Tuesday morning arrived with a brittle kind of sunshine—the kind that looks bright from inside but feels cold the second you step out.
Emma woke alone again. Lucas had kissed her goodbye at dawn, murmuring something about an early concrete pour and promising pancakes when he got home tonight. She stretched into the empty space he'd left, sheets still warm, and for a minute everything felt right.
Then she remembered the blocked number.
And the fact that Jake had somehow gotten her digits again.
Her mom must have given them out. Claire wouldn't have thought twice about it—probably assumed it was harmless nostalgia, two old college kids catching up. Emma's stomach twisted at the thought of having that particular conversation with her mother later.
She dragged herself to the shower, let the hot water pound some clarity into her skull. By the time she was toweling off, she'd decided: she'd call her mom tonight. Set a boundary. No more surprise ex-boyfriend ambushes.
Work was steady but uneventful. She texted Lucas a selfie from behind the counter—tongue out, latte art heart half-collapsed—and he sent back a string of fire emojis followed by:
Lucas: That apron should be illegal.
Lucas: Counting down to 7. Want you on the counter when I walk in.
She laughed under her breath, heat crawling up her neck. Sent him a single winking emoji.
The rest of the shift passed in a pleasant haze of steam and small talk.
Until 3:17 p.m.
The bell above the door jingled.
She didn't look up right away—too busy pulling shots for a six-drink order.
Then Mia hissed beside her.
"Em. Incoming. Twelve o'clock."
Emma glanced up.
Jake stood just inside the door, hands shoved in the pockets of a navy peacoat she vaguely remembered from senior year. Hair shorter now, neatly styled. Same easy smile that used to make her stomach flip.
Now it just made her stomach clench.
He spotted her immediately. Lifted a hand in a small, tentative wave.
Mia stepped half in front of her like a human shield. "You want me to tell him to fuck off?"
Emma exhaled slowly. "No. I've got it."
She wiped her hands on her apron, walked around the counter.
They met halfway, near the pickup shelf.
"Hi," Jake said. Voice softer than she remembered. Almost careful.
"Hi."
He glanced around—nervous, like he hadn't planned this far. "Can we… talk? Five minutes. Outside?"
She crossed her arms. "Here's fine."
He nodded quickly. "Okay. Fair."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
"I'm sorry," he started. "For the texts. For showing up. I just… I saw your mom at the conference hotel bar Saturday night. She mentioned you were happy. Seeing someone. I got curious. Then I got stupid."
Emma didn't respond.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've been in therapy. A lot. Figured out I was a selfish prick back then. The way I left—without a real conversation, without owning any of it—that wasn't okay. I wanted to say it to your face. That's all."
She studied him. He looked… different. Older. Less cocksure. There were faint lines around his eyes now. Regret lived in them.
Part of her—the part that still remembered crying herself to sleep in a dorm twin XL—wanted to twist the knife. Make him feel even a fraction of what she'd felt.
But the bigger part—the part that had spent the last week wrapped in Lucas's arms—realized she didn't need to.
"I appreciate the apology," she said evenly. "I do. But I don't need it anymore. I moved on a long time ago."
Jake's shoulders dropped a fraction. Relief? Disappointment? Hard to tell.
"I get it," he said quietly. "I'm glad you're happy. You deserve that."
She nodded once. "Thanks."
He hesitated. "The guy you're with… he treating you right?"
A small, involuntary smile tugged at her mouth. "Yeah. He is."
Jake exhaled, almost a laugh. "Good. That's… good."
Another beat.
"Well." He took a half-step back. "I won't take up more of your time. Take care, Em."
"You too, Jake."
He turned, pushed through the door. The bell jingled again—final.
Mia appeared at her elbow the second he was gone.
"You okay?"
Emma watched Jake disappear down the sidewalk.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "I think I am."
She felt lighter. Not because he'd apologized—although that helped—but because saying the words out loud had made them real.
She was done carrying that particular ghost.
When her shift ended she walked home faster than usual, anticipation buzzing under her skin.
Lucas was already there—door propped open with a work boot, classic rock drifting into the hallway, the smell of sizzling garlic and onions floating out.
She stepped inside.
He was at the stove in a faded gray Henley and jeans, sleeves pushed to his elbows, forearms corded as he stirred something in a pan.
He glanced over his shoulder. Grinned.
"Hey, gorgeous."
She didn't answer with words.
Just crossed the room, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him down into a kiss that tasted like hunger and relief and home.
He groaned into her mouth, hands finding her hips, lifting her straight onto the counter beside the stove. The wooden spoon clattered forgotten into the sauce.
"Missed you," she breathed against his lips.
"Missed you more." His hands were already under her sweater, palms hot against her ribs. "Everything okay at work?"
"Long story." She nipped his bottom lip. "Tell you later."
"Later works."
He tugged her sweater over her head. Bra next—unhooked with one practiced flick. Then his mouth was on her breast, sucking hard enough to make her arch. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him there while his other hand worked the button of her jeans.
He pulled back just long enough to yank them down her legs along with her underwear. Left her bare on the cool granite, thighs spread, already glistening.
"Fuck," he muttered, eyes dark. "Look at you."
She reached for his fly. "Your turn."
He helped her—jeans shoved to his thighs, cock springing free, thick and ready. No preamble. He stepped between her legs, lined up, and pushed inside in one long, slow stroke.
They both moaned—loud, shameless.
He fucked her right there on the counter—deep, steady thrusts that rocked her whole body. One hand braced on the cabinets behind her, the other between them, thumb circling her clit with ruthless precision.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him harder.
"Lucas—"
"Yeah, baby. Let me hear you."
She came fast—shattering around him with a cry that echoed off the tile. He didn't slow down. Kept driving into her through the aftershocks until she was trembling, oversensitive, begging.
"Again," he growled. "One more."
He angled his hips just right—hitting that spot inside her over and over—while his thumb never left her clit.
The second orgasm built slower but hit harder. She sobbed his name, nails raking down his back, walls fluttering wildly around him.
He followed right after—thrusts turning erratic, then burying deep with a guttural groan as he came inside her.
They stayed locked together, panting.
Eventually he eased out, grabbed a dish towel, cleaned them both up with gentle swipes.
Then he scooped her off the counter, carried her to the couch, settled her in his lap.
"Talk to me," he said softly, tucking her against his chest.
She told him everything—Jake's texts, the apology at work, the strange closure of it all.
Lucas listened without interrupting. When she finished he pressed a kiss to her temple.
"You handled that like a fucking queen."
She laughed weakly. "I just wanted him gone."
"He is." His arms tightened. "And I'm here."
She tilted her head back to look at him. "You're not worried?"
"About what? Some college kid who fucked up six years ago?" He shook his head. "Nah. I'm worried about burning the sauce if we don't eat soon."
She swatted his chest. "Ass."
He grinned. "Hungry ass."
They ate on the couch—pasta straight from the pan, legs tangled, passing the bowl back and forth. Simple. Perfect.
Later, in bed, he spooned her from behind, hand splayed possessively over her stomach.
"Still scared?" he murmured into her hair.
She thought about it.
"A little less."
"Good enough for tonight."
She laced her fingers with his.
"Yeah. Good enough."
Outside, the city hummed.
Inside, the quiet felt safer than it ever had.