Time slows as I turn, my fingers tightening around my glass. A tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome man towers over me, his presence commanding.
But as my eyes trail up his frame, drinking in broad shoulders, sharp cheekbones, and dark eyes that gleam under the dim lights…
It isn’t Gray.
And the realization hits me like a wrecking ball.
“No, thanks,” I say, maybe a little too harshly.
The stranger shrugs, giving me a lazy smirk before sauntering off. But when I turn back, I’m met with two pairs of wide, knowing eyes.
“Oh, girl. You have it bad,” Harper says, shaking her head.
Olivia raises an eyebrow. “Who turns down free drinks from a guy that hot?”
“Only someone who already has her heart set on someone else,” Harper adds, sipping her drink like she’s just cracked the biggest mystery of the night.
“I hate all of you,” I groan, dropping my head onto the table.
“Sure you do,” Olivia sings, tossing a napkin at me. “Drink up, babe. You’re in love with a stranger, and we still have leftover beignets to eat before bed.”
They just laugh, and I can’t help but smile along with them, because we all know the truth.
Gray might be gone.
But he’s far from forgotten.
Chapter 4
Gray
3 Months Later
Early mornings in Dallas are my favorite. Before the traffic builds on Elm Street, before the sidewalks buzz with office workers clutching to-go cups, before life feels like it’s moving faster than I can keep up with.
My hands are shoved in the pockets of my leather jacket as I walk my usual route to Royal Brew, the coffee shop I’ve been coming to for years. Routine keeps me grounded. And Lord knows, if I don’t keep my routine, that’s when the doubt creeps in.
I push open the café door, the scent of fresh coffee wrapping around me like a familiar embrace. The line is longer than usual, the buzz of the room flooding me like a song lyric. Pulling out my phone, I start typing notes.
When the morning breaks, Your mercy’s new
You walked the fire just to carry me through
My hearts still bruised, but You hold it whole
You never let go, You never let go.
I’m lost in it, fingers flying over the screen, so deep in thought that the world around me fades.
Until I hear a voice.
“Can I get a vanilla oat milk latte, please?”
My fingers still. My brain blanks.
I know that voice.
My jaw goes slack as I snap my head up, eyes locking on the woman ordering her coffee. She’s standing a couple of spots ahead, small in frame but holding herself like she’s trying to take up less space. One hand grips the strap of her bag, the other tucks a piece of hair behind her ear even though it’s already in place. Her weight shifts from one foot to the other. She’s full of nervous energy, but her spine is straight, like she’s willing herself to stand tall.
