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The smell of bacon and coffee did nothing for her that morning.
Sam stood behind the counter at Wick’s, her apron slightly crooked and a smear of something—maybe butter? maybe regret?—on the hem of her sleeve. She hadn’t noticed until halfway through her second table, and by then, she’d already forgotten one order, dropped a fork, and nearly poured orange juice into a customer’s coffee.
“Sorry,” she mumbled for the third time in ten minutes, rushing to correct the mistake.
Her feet moved, but her mind stayed lodged in the moment Anisha’s voice sliced through the air like a bell. “I’m William’s girlfriend.” It looped, cruel and relentless. Her jaw tightened just thinking about it.
She scribbled an order wrong again and had to come back to the table with an apologetic smile.
“Make it decaf, not espresso,” the woman said gently, clearly noticing how out of it Sam looked.
“Right. Sorry. Got it.”
It wasn’t like her. Normally she was quick, cheerful, even a little sassy with the regulars. But this morning she felt like she was underwater—every movement delayed, every breath too heavy.
“Sam.”
She looked up. Her manager, Terry, stood near the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest. His brow was furrowed in that way that meant concern, not anger.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?”
She wiped her hands on a dish towel and followed him behind the counter.
Terry didn’t waste time. “You okay?”
She gave him the automatic nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
He stared at her for a beat. “You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just tired. It was a late night.”
“Uh-huh,” he said. “I figured, but that’s not all of it.”
Sam looked away.
“You’re forgetting orders, zoning out. You almost gave that kid a side of hot sauce with his pancakes.”
She winced. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Sam, listen,” he said, softer now. “You’ve been solid since day one. I’ve seen people work here for years and still not handle a shift like you do. You pick things up fast. You care. That’s not nothing.”
She let out a dry laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“So whatever’s going on,” Terry continued, “you don’t have to pretend it isn’t.”
“I already took yesterday off,” she said, her voice low. “I can’t take another one.”
“You can, actually,” he said. “And you should. You’re not doing anyone any favors trying to power through when you’re clearly somewhere else.”
She opened her mouth to protest again, but he raised a hand.
“I’m not firing you. I’m not mad. I’m just saying—take a breath. Take a day. Or sit in the back booth, have a coffee, and let the others cover. We’ve got it.”
Sam looked at him. At his kind, tired eyes and the way he always smelled faintly of cinnamon and dish soap. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
She sat at the booth near the window for the rest of the shift, her hands wrapped around a warm mug she barely sipped from. The world buzzed around her—orders called out, plates clinking, laughter from the regulars, but it all felt like it was happening behind a glass wall.
By the time the sky turned soft with the early notes of sunset, the rush had died down. Sam helped tidy up—wiping tables, stacking napkins, organizing condiments. The rhythm was grounding, even if her heart still felt like it was dragging behind her.
She hung up her apron, grabbed her tote, and stepped out the front door.
And stopped.
There, parked by the curb, was a sleek black sedan. And in front of it—Liam.
Sam froze.
“Oh no,” she whispered, eyes wide.
She took a quick step to the left, hoping to disappear down the side street before he noticed, but of course—he did.
“Sam!” he called, his voice sharp with urgency.
She picked up her pace.
“Wait—please!” he shouted.
Then his hand found hers. Gentle, hesitant, but firm enough to stop her.
“Don’t,” she said, breath catching.
“Just... wait,” Liam said, his voice softer now, closer. “Please, just give me a second.”
Sam turned slowly, her expression unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes were stormy.
He was still holding her hand. She looked down at it, and he let go, as if realizing too late that she wasn’t ready for that.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, waiting.
“I didn’t see your text,” he said. “I swear I didn’t ignore you. Anisha’s messages buried it. I was overwhelmed. I should’ve checked. I should’ve—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she cut in.
“It does,” Liam said, desperate now. “It matters to me.”
Silence stretched between them, tense and brittle.
Sam folded her arms, eyes burning but dry. “She called herself your girlfriend.”
“But she’s not,” Liam said quickly.
“You didn’t dispute her.”
“I was in shock,” he said. “I didn’t even know she was coming. I didn’t invite her.”
“But you didn’t tell me,” Sam said. “About her. About any of it.”
Liam looked down, shame flickering across his face. “I broke things off a while ago. I thought she got it, but she kept texting, calling… showing up.”
Sam looked away, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be in the middle of something messy.”
“You’re not,” he said quickly. “You’re not in the middle of anything. She’s in the past.”
“But she’s not gone,” Sam whispered. “And I don’t want to be someone’s rebound. Or escape. Or... backup plan.”
“You’re not,” Liam said, stepping closer. “You were the only thing I could think about for days. That painting? It started with you. You changed something in me, Sam.”
Sam’s eyes flicked up to meet his, guarded but searching.
“I don’t know if I can trust that,” she said honestly.
“I don’t expect you to,” Liam said. “Not yet. But let me prove it to you. Let me show you I’m serious.”
Sam studied him in the fading light. The sun caught on the strands of his hair, casting a golden hue over his face. He looked tired.
She didn’t walk away. Instead, she exhaled slowly, the kind that felt like it had been held in for too long, and nodded once.
“Okay,” she said. “Show me.”
Liam blinked, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.
“I’m not promising anything,” she added quickly. “I just... I’m not walking away. Not yet.”
He smiled, something soft and almost relieved curling at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
They stood there for another beat, the city humming softly around them.
Then Sam stepped back.
“I should go,” she said.
“I can drive you home,” Lia offered gently.
Sam’s eyes flicked to the black sedan behind him, then back to him. Her jaw tightened.
“No, thanks.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and stepped aside as if to let her pass.
She took a few steps, her pace slow, unsure. Then, without asking, Liam fell into step beside her.
“I’ll walk you until you find a cab,” he said.
“I’m not lost,” she muttered.
“I know.”
They didn’t talk. But they walked side by side down the quiet street, and it felt like something might be okay again.
A taxi passed by, empty. Sam lifted her hand and it slowed to a stop.
She turned back to him.
“I need time,” she said, almost apologetically. “I don’t know what this is anymore. Or what it was. But I can’t just fall back into it like nothing happened.”
Liam nodded, and she saw the understanding in his eyes. The patience.
“I’ll wait,” he said. “However long it takes.”
She gave him a tired smile. “We’ll see.”
Sam opened the door to the cab, slid inside, and didn’t look back until it pulled away.
Liam was still there, standing under the streetlamp, hands in his pockets, like he was trying to hold onto the shape of her in the air.