Chapter 5
Scarlett walked into the office a few minutes late, holding her coffee like armor. The reception area of Langford & Pierce Architects had the usual low buzz—phones ringing, printers running, keyboards clicking. Nothing new.
She slid into her chair and opened her laptop, pretending to dive into work. But her mind wasn't on floor plans or client emails.
Her phone lit up.
Unknown Number:
Hey, it's Jace. Didn't expect today to feel this normal. You okay?
She read it twice before replying.
Scarlett:
Normal's a stretch, but yeah. At work. You?
Jace:
Same. Early briefing. Stuck in traffic. Not sure this counts as productive.
Scarlett smirked, setting her phone down for a second. She stared at the half-finished sketch on her screen, but her mind stayed on the message. It still felt strange—running into someone she never expected to see again, and now… this back-and-forth.
Jace:
You always sketch when you're thinking? I remember that notebook.
She paused, then typed.
Scarlett:
It helps me focus. Even when I don't know what I'm thinking about.
Just then, Megan leaned over the cubicle wall, raising an eyebrow. "You texting someone?"
Scarlett glanced up. "No."
Megan gave her a look. "Uh-huh."
She waited until Megan walked away before checking her phone again.
Jace:
I get that. I make lists. Even for dumb stuff. Habit from the Marines, maybe.
Scarlett stared at the sentence for a moment. Not because it was deep, but because it was… normal. Jace wasn't overthinking. He wasn't pushing. He was just there.
Scarlett:
So what does a security consultant actually do? You never really said.
Jace:
Depends on the day. Sometimes it's boring paperwork. Sometimes it's watching someone's house for hours. I used to be stationed overseas. Now it's private work. Not exciting, just a job.
Scarlett smiled. That was a tone she recognized. People who'd been through a lot usually described things like they didn't matter.
Scarlett:
Still sounds intense.
Jace:
Yours sounds calmer. Designing homes and all.
Scarlett:
Some days. Other days it's clients changing their minds every hour, or dealing with city permits.
She leaned back in her chair. For the first time in a while, she felt like she could just talk to someone. Not work. Not drama. Just… talk.
Jace:
Do you regret that night?
Scarlett froze, reading the message again. Honest question.
Scarlett:
No. Just surprised it's still part of my life now.
Jace:
Yeah. Same.
She didn't reply right away, and he didn't send anything else. Just left it there. Scarlett liked that. No pressure. No awkward follow-up. Just space.
She turned back to her work, opened her files, and finally started doing what she came here to do. But her phone stayed close.
By lunchtime, Scarlett had barely finished half the work she was supposed to get done.
She stood from her desk, stretched, and grabbed her bag. Megan appeared again, munching on something from a paper container. "You heading out?"
"Yeah. Need some air."
Megan gave her a look that said she knew more than she let on. "Air or answers?"
Scarlett ignored her and left the office.
Outside, the wind was sharp, but it helped clear her head. She walked around the block once before finding a quiet bench near a café. She sat, pulled out her phone, and looked at Jace's last message again.
She didn't regret the night. Not the way she thought she would. It had been messy, impulsive, emotional—but not empty. And now, talking to him again… it didn't feel like a mistake.
She started typing.
Scarlett:
Do you regret it?
It only took him a minute.
Jace:
No. Just didn't think I'd ever see you again. And definitely not in a lounge off 9th Street.
She smiled to herself.
Scarlett:
Do you usually ask women for their number weeks after sleeping with them?
Jace:
Only the ones who steal my towel.
She laughed out loud. A real laugh. It felt good, like something heavy had been lifted off her chest.
Jace:
You free this weekend?
The question made her stomach twist. Not in a bad way—more like something she didn't expect.
Scarlett stared at the screen. She could say no. She could pretend she was busy. But she didn't want to lie—not to herself, not to him.
Scarlett:
Yeah. I am.
Jace:
Coffee? Or something less typical.
Scarlett:
Coffee works. If you promise not to wear another black jacket and act all mysterious.
Jace:
No promises. The jacket stays. The mystery might fade.
She shook her head, smiling, then stood and headed back to the office, her phone still in hand.
Back at her desk, Scarlett finally focused. She buried herself in layouts and sketches, pushing everything else aside. When her phone buzzed again, she ignored it.
An hour later, she finally picked it up. The message was simple.
Jace:
Saturday. 10 a.m. Brew District Café. I'll grab the table by the window.
Scarlett stared at the screen. No emojis. No pressure. Just a plan.
Friday night, Jace stood in front of the mirror, towel around his waist, running a hand through damp hair. His phone lit up on the counter — Scarlett's name glowing at the top of their messages.
He couldn't get her out of his head.
There was something about her — the way she smiled like she was holding back, how she stayed guarded but didn't shut him out. That night in Vegas had been a mess, but she'd stuck around. Not like a blur, more like a mark.
He pulled on a black t-shirt and jeans — simple, clean. He tossed his leather jacket over a chair, grinning to himself. She teased him about it, but he wasn't taking fashion advice from someone who drank sweet red wine from a tiny bottle.
The front door opened.
"Yo," Manson called, stepping inside with a six-pack and chips. "You alive or dead?"
"Bathroom," Jace replied, stepping out.
Manson flopped onto the couch. "You've been off since Tuesday. What's going on?"
Jace grabbed a beer. "Remember that girl from Vegas?"
Manson smirked. "Which one? Regret Number 19 or Towel Thief?"
"Towel thief."
"She's hot," Manson laughed. "You see her again?"
"Yeah. At some lounge Naomi dragged her to. Didn't recognize her at first."
"And?"
"She gave me her number."
Manson leaned back, grinning. "Damn. So, what's next?"
"Coffee. Tomorrow morning."
Manson looked at his clean sneakers. "Nervous?"
Jace shook his head, but the smile said otherwise.
"She's smart, funny," Jace said. "We actually talked. Not just the usual nonsense. It felt real."
Manson nodded. "Sounds like you're thinking about a second towel."
Jace smirked. "Shut up."
"Just be yourself, man. No show. She'll see through that."
Jace sighed. "Yeah."
Manson raised his beer. "Good luck. Hope she's worth the jacket."