?”
Tyler looked up from the glass he was drying. “She looks happy.”
“Exactly. Suspiciously happy.” Sam patted the stool next to him. “Sit. Spill.”
I slid onto the stool. “Can’t I just be in a good mood?”
“After a full day of classes? Absolutely not.” He leaned closer. “Something happened.”
Tyler poured me a drink without asking what I wanted, something amber that he’d probably been experimenting with. “Maybe she just had a good day.”
“Or,” Sam said, “something interesting happened. And she’s going to tell us what.“
I took a sip of my drink and decided there was no point in dragging it out. “I ran into Terrace Guy today.”
Sam’s eyes went so wide I thought they might actually fall out of his head. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“Terrace Guy. The guy from three years ago. The one-night stand you never shut up about.”
“I don’t talk about him that much.”
“Gianna, you literally compared every date I tried to set you up with to him. Remember Marcus from Contracts? You said he was nice but he wasn’t Terrace Guy.”
“Marcus talked about his ex for forty-five minutes straight.”
“Okay, fair. But still.” Sam leaned forward like this was the most interesting thing that had happened all year. “Start from the beginning. Where did you see him? What did he say? Are you seeing him again?”
“I ran into him after class. We got coffee. And yes, we’re getting dinner.”
“Dinner.” Sam repeated the word. “You. Gianna Pearson. Who hasn’t been on a date in two years. Are going to dinner. With Terrace Guy.”
“His name is Archie.”
“I don’t care if his name is Prince Charming, you need to be careful.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Careful?”
“Yes, careful. Men are a disaster these days, Gi. They’re all walking red flags hiding behind nice smiles and good cologne.”
“You’re a man,” I pointed out.
“I’m the exception. And Tyler, obviously.” He gestured at his boyfriend. “But other than us? Trash. All of them.”
Tyler laughed. “I love how you just lumped yourself into the ‘not trash’ category.”
“Because I’m self-aware enough to know my worth.”
“And humble,” I added.
“Extremely humble.” Sam turned back to me, his expression going serious. “But really. Are you sure about this? You don’t even know this guy.”
“I know enough.”
“That’s what every woman says before she ends up on a true crime podcast.”
“Sam.”
“I’m just saying. Be careful. Guard your heart. Don’t give him everything right away.”
I smiled at him, touched despite the dramatics. “I promise I’ll be careful. I always am.”
“Good.” He picked up his drink. “But if he hurts you, Tyler and I will destroy him.”
“Absolutely,” Tyler agreed. “I know people.”
“You own a bar.”
“A bar where I know people who know people.”
I laughed and felt some of the tension from the day ease out of my shoulders. This was good, sitting here with Sam and Tyler, joking about nothing important while the jukebox played something by The Cure.
But even as we talked and laughed and Sam told increasingly ridiculous stories about his latest case, I couldn’t stop thinking about Archie.
About the way he’d looked at me across that coffee table.
And how, for the first time in three years, I felt that same flutter of anticipation I’d felt on the terrace.
And against every bit of common sense I had, I found myself looking forward to seeing him again.