BookTok would’ve lost its mind.
I’ve been sitting by the window at Charlie’s for hours. Outside, a light drizzle blurs the glass; inside, it smells like cinnamon and freshly baked muffins. My fingers are wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate like it might somehow warm my heart.
Spoiler: it’s not working.
An open book lies in front of me—Pride and Prejudice—but I’ve read the same paragraph three times in the last ten minutes. Maybe because I’m trying not to think about Chris coming home tomorrow. Or maybe because I am thinking about it. His voice. His texts. That “I miss you” this morning that felt way too calm for how much I’ve been missing him.
I turn the page even though I have zero clue what was on the last one and let out a soft sigh.
“Mind if I sit here? Or is it reserved for the guy who just happens to have your favorite song on his playlist.”
What the—? My eyes snap up.
There’s a guy standing in front of my table—crooked grin, dark jeans, and a hoodie with his college logo printed across the front. The hood’s pulled low…but not low enough.
And just like that, my entire world comes to a screeching halt. Like the biggest carousel at the fair just broke down mid-ride and flung me off the wooden horse.
I don’t say a word. Just stare. Eyes wide. Mouth probably even wider.
He blinks, like he’s about to laugh, and then—because he’s a menace—he pulls the chair out and plops down across from me like it’s his regular spot.
“What’re you reading? Lemme guess…something dark and vampire-y? Or are you more into magical boarding schools with over-the-top romance?” His voice is teasing, casual—way too casual.
I finally manage to close my mouth. But my heart? Oh, it’s already hopped onto the next ride—straight into a heart-thumping rollercoaster with at least fifteen loops and a hundred-foot drop.
This can’t be real. Thanksgiving’s not until tomorrow!
And yet…here he is. Sitting in front of me. In Charlie’s café. Like he never left.
“And if you’re thinking of whacking me with that book for crashing your table—save it. My girlfriend’s a full-blown book nerd with a talent for plot twists. I can handle a paperback to the face.” He winks.
Oh God. That look.
I lean back slowly and snap my book shut. Then I bite my lip and stir my hot chocolate with the tiny spoon. One, two, three seconds—before he lifts his eyebrows, clearly waiting for a real reaction. And damn it, my heart’s melting faster than a marshmallow in hot cocoa.
I clear my throat and somehow—somehow—find a calm voice even though internally I’m a full-force carnival of chaos. “And you actually think that line works?” Slowly, I start to grin as I lick my bottom lip again.
Chris shrugs. “Depends. I heard the cute straight-A girls who sit on this side of the café are into guys in college hoodies.”
I tilt my head and flutter my lashes in the fakest smile I can muster. “And what makes you think I’m a cute straight-A girl?” I pull the spoon out of my drink and slip it into my mouth—just so I can slowly, sassily pull it back out. Just as sassy as his grin. My gaze drops to the logo on his hoodie. “Maybe I’m more into rebellious college dropouts with questionable flirting techniques.”
I can see where his eyes are locked right now, and I smirk around the spoon leaving my lips. But nothing fazes this guy. Ever. He leans in, elbows on the table.
“Rebellious, huh? Wait till you see what I smuggled out of the library.” He inches closer, voice dropping lower. “Spoiler: it’s got something to do with Hogwarts. And maybe a kiss in the Restricted Section.”
I laugh softly. That guy is impossible. Without breaking eye contact, I nudge my mug aside and lean in like he did, resting on my elbows, too. “Wow. The boy next door’s pulling the bad boy card—with bonus book points. Are you sure this isn’t a BookTok audition?”
His eyes lock on mine, steady and intense, like a baseball player gripping the bat while the whole stadium holds its breath. Then his fingers glide over to my book, flipping it toward himself with a smooth flick of his wrist.
And in a voice just a shade deeper, he says, “Well…if I read you a quote from Pride and Prejudice right now, and just happen to shape your name with my lips while I do it…do I get a like?”
I lift one corner of my mouth and let my eyes sparkle. “Depends. Are you Darcy…or Wickham?”
A smirk plays sinfully on his lips.
And I die. Like, a thousand fairytale deaths, right there on the spot.
He leans in just a little more, closing the space between us until there’s barely a hand’s width left. His voice goes soft—gentle—but somehow no less dangerous. “Darcy. No question. Just…the kind of Darcy who doesn’t wait forever to tell you he’s fallen for every single thing about you he didn’t understand at first.”
My breath catches, and I have to fight to keep my smile from slipping—because it’s trying to melt along with my heart into one gloriously embarrassing puddle under the table.
I lean in closer, too. Just a couple of inches. No more. We’re so close now I can feel the warmth of his breath brushing my upper lip. So close my voice barely makes a sound. “Then say it again. Like it’s the first time.”
Chris presses his lips together with a cheeky little grin, like he’s mentally prepping for what comes next—but I know better. He’s not prepping. He’s taking full control of my nervous system, and I gulp like a cartoon character who just realized she’s in way over her head.
“I love everything about you…you adorable little nerd…” he drawls, slow and steady, with that teasing spark in his eyes—and I swear, the sunlight actually dances in that ridiculous shade of blue. “Everything I didn’t get at first.” Our breaths are already moving in sync, same rhythm, same heartbeat. “And I swear, Sue—I’ve waited every single freaking day these past weeks for this exact moment.”
My lips part just slightly, but words? Gone. Totally. All I can do is stare at him and hope he somehow understands what he means to me.
But I know he sees it. I know because his pupils shrink the tiniest bit, like I just reached inside him and touched something no one else has ever touched before.
His forehead is almost against mine now. The table between us? Doesn’t even exist. Time? What’s that? There’s just this moment—suspended in breath and silence and a look that says everything.
“I couldn’t keep doing the phone calls,” he whispers. And on that one word—couldn’t—his voice cracks.
I inhale deeply, because I’ve missed his scent so much on those endlessly long nights without him.
Chris dips his head just enough that our noses graze. My hands tremble on the table, and my stomach becomes a full-blown firework show of butterflies.
“I was in a lecture this morning,” he murmurs, “and someone said the name Susan.” He swallows, and his finger brushes over the back of my hand, feather-light, like he’s afraid I’ll break. “And I just… I stared at my phone and kept wishing you’d text. Or that I could hear you laugh. Or just watch you breathe.” He closes his eyes for a second. “Anything.”
My voice comes out wobbly, hoarse, like a frog making its first-ever love confession. “So you just…ditched your last lectures and drove all the way here?”
“We both know I’ve done way worse.” He grins again—that slow, cocky, maddeningly sweet grin that annihilates whatever’s left of my self-control. “I tried to distract myself. Honestly. With basketball. Studying. I even tried freaking origami.”
I let out a quiet chuckle, my fingers trembling slightly as he laces our hands together on the table.
“But none of that is your smile at 7 a.m.,” Chris murmurs, “when you’re too tired to find your glasses.” He exhales softly. “None of it is your voice correcting me mid-sentence for messing up verb tenses again.” He leans in just a fraction closer. “And none of it—none of it—is like kissing you.”
Something soft cracks open inside me. Something that’s been curled up tight for far too long. And then—finally—his lips meet mine.
Warm. Familiar. So desperate for closeness it nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.
I sink into him shamelessly, into this moment I’ve only imagined for weeks. Into a kiss that holds every second we spent missing each other. Every sigh-filled evening. Every single “I wish you were here.”
Chris doesn’t ask—his kiss doesn’t need permission. His mouth dares me to let go.
And I do. As if we’re the only two people in this entire café.
His hand slides up to the back of my neck, fingers tangling gently in my hair, his thumb grazing the softest part of my skin. I feel the heat of his touch all the way down to my toes.
Without breaking the kiss, he stands. His chair scrapes quietly against the floor, and I feel him moving around the table toward me. When he’s here, I rise too, clutching the front of his hoodie with both hands—and in the next second, we’re pulling each other close, like we can’t stand the idea of even an inch of space between us.
Just nearness. Just us. Just that familiar hum building deep in my chest—the one that lights up everything inside me.
Our kiss slows. Deepens. Like he’s trying to tell me everything we’ve missed. Like he’s silently promising me that nothing—not distance, not time—will ever pull us apart again.
Then he wraps both arms around me and holds me. Really holds me. His face buries into my hair, and I press myself against him as tightly as I can. When he rests his chin on top of my head, I close my eyes and just breathe him in.
His heart beats against mine.
That rhythm. God, I missed that rhythm.
“Welcome home,” I whisper into the soft fabric of his hoodie.
Chris slides one hand to my cheek, fingers threading into my hair. “With you,” he says softly, “I’ve always been home.”
And I know—deep in my bones—that every part of me wants to stay.
Right here. In his arms. In this moment. Like forever is already happening.
And as the rain tap-dances against the windows outside and the café hums quietly around us, it’s like none of it matters.
Only us.
Two breaths.
Two souls.
Two hearts already moving to the same rhythm.
*
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