Page 97 of Captured Heart

22. Katelyn

Laughter rings out, loud and boisterous, weaving through the hum of conversation in the bustling restaurant. Glasses clink somewhere nearby. Sounds like it’s someone’s birthday, and mimosas at twelve-thirty in the afternoon was the best idea they could think of to celebrate. The sunlight streaming in from the large windows casts a golden hue on the polished wood tables, the scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the subtle tang of alcohol in the air.

Michael sits across from me, his hazel eyes lit with amusement as he finishes a story about one of his college pranks. His laugh is deep and infectious, and I find myself smiling, though it feels more out of politeness than genuine amusement. He’s a good guy.

His list of pros is endless. He’s charming, intelligent, kind, clean-cut, responsible. Honestly, he’s the type any woman would want to settle down with. And yet, if it weren’t for Karmani nagging me every other day aboutfinallyputting myself out there, I wouldn’t even be sitting here.

Even with her all the way in California, Karmani still has a dominant say when it comes to me dating. Distance has done nothing to dull her relentless matchmaking efforts. She’s still the same force of nature, sending me links to dating apps, grilling me about my so-calledtragiclove life, and guilt-tripping me into saying yes when I’d rather say no. She’s the reason I even agreed to a second date with Michael. I can practically hear her voicenow:“You deserve to be wined and dined, Kate! Just let the poor guy take you out!”

“So then,” Michael says, still chuckling, “the professor walks in, and there I am, covered in blue dye, trying to explain how this was all part of myexperiment.”

I press my lips into what I hope passes for a smile. “Sounds...memorable.”

“It was.” He leans forward as though he’s making an effort to look engaged. “But enough about my college misadventures. Tell me more about that project you mentioned last week.”

I hesitate, but then I start talking, trying to explain my work in a way that doesn’t feel rehearsed or dry. His face doesn’t change much, a polite smile fixed in place. He nods at all the right moments, even throws in the occasional “Huh, that’s interesting,”but it’s so painfully clear he’s just waiting for me to finish.

And I know I shouldn’t feel insecure about this anymore. I’m proud of what I do. It’s the kind of thing that lights me up, but I just can’t find a way to share my enthusiasm without coming across as...boring. With Alex, I could rattle off my thoughts, bouncing from one idea to the next without worrying about things like that. He’d listen, challenge me, make me feel like I was more fascinating than anyone else in the room.

I glance at Michael and catch his eyes flicker toward his phone on the table before darting back to me. My chest tightens, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He’s not Alex. No one is.

And that’s the point, right?

I push past the hollow ache and keep talking, giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s a nice guy, and maybe I’ve been too critical, too quick to find flaws in every man I’ve dated these past two years. It’s like I’ve been searching for reasons to compare them to Alex and inevitably deciding they all come up short.

I need to stop doing that.

Michael is here now, and he’s trying. I should try, too. If I ever want to find love again, I have to stop holding every man up to Alex like he’s the gold standard...even if he kind of is.

I glance down at my plate, my untouched pasta staring back at me. It’s not fair to him. He deserves someone who isn’t mentally comparing him to a ghost. Someone who doesn’t look at his broad shoulders and think they’re not quite as strong, or at his hands and note they’re too smooth, lacking the calluses of a man who’s fought for survival. He deserves someone who doesn’t hear his laugh and thinks it’s too soft, too light, missing the raspy edge that once made her stomach flip.

I push my fork around the plate, guilt twisting in my stomach. I’ve tried to move on. For two years, I’ve told myself Alex is part of my past, a chapter that’s closed. I should want a future with a man who doesn’t have a criminal record, yet all those crimes he’s committed don’t seem to bother my pining heart at all.

In fact, it makes me appreciate the person he is even more. He’s rough around the edges, but deep down, he’s caring and protective. He sacrificed himself to keep me safe and proved on multiple occasions that he would do almost anything for me. Actions like that tend to stand the test of time, that’s why no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget him.

It’s like he branded me in some way. He told me once that I’d want only him. It’s two years later, and that statement still rings true. I can’t forget the way his touch set my skin on fire, how just one look could make my pulse race. I miss the way his lips felt against mine, fierce and consuming. I know for a fact that no one will ever kiss me like that again.

But more than that, I miss the way he centered me. Sometimes I still hear his voice, the steadiness anchoring me when I start to overthink. It calms the chaos within me. And thenthat raspy voice fades into oblivion, and I’m reminded that I’m alone.

I try to hold onto it, any remnants of him, but eventually, it disappears. And I sit there in silence, wishing I could see him just one more time.

That’s when it hits me. No matter how much I tell myself I’ve moved on, I know the truth.

I don’twantto forget him.

Michael clears his throat, breaking my thoughts. “Kate, are you okay?”

I glance up, startled. This is a new low for me. I can’t believe I’m out with one man while daydreaming about another. “Yeah. Sorry. Just a little distracted.”

He studies me, concern etching lines into his forehead. “You know, if you’re not ready—”

“It’s not that,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I mean...it sort of is.” I falter, searching for words that won’t hurt him.

The truth is, he’s not the problem. He’s everything I should want, but my heart won’t cooperate. It’s still tangled in memories I can’t seem to let go of.

The chatter around us grows louder, laughter bursting from the table next to ours. I clutch my glass, the cool dew around it grounding me as my mind drifts back. Back to Alex. Always back to Alex.

I blink, shaking off the thought. He’s gone, I remind myself. And he’s never coming back. I need to accept that. And yet...

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