Page 16 of Back in the Bay

"You look like you've seen a ghost. Cole's just a man, Mabel." Aiden says, sliding into the booth across from me at this dimly lit coffee shop that smells like burnt espresso and broken dreams. It’s the kind of place that stays open until two AM for people like us—the emotionally unhinged who need caffeine and a witness to their mental breakdown.

"Did you see how spooked I looked?" I mutter, staring into the dark liquid. "I saw Cole in a fucking suit, and apparently, my ovaries didn't get the memo that things between us are dead, buried, and thoroughly decomposed."

Aiden snorts, nearly choking on his latte. "Christ, Mabel. Only you would phrase it like that."

"It's not funny." I slump back against the cracked vinyl seat. "Do you know what he said to me? He said I looked beautiful while openly inhaling the scent of my perfume—like a wolf sniffing his prey. It felt like the last thirteen years didn't happen. Like he didn't—" I stop myself before I go down that rabbit hole again.

"Like he didn't what? Break your heart? News flash, sweetheart—yours wasn't the only one that got shattered in that particular explosion." Aiden leans forward, his expression serious now. "I watched him tonight, Mabel. The way he looked at you during the rehearsal? That man is still completely gone for you."

My stomach does this stupid little flip that I refuse to acknowledge. "You're delusional."

"Am I? Because from where I was standing, Cole Bennett looked like a man who'd just been handed everything he ever wanted and lost all over again when you walked away with me."

"That's unlikely." I set my cup down with more force than necessary, sloshing coffee onto the scratched table. "He made his choice years ago."

Aiden gives me that look—the one he uses in court when he's about to dismantle someone's carefully constructed argument. "Did he, though? Because from what I've gathered from the Cedar Bay gossip mill, the man hasn't had a serious relationship since you left."

"And that's my problem because...?" I reach for a napkin, wiping up my mess with aggressive swipes.

"It's not your problem. It's just information." Aiden shrugs, but his eyes are too wide. "Interesting information about a man who still turns you into a stammering teenager."

"I did not stammer," I protest, though my cheeks flush traitorously. "I was perfectly composed."

"Mabel." Aiden reaches across the table, covering my hand with his. "You backed into a waiter and knocked over a tray of champagne flutes when he smiled at you."

I groan, dropping my forehead to the table. "Do you think Cole noticed?"

"Everyone noticed. Your grandmother started a betting pool on when you two would disappear into a coat closet."

"Oh my God. I'm a respected attorney. I argue before federal judges. I do not get flustered by old flames in tailored suits."

"Just one flame," Aiden corrects. "In one particular suit."

I lift my head, fixing him with what I hope is my intimidating courtroom glare. "I'm over him."

"Sure you are. That's why you're having an existential crisis at midnight in a coffee shop that smells like despair."

"It's the ambiance I'm here for," I mutter, but we both know it's a lie.

Aiden sighs, his expression softening. "Look, I get it. First loves are complicated. But you're going to be sharing the space most of the day tomorrow?—"

"Stop, please." I hold up my hand. "I'm aware of my impending doom, thank you."

"All I'm saying is maybe stop running from whatever this is." He gestures vaguely at my general state of distress. "You're Mabel Maxwell. You don't run from anything."

Except I did. I ran to law school, then Portland, building a life that had nothing to do with Cedar Bay or Cole Bennett. And now here I am, undone by a single encounter.

"What if I've misread everything?" I whisper, voicing the fear that's been circling since I saw Cole again. "What if he's just being polite, and I'm the pathetic ex who never moved on?"

Aiden's laugh is gentle but firm. "Trust me, the way that man looked at you wasn't polite. It was hungry."

The word sends an electric current down my spine that I refuse to acknowledge.

"Even if you're right—and I'm not saying you are—what exactly am I supposed to do about it now? We're different people. I have a life in Portland. He's here. The same geography problem that broke us apart still exists."

"Maybe," Aiden says, stirring his coffee thoughtfully, "the problem was never about geography at all."

My breath catches in my throat because, damn him, he might be right. Geography was always the excuse we used, the safe explanation that made our breakup sound logical and mature instead of the devastating implosion it was.

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