EMMA
Even from here, I can tell he knows I'm watching. His lips twitch, not quite a smile, not quite a scowl, and then he turns and disappears inside his house.
I shut the blinds quickly and step back, my heart thumping faster than it should.
"Great," I whisper to myself. "Now he probably thinks I'm some creepy neighbor."
I crawl back into bed and pull the blanket over my head, determined to forget the look he gave me. But as I close my eyes, all I can see are those piercing eyes of his, they were cold, unreadable, and familiar in a strange way.
I tell myself it's just nerves. Just small-town weirdness getting under my skin.
But deep down, something in me whispers that moving back here might make me discover more than just old memories, and the thought of that makes me force myself to sleep.
Morning light slips through my window blinds, soft and hazy. Finally, day breaks, I thought the night wouldn't end. I blink awake, trying to shake off the unease from yesterday – from last night. I brew instant coffee, but it tastes like cardboard and regret, so I decide to head downtown instead. Maybe a real cup of coffee can fix a restless night and a confusing neighbor.
I tell myself that, but really, I just need to be around people again, people who didn't have mansions, tinted windows, or eyes that could freeze a person.
The little café at the corner of Maple and Fifth looks exactly how I remember it - warm wood panels, a chalkboard menu with blurred prices, and the faint hum of an old jazz tune. The kind of place that makes you forget the world outside isn't as gentle.
I slide into a corner booth after ordering my coffee , wrap my hands around a steaming mug, and let the aroma do what therapy can't.
I'm halfway through my coffee when the tiny silver bell above the door jingles, and a sudden hush rolls through the room. Conversations dip, just slightly. I don't even have to turn around. I feel it—the same unsettling awareness that pressed against my chest last night.
I glance up anyway.
It's him.
Gray coat. Crisp shirt. That same air of belonging nowhere but owning everywhere.
He steps up to the counter, orders in a voice that's low and smooth "Black. No sugar." I could hear him clearly still.
The girl behind the coffee bar nods quickly, too quickly, and hands him the cup like she's afraid to blink wrong.
I tell myself not to stare, but of course my eyes betray me. He turns just enough, those cold eyes flicking toward me for a second—long enough for my heart to do something stupid. His gaze lingers, unreadable, then drifts away again as if I were no more than background noise.
"Morning stakeout, or just admiring the view?" he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the space between us.
I blink, surprised he had just spoken to me. I could notice the few people in the café suddenly staring at me, probably wondering what my relationship with him was.
"You mean the public café view? Yeah, it's gorgeous and different from the view at my house. Especially when people drive like maniacs past my house," I reply him anyway.
One corner of his mouth tilts—half amusement, half challenge, everything about him wasn't plain. "You're still holding onto that?"
"Some stains don't wash off easily," I shoot back, lowering my mug.
He studies me for a beat longer, takes a long sip from his cup of coffee, then—almost too casually—sets his cup down on the counter, drops a few bills, and turns to leave.
"Then I suppose you'll have to get used to me driving by," he says, and just like that, he's gone.
The bell jingles again, and the café exhales with him. I sit there, stunned and mildly furious, staring into my coffee like it might explain what just happened. The few eyes around digging at me like I had just spoken to the devil.
Maybe I had.
Beneath all my annoyance, there's something else—something I can't seem to name yet. I get up from the booth, counted some dollar bills and dropped on the counter before leaving the café too.
Outside, I look around like I was looking for something or someone – maybe him. The air outside the café is cooler than I expected. I pull my coat tighter and start walking toward my car, trying to convince myself I'm not still thinking about him — the arrogance, the way he said, "you'll have to get used to me."
"Not a chance," I mutter under my breath, unlocking the door.
Just as I'm about to start the engine, my phone buzzes. I don't need to check the screen to know who it is. The ringtone alone makes my jaw tighten.
I stare at it for a second, then sigh and pick up.
"Josh, if this is about money again—"
"It's not, I sorted that out like you asked me to," he cuts in quickly. "Relax, Em. You sound off. Everything okay over there?"
I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, it's called moving into a haunted memory and being splashed with mud by some douchebag. Everything's just perfect."
He chuckles softly, but there's concern in his tone. "You sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine, Josh. Just tired. The house still smells like dust and grief, but I'll survive."
He hesitates for a beat before saying, "I might come over soon. Just for a few days."
I freeze, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "Josh, no. Please tell me you're joking."
"Why? You said you're fine, but you don't sound fine. You shouldn't be alone in that big old house."
"I chose to be alone," I snap, then sigh, softening my voice. "Josh, I just started settling in. I don't have space or patience for visitors right now."
"I'm your brother Emma, I'm not a visitor. Fine, I'll sleep on the couch. You won't even notice me," he says, trying to sound light, but I can hear the stubbornness in his voice.
"Josh—"
"Soon, Em. I'll text you."
The line clicks dead before I can argue. I drop my phone into my lap, staring out the windshield for a long moment.
"Great," I mutter. "Because what I really needed right now was a family reunion."
Then, as if the universe is joining in on the joke, my phone pings again. I glance at the screen and groan. Work reminder: First day, 9:00 a.m.
"Right," I mumble, starting the car. "Let's add a brand-new job to the list of disasters."
I type Maplewood General Hospital into the GPS and set my phone on the holder. I'll be late if I don't get there in 20 minutes. I shake my head, pressing harder on the gas.
First day, new job—let's try not to get lost on top of everything else.