Robert's POV
Two days later, I saw her again.
It was one of those city moments you could either call coincidence or something else entirely. Normally, I'd chalk it up to New York being smaller than it looks on a map. But this time, it didn't feel random. Not when I'd spent more time than I'd like to admit thinking about her since the cinema.
I was at a café near Washington Square with Callum, who was holding court about last night's Premier League match like he'd personally coached the winning team. He was halfway through explaining some brilliant defensive move when my eyes drifted toward the door and stopped.
She walked in.
Same woman. Same easy, confident walk, though she looked a little more polished this time. A cream coat tied neatly at the waist, black heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. Her hair was swept into a loose knot, and she carried herself like she had somewhere important to be, but had allowed herself five stolen minutes for caffeine.
And she wasn't alone.
Beside her was a shorter woman with a razor-sharp bob and the kind of bold red lipstick that could be seen from across the street. The friend was animated, her hands moving as she spoke. Alexandria laughed at something she said, but the sound was brief, like the laughter was a reflex, not a natural response.
"Okay, I'm not crazy," Callum said suddenly.
I didn't take my eyes off her. "What?"
"You just got that look."
"What look?"
"The same one you had when you walked out of that Monday morning movie."
I frowned. "I don't have a look."
"You have exactly one look when a woman catches your attention, and you just used it."
I didn't answer. She was close enough now that I caught a hint of her perfume fresh, with a flicker of citrus. Her gaze swept the café and, for the briefest second, landed on me. Her eyes narrowed slightly, recognition flickering there before she turned back to her friend.
They chose the table directly beside ours. Of course they did.
Callum leaned in, lowering his voice. "That's her, isn't it? The cinema woman."
I still didn't answer, which was apparently enough for him to grin like a cat with cream.
"Unbelievable," he muttered. "You finally meet someone you're curious about, and you think you can just sit here sipping coffee like a monk."
"I'm minding my own business."
"You're staring at her."
"I am not…"
"Robert."
Fine. Maybe I'd looked for a second too long.
From the corner of my ear, I caught fragments of their conversation.
"You cannot just hide out forever," the friend said, voice firm but affectionate.
"I'm not hiding," Alexandria replied.
"You were wearing sunglasses inside yesterday when I saw you. Textbook hiding."
Alexandria exhaled in a way that sounded like both defeat and annoyance.
Her friend leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "You know I think you should do it."
"I know."
"It would be the ultimate power move. Take control of the story. Walk in there like you own the place. Make them regret every life choice."
Alexandria's mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile but refused to give her friend the satisfaction. "You're enjoying this too much."
"Of course I am. But I'm also right."
I had no idea what "do it" referred to, but I filed the tone away there was heat there, an edge that didn't belong to idle gossip.
Callum gave me a pointed look. "Overhearing anything good?"
"No."
"You're lying."
"I'm drinking my coffee."
"You're lying while drinking your coffee."
I ignored him, but when her friend stood to grab something from the counter, leaving her alone, I spoke before I could talk myself out of it.
"Twice in one week," I said.
Her gaze slid to mine. "New York's smaller than people think."
"I didn't take you for the type to haunt the same spots."
"And what type is that?"
"Someone who believes in variety."
Her lips curved faintly, but there was calculation in her eyes. "Or maybe you're the one haunting my spots."
"Tempting as that would be, I'm not."
Before she could reply, her friend returned, placing a plate between them. I leaned back, letting the conversation end there.
When they eventually left, Callum waited until the door swung shut behind them before speaking.
"You're going to talk to her again."
"I just did."
"I mean properly. Find out who she is, what's got her making plans that sound like corporate espionage, and why she gets under your skin after two conversations."
"She's a stranger."
"Strangers become stories if you let them."
I shook my head, but the truth was, he wasn't wrong. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to be just a passing moment anymore. And I had a feeling I'd see her again whether by coincidence or something else entirely.