Curtis Harper was never the same after Allie. He tried to go back to the man he was before her — the perfectly composed, logic-driven, unshakable Curtis — but it never quite worked.
She had rewired something in him.
She'd taught him warmth. Spontaneity. How it felt to be human.
Now, even when he smiled, it didn't quite reach his eyes. He felt vulnerable in ways he didn't understand — a man once in control of everything, now ruled by memories of laughter and light brown eyes that could melt through his armor.
Still, he tried. He went to work. He socialized. He smiled when people smiled at him.That was the effect of Allie — even her absence left traces of optimism behind.
Nadine never brought up her confession again, and Curtis never gave her an answer. The subject lingered between them — invisible, but heavy.
He told himself it was for the best. He couldn't use her as a distraction. She didn't deserve to be anyone's rebound.
Then again, could she even be a rebound? He and Allie were never officially together. There were no promises, no labels — just feelings that felt too real to name.
And yet, every time he thought of Nadine, his mind drifted back to Allie's smile, her playful teasing, her warmth that filled up empty spaces.
Still, Nadine never made him feel pressured. She had a way of easing into his days — inviting him to lunch with colleagues, offering to bring coffee if he was running late.
Yes, running late. Curtis Harper — the man who once ran his life on military precision — had now developed the habit of arriving late.
He'd joke to himself, Bad influence. Allie Kelley's fault.
But sometimes, he caught himself smiling at the thought. Friday night rolled in — a familiar comfort.Curtis sat on Jonah's couch, controller in hand, headset on, ready to lose himself in a game with his college friends.
"Yo, Captain Harper finally online!" Gavin's voice boomed through the chat.
"Let's gooo! We've been waiting!" Luke added.
Curtis smirked, unbothered. Jonah was already in the game, half-distracted as usual.
"So, bro," Luke teased, "you ever move on from that chick Jonah keeps ranting about? The mysterious barista?"
"Why'd you bring that up, idiot?" Jonah muttered.
"Yeah, man, that's old news," Rich said.
"Let it go."
"Nah, it's been months. The guy should be fine by now, right, Captain?" Gavin teased again.
Curtis stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the glowing screen.
Jonah rolled his eyes. "Chill, guys. Curt's fine. He's got someone now — the one who caused all this drama to begin with."
"Ohhh," Luke snickered. "So he upgraded?"
"Shut up," Curtis muttered, his tone light but distant.
Jonah wasn't done. "Hey, I'm just saying, man. You liked her first, now she likes you. It's mutual. Go for it."
Curtis kept playing, not answering. He won the match — of course he did — and his friends erupted in cheers.
Jonah grinned. "See? The man's got his game back. In every way."
Curtis just leaned back, staring at the screen. He knew his friends meant well — in their own crude, idiotic way — but maybe Jonah was right. Maybe he should give Nadine a chance.
After everyone logged off, Curtis sat alone in the dim glow of the TV. The silence felt heavier than it used to.Then he picked up his phone.
"Nadine?"
Her voice was warm, surprised. "Curtis? Hi! Everything okay?"
"Yeah." He hesitated. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab lunch tomorrow. My treat."
There was a brief pause, then a small laugh. "I'd love that."
The next day was bright and cool — a hint of spring in the air. Curtis arrived early, dressed casually: a light gray button-down, rolled sleeves, dark jeans.
He went to pick Nadine up, but when she invited him into her apartment, he politely declined. Something about stepping into her private space felt… wrong. Too personal, too soon.
They walked to a nearby restaurant she'd chosen — a cozy bistro with white brick walls and potted plants hanging from the ceiling.
It should've been easy, natural. But it wasn't.
Nadine talked about work, future projects, the company's latest clients. Curtis answered politely, even laughed once or twice. But the conversations felt clinical, transactional — numbers and deadlines instead of feelings and dreams.
He realized halfway through that he'd rather talk about the weather, or dogs, or pastries — the way he used to with Allie.
Still, he kept his composure.
When the waiter cleared their plates and set down coffee and dessert, Curtis decided to stop overthinking.
He looked across the table and said quietly, "I know I never gave you an answer that night. About your confession."
Nadine froze, her cup halfway to her lips. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he interrupted gently. "I don't know where this will lead, but I'd like to try. I like you, Nadine. And I think we can make this work."
Nadine blinked, caught between disbelief and joy. Then she smiled so wide it almost made him feel guilty. She stood and leaned across the table, hugging him tightly.
Curtis returned the hug — polite, hesitant. But as her perfume filled his senses, a familiar face flashed in his mind.
Allie.
He froze, his chest tightening, the ghost of her touch haunting him.
He swallowed hard and forced the thought away. This is right. This is good. This is what moving on looks like.
In the weeks that followed, Nadine became a constant in his life.
She was caring and attentive — always texting to check in, bringing him coffee, reminding him to eat. She could be sweet, almost endearing. But she was also intense, assertive, and a little too invested.
It felt strange — almost like dating his old self. She was structured, punctual, logical — the opposite of Allie's messy, radiant spontaneity.
Curtis tried to focus on Nadine's good qualities: her intelligence, her drive, her ambition. But sometimes, her perfection felt like a performance — too polished, too practiced.
She'd talk about "their future," about promotions, about how great they looked together — and every time, it felt less like love and more like a strategy.
He wanted to care.He tried to care.But he couldn't stop wondering who she was trying to impress — him, or herself.
At night, when he walked her home, she'd sometimes take his arm, resting her head against his shoulder.From the outside, they looked like a perfect couple — clean lines, composed smiles, the picture of success.
But inside, Curtis felt nothing. Just the dull ache of pretending.
He caught himself thinking of Allie again — how she never forced him to speak, how her laughter filled the silence instead of trying to fix it.
How she made him feel seen.
And as Nadine talked about weekend plans and future trips, Curtis smiled politely — all while realizing how utterly, heartbreakingly empty he felt.