The rain was coming down harder by the time I reached the coffee shop. Water streamed off the awning in sheets, turning the sidewalk into a shallow river. I stood outside for a second, hand on the door handle, heart hammering so loud I could hear it over the traffic.
Blue door. Just like he said.
I pushed it open.
Warm air hit me first coffee, cinnamon, the faint smell of wet wool from other people who'd ducked in from the storm. The place was small, dim, half-full. Wooden tables, mismatched chairs, fairy lights strung across the ceiling like someone had tried to make it cozy without trying too hard. Soft jazz played from hidden speakers.
He was already there.
In the back corner booth, facing the door. Black coat draped over the seat beside him, sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped around a mug he wasn't drinking from. His eyes found me the second I stepped inside.
He didn't stand. Didn't wave. Just watched me cross the room like he was afraid if he moved too fast I'd disappear.
I slid into the seat across from him. My coat dripped onto the floor. My hair stuck to my neck in wet clumps. I probably looked like a drowned cat, but he didn't seem to care.
"El," he said quietly.
"Alex."
Hearing his voice out loud real, and so close made my chest ache in a way I hadn't felt in years. Deeper than memory. Sharper.
He pushed a second mug toward me. Steam curled up from it. "Chamomile. Figured you still hated coffee when you're stressed."
I stared at the tea. Laughed once, short and shaky. "You remembered that?"
"I remember everything."
I wrapped my cold fingers around the mug. The heat seeped into my palms. I didn't drink yet. Couldn't. Not while he was looking at me like that, like I was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
"You didn't have to come," I said.
"I wanted to." He leaned forward a little, elbows on the table. "When you said the anniversary dinner didn't go great… I couldn't just sit there and do nothing."
I looked down at the tea. Watched the steam rise and disappear. "It was bad... Worse than bad. We barely talked. He promised no work, then spent half the night on his phone. He said he's tired. Said maybe we're both too tired to fix it."
Alexander didn't interrupt. Just listened. Really listened. The way Marcus used to before life got in the way.
"I cried in the car on the way home," I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Not loud. Just… quiet. Like I didn't want Sophia to hear. Like I didn't even want myself to hear."
He reached across the table slowly, carefully and covered my hand with his. His palm was warm. Steady. I didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You don't deserve that."
"I don't know what I deserve anymore." My eyes stung. "I keep thinking about what we had. What we almost had. And then I look at Sophia and I feel so guilty for even thinking about… this."
"About talking to an old friend?" he asked gently.
"About wanting more than polite kisses and promises that never stick."
His thumb brushed the back of my hand. One small stroke. Enough to make my breath hitch.
"I never stopped wanting you," he said. "Not for one day. I built everything I have thinking maybe one day you'd see it and know I kept my promise in the only way I could. That I made something real. Something big. Hoping it would be enough to come back for you."
"But I didn't wait," I whispered.
"You were eighteen. Scared. Your parents were drowning in debt. I get it." His voice cracked just a little. "I should've fought harder. Should've told my dad to go to hell and stayed. But I was a kid too. And I was terrified of losing everything including you."
I finally looked up. His eyes were wet. Not crying, but close.
"I still love you, El," he said. "I never stopped. I know you're married. I know you have a life. A beautiful daughter. A home. I'm not asking you to throw any of it away. I just needed to say it out loud. To you. In person."
The jazz kept playing. Rain kept drumming on the windows. Someone laughed at the counter.
And I sat there holding his hand like it was the only solid thing in my world.
"I don't know what to do," I told him. "I'm scared. Of hurting Sophia. Of hurting Marcus even if he doesn't seem to feel it anymore. Of hurting you. Of hurting myself."
"I know."
"But when I saw your name on my phone… when I read your texts… it was the first time in years I felt awake. Really awake."
He squeezed my hand. "Then stay awake a little longer. Just talk to me. That's all I'm asking right now."
I nodded. Slow. Small.
"Okay."
We sat there for a long time. Not talking much. Just holding hands across the scratched wooden table. The rain slowed outside. My coat stopped dripping. The tea cooled between us.
Eventually I glanced at my watch. "Sophia's sitter leaves at nine. I should go."
He nodded. Didn't argue. Didn't beg me to stay.
I stood. He stood too.
At the door he helped me into my wet coat. His fingers brushed my shoulders gentle, carefully. Then he opened the door for me.
The rain had turned to a soft mist now.
"Saturday," he said quietly. "The gala. I'll be there."
"I know."
He stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne, same one from years ago, wood and spice and something that still made my knees weak.
"If you don't want to see me," he said, "just walk the other way. I'll understand."
I looked up at him. Raindrops caught in his lashes. Blue eyes steady.
"I don't think I can walk the other way," I whispered.
A small, sad smile touched his mouth.
"Then I'll see you on Saturday."
I stepped out into the mist.
He watched me go.
I didn't look back.
But every step away from that blue door felt like it was pulling me in two directions at once.
And I wasn't sure which way I'd break.