Her hair’s just like I remember—dark, loose waves spilling halfway down her back, the ends brushing the curve of her waist. Even from here, I catch the faintest trace of a floral blend when the air moves between us. And I don’t need to see her face to know.
Ivy.
I’m frozen.
She pays, slipping a bill into the tip jar, and steps aside to wait for her drink. My heart slams against my ribs, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Is Ivy really here? In Dallas?
What do I do? What do I say?
My fingers twitch at my sides, my mind scrambling for some kind of logical explanation. This can’t be real. For three months, all I’ve thought about is her. That one day in New Orleans, that random moment that somehow altered the entire course of my life. I told myself it was just a fleeting thing, that I’d forget about her eventually. But I neverdid.
I kept replaying that afternoon like a song stuck on a loop.
The way she grabbed my hand, how a single touch from a stranger managed to shake something loose in me. The way she laughed, wide open and unguarded. The way she looked at me, like I wasn’t just some broody, intimidating guy.
People usually make up their minds about me before I even open my mouth. I mean, I get it. The tattoos, my wardrobe consisting of mostly black clothes, the dark hair. I’m used to the assumptions. Used to being misunderstood.
But Ivy, she was different.
Even if she was a little unsure at first, she saw through the rough edges in a matter of minutes. And somehow, that scared me more than anything.
For three months, I’ve been wondering what would’ve happened if I had asked for her number. If I had chased after her when she walked away. If I had done something, anything, to keep her in my life.
But I didn’t. And now, by some impossible twist of God’s timing, she’s here.
“Sir?”
I blink, the memory shattering as I snap back to the present. The barista is staring at me expectantly.
Crap.
It’s my turn to order.
“Just a black coffee,” I say, my voice rougher than I expected.
The barista nods and rings me up, but my mind is elsewhere. My eyes flick to the spot where Ivy had been standing waiting on her drink, only to find it empty.
She’s gone.
Panic grips me. Did I just missmy chance?
I grab my coffee as soon as it’s placed on the counter, barely hearing the barista call out my name. My head swivels, scanning the café, my heart hammering in my chest.
And then, I see her.
She’s tucked into the corner by the window, fingers curled around her cup like she’s soaking up the warmth. The light spills across her face, catching on eyes I’d swear are brighter than I remember—soft, searching, impossible to look away from. She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need it. Her skin is clear, her lips full, the kind of natural beauty you can’t fake. Her shoulders are relaxed now, the earlier nerves gone, but there’s still a quietness about her, like she doesn’t realize she’s drawing every bit of my focus.
At the same time, she looks up, her gaze locking with mine.
Her lips part in shock.
Everything else falls away. The noise of the café, the clatter of mugs, the buzz of conversation—it all fades into nothing. It’s just her and me.
I can hear the song lyrics forming in my head.
Met you in the middle of a moment I didn’t see coming
