Two weeks later, we bumped into each other at a coffee shop, and the moment our eyes met, everything I had tried to bury came rushing back.
I had chosen the table by the window because it gave me something to do besides think. I had almost convinced myself I was fine.
That was the dangerous thing about time. Two weeks could make a lie feel almost true.
Two weeks of avoiding Claire as much as possible without making it obvious. Two weeks of listening to her chatter about florists, guest lists, and invitation paper. Two weeks of seeing Sebastian only in flashes—at family calls, in photographs Claire sent, in the corners of my own mind when I was trying hardest not to think of him.
Two weeks of pretending the night at the bar and the hotel after had dissolved into nothing.
I wrapped both hands around my cup and brought it to my mouth. The coffee was still hot enough to sting my tongue. Good. I welcomed the pain. It kept me present.
"Lena."
My hand stilled halfway to the table.
I knew that voice now: Calm, low, and controlled in a way that always made me feel like I was the only one in the room losing balance.
I looked up.
Sebastian stood a few feet from my table, dark coat still on, hair slightly damp from the mist outside.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
"Neither did I," he replied, glancing at the empty chair across from me.
The air between us shifted, heavy with everything we hadn't said since that night.
"Can I sit down?" he asked.
I looked back out the window. "Sure, do what you want."
He pulled out the chair and sat across from me. The waitress appeared almost immediately, as if she had sensed money walk into the room. He ordered black coffee without even looking at the menu. Of course he did.
When she left, the table seemed much smaller than it had a minute ago.
For a while neither of us spoke
"You shouldn't be here," I said at last.
He met my eyes. "I know."
"Then why are you?"
His gaze didn't move. "Because I haven't forgotten you."
The words landed with no warning, clean and sharp and direct enough to steal the breath from my chest.
I looked away quickly, pretending it didn't matter. "That sounds like your problem," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
"It is," he admitted, and somehow that made it worse.
His coffee arrived. I waited until the waitress stepped away before speaking again. "You're engaged."
"Yes."
"To my sister."
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I'm aware."
I picked up my cup again, mostly to give my hands something to do. "If you're here to talk about that night, don't."
"Why not?"
"Because it changes nothing."
His expression sharpened slightly. "It changed enough."
I looked at him steadily. "You don't get to say that to me."
"Why?"
Because you chose her. Because you're still choosing her. Because every time I look at you, I remember something I should be ashamed of wanting.
Instead, I said, "Because whatever happened between us ended the moment I sat across from you at that engagement dinner."
His eyes held mine. "That's not true. It would be easier if it were."
The honesty of it made my heart stumble.
I set the cup down too hard. Coffee trembled over the rim. "Sebastian, stop."
He leaned forward slightly. "I think about you."
I froze.
"Then look at me," he said, his tone tightening, "and tell me you haven't thought about me."
My throat tightened. I couldn't answer. The silence that followed said more than any answer I could have given.
I stood abruptly, needing distance and needing air, and walked out before I could break in front of him.
But he followed. Of course he did.
"Lena," he called, his voice closer now, more urgent.
I stopped, turning back, anger rising because it was easier than everything else I was feeling.
"You can pretend," he said, stepping closer, his eyes locked on mine, "but I can't."
My chest tightened, my thoughts slipping out of control, and before I could say anything, before I could stop it, he reached for me.
His hand closed around my wrist, steady, grounding, and everything inside me stilled.
For one second, I knew I should pull away. I didn't. And he saw that.
Then he kissed me. The kiss was sudden and intense, like everything we had both been holding back had finally broken loose.
My hand pressed against his chest, meant to push him away, but I didn't. Not immediately.
For a moment, I gave in.
And just like that… everything we tried to end came back to life.
And then reality slammed back in just as fast. My phone started ringing in my bag, sharp and loud in the quiet street. I froze when I saw the name. "Claire."
The name flashed across the screen, and my stomach dropped. I pulled away immediately, breathing unevenly, my lips still tingling.
He didn't move nor stop me. Instead, he said quietly, "Answer it."
But I couldn't. Because in that moment, I knew… this wasn't just a mistake anymore. It was something that could destroy everything.