The bell above the door jingled as Lena stepped into Marlowe's Diner, the same greasy spoon where she and Ethan had spent countless afternoons as teenagers.
The smell of coffee and frying bacon wrapped around her like a memory she hadn't asked for. The red vinyl booths, the checkered floor, the faded jukebox in the corner—it was all frozen in time.
She slid into a booth by the window, trying to ignore the rush of nostalgia. She wasn't here to dwell on the past. She was here because it was the only place still open at this hour, and she needed a meal after the long ride back.
But Halston had other plans.
"Lena Hart."
Her stomach tightened at the sound of her name. She glanced up to see Marla Jennings, the town's unofficial gossip queen, standing with a coffee pot in hand and a knowing smirk on her lips.
"Well, well," Marla drawled. "Back from the big city, are we? Never thought I'd see you again."
Lena forced a polite smile. "Just visiting."
Marla's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Does Ethan know you're here?"
The question hit harder than it should have. Of course Marla would bring him up—Halston had never forgotten the golden couple they once were.
Before Lena could answer, the bell above the door chimed again. And fate, cruel as ever, delivered Ethan Cole straight into the diner.
He froze when he saw her sitting there, just as she froze with her coffee halfway to her lips. The air thickened, every sound in the diner fading to background static.
Ethan recovered first. He gave Marla a curt nod before striding toward the counter, deliberately avoiding Lena's gaze.
But she couldn't stop watching him. The way he moved, the way he ordered his coffee in the same low voice she remembered—it all clawed at the walls she'd built around her heart.
Finally, unable to resist, she spoke. "Ethan."
He turned, slowly, his expression unreadable. "You planning on staying long?"
The question was simple. The weight behind it was not.
"Just until I figure some things out," Lena said carefully.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Then figure them out fast." He grabbed his coffee and walked out, leaving her staring after him, her pulse racing.
For years, she'd imagined what it would be like to see him again. She'd pictured smiles, apologies, maybe even forgiveness. She hadn't imagined this wall of ice.
But as she sat alone in that old booth, one truth pressed heavy on her chest: whatever had been left unfinished between them was still alive—raw, unsettled, and waiting to break free.