Chapter 2: Echoes and Entanglements
The café Ethan picked wasn't trendy or loud. It was a little corner shop nestled between a dry cleaner and a bookstore, barely visible unless you knew where to look. Inside, the air smelled like cinnamon, ink, and quiet conversation. Ethan watched Claire from across the small table, fingers loosely wrapped around his coffee mug.
She was studying the stain on her blouse like it had insulted her whole lineage.
"Still mad?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Claire looked up. "Still processing. You made me late for a pitch meeting. I had to give a product presentation with half my chest looking like abstract art."
"I'd say that's bold marketing," he said, smirking.
She almost smiled. Almost.
Ethan had been with enough people to know when a connection was surface-deep and when it was something else. Claire wasn't like the usual flings he tumbled into. There was something guarded about her—eyes that measured everything, even when she laughed.
"So," she said, stirring her drink absentmindedly. "You always flirt your way out of accidents, or am I just special?"
"You're not like most people," Ethan replied casually. "Most people would've blocked my number by now."
"I haven't even asked for your number."
He leaned forward. "But you will."
She rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.
Their conversation continued, flowing easier than expected. But beneath Ethan's calm charm, something shifted—something unsettled. Every time Claire glanced away, his smile faded for just a second, and his thoughts strayed.
He hadn't been back home in months. Not since his father had thrown a whiskey glass at the wall during Christmas and accused him of wasting his life. "No ambition, no loyalty—just like your mother." The words still echoed, even now.
That was the thing with trauma: it didn't knock anymore. It just showed up and made itself at home.
"Where'd you go just now?" Claire asked softly.
Ethan blinked. "What?"
"You zoned out. Looked like you were... somewhere else."
He hesitated, then shrugged. "Just thinking. About time. And how strange it is that two people's lives can crash into each other like… like that." He motioned toward her blouse. "And maybe that means something."
Claire's eyes narrowed. "You're either deep or full of it."
"Both," he admitted.
Before she could respond, the café door opened—and in walked a tall, clean-cut guy in a crisp shirt, looking like he just stepped out of a magazine shoot. Claire's posture shifted.
"Ben?" she said, surprised.
The guy looked equally startled. "Claire? What are you doing here?"
She stood up awkwardly. "Having coffee. This is—uh—Ethan."
Ethan stood up too, offering a firm nod. "Hi."
Ben's gaze lingered a beat too long on Claire. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon."
"Yeah. Me neither," she replied.
There it was. A tension. Not the awkward kind. The familiar kind.
Ethan watched them closely. The way Ben looked at her—it wasn't casual. And the way Claire didn't quite meet Ethan's eyes afterward told him more than she probably intended.
"Old flame?" Ethan asked casually once Ben left, using a napkin to draw a terrible heart with an arrow through it.
"Sort of. We were... almost something. He was my boss for a while. Complicated."
Ethan leaned back, grinning despite the twinge in his chest. "I love complicated."
She tilted her head. "Do you? Or do you just like the idea of it?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached for his coat and stood up.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Walking you home. Unless your shirt and I have caused enough chaos for one day."
Claire laughed—an actual laugh this time. "You'r
e unpredictable."
"Trust me," he said, eyes flashing, "you have no idea."