LANA'S POV
I stared at Caleb's message for a long time, willing it to change.
"Lana. I'm sorry. Last night shouldn't have happened. I made a mistake. Please forget it."
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, then fell to my lap. I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what I wanted to say. I just sat there, staring at the screen like it held some clue to who Caleb really was and why he'd disappeared behind those words.
How could something feel so real in the moment, and then vanish into a string of apologies and silence?
I didn't reply.
Instead, I got up, brewed myself a cup of coffee I didn't want, and sat by the window. The morning light was pale, weak. Just like how I felt.
I told myself I wasn't heartbroken. That I wasn't disappointed. That holding Caleb's hand hadn't meant anything more than two lonely people crossing paths for a second too long.
But the bracelet still lay on my nightstand.
And I hadn't returned it.
---
Business picked up later that week. There was a wedding nearby, and the bridal party had made my café their unofficial headquarters. The energy was loud, colorful, chaotic. It distracted me, but not entirely.
Every time the bell above the door jingled, I glanced up.
And every time, it wasn't him.
"He hasn't been back?" Mira, my barista and closest friend, asked on Thursday as we closed.
I shook my head. "No. And he won't be."
She gave me a long look. "He hurt you."
"Not really."
"You keep saying that, but your hands shake every time his name comes up."
I looked down. "It's stupid. We barely know each other."
"That's not how connection works," she said softly. "You don't need years to feel something. Sometimes it's a moment. Sometimes a look."
I didn't reply. I just kept wiping the already-clean counter.
---
A few days later, I received a large order on the café's app. Twenty assorted lattes. Ten muffins. Four boxes of cinnamon swirls.
The name on the order form made my heart stop.
Stone & Co.
My breath hitched.
It was his company.
I almost canceled the order. My finger hovered over the screen for a solid minute.
But business was business. And I was a professional.
So I boxed up the order, had Mira help me double-check everything, and called a courier.
I didn't deliver it myself.
But I slipped the bracelet into the last muffin box.
No note.
Just closure.
---
Two weeks passed. No more texts. No calls. No unexpected visits.
And yet, I still found myself replaying the quiet moment when he had said, "You make it easy to forget everything else."
How could something so fragile feel so permanent?
I was standing at the front counter one slow Tuesday afternoon when Mira rushed in from the back.
"There's someone asking for you outside."
I frowned. "A customer?"
She shook her head. "He didn't come in. Just said he needed a word with you."
I felt it in my chest before I even reached the door.
Caleb.
He stood across the street, by a black sedan, hands in his coat pockets. His hair was wind-tossed, his eyes shadowed.
I crossed the street slowly.
"I thought you wanted me to forget," I said by way of greeting.
"I did."
"Then why are you here?"
He hesitated. "Because I can't."
My heart fluttered and I hated it.
"You left me hanging," I said. "You made something feel real, and then pulled it away like it was a mistake."
"I know."
"You don't get to do that, Caleb. Not to me."
"I'm sorry," he said, voice quiet. "I'm… messed up. There's a lot going on in my life that I can't explain right now. But that night, what I said, what I felt, it was real."
"Then why push me away?"
"Because I'm not free."
My heart stopped. "Are you married?"
"No." He paused. "But… it's complicated."
I folded my arms. "That's not good enough."
He nodded. "I know. I'm not asking you for anything. I just… needed you to know that I didn't fake any of it. I felt it too. And I'll never forget it."
He turned to go.
"Wait," I said.
He looked back.
I swallowed. "Was she the one you bought the bracelet for?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
"But you gave it to me."
"I meant it."
I closed my eyes for a second. "Then tell me the truth. Are you planning to disappear again?"
"No. But I might have to."
"Then don't come back until you're sure you can stay."
He nodded.
And just like that, he left again.
But this time, I didn't wait by the window.
I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee, opened my planner, and wrote a new recipe: a vanilla rose latte.
Soft, a little bitter, unexpectedly sweet.
Just like falling for someone you were never supposed to love.