One More Night

I don’t recognize him for a second.

Which is ridiculous, considering I used to know exactly what he looked like naked.

He’s standing two aisles over, turning a paperback over in his hands, reading something on the back cover. His hair has grown out since I last saw him, falling across his forehead as he looks down at the book.

He’s wearing glasses now, thin wire frames that draw attention to his high cheekbones. He was never a fan of contact lenses and hated touching his eyes.

Unless my memory has become particularly hazy, his shoulders are broader, too.

I stare for longer than I should, weighing up whether I should go over and say hi or make a beeline for the stairs.

He looks up.

His eyes find mine.

Neither of us moves.

Then his head tilts to the side.

And there it is.

That smile.

Fuck. I realize I’ve left it too late to pretend I haven’t seen him.

He walks over to me as I try to remember how to breathe.

“Hi.”

It takes me an embarrassingly long second to remember that I’m supposed to say something back.

“Hi.”

I should probably explain that I’m only back for work. That my flight leaves tomorrow, and I came in here after spending two mind-numbing hours in a meeting that really could have been an email, desperate for some quiet time alone.

Instead, all I can think about is that the last time I saw this man, I kissed him outside my old apartment, and neither of us knew it would be the last time.

“How’ve you been?” he asks.

I don’t know, Luke. I left the country I grew up in to take a shot at a new job, in a new city, building a new department from scratch. I met a guy who was incredible until he broke my heart, and I’ve been ignoring my feelings ever since by burying myself in smut literature and reality TV.

Thanks for asking.

“I’ve been great,” I say instead. “How’re you? You’re looking well.”

I regret saying it the moment it leaves my mouth.

Luke laughs under his breath, dropping his eyes to the floor between us as he scratches the back of his head.

I know that move. He’s trying not to look too pleased that I’ve noticed him.

When he looks up, his eyes travel slowly over me. From the ridiculously high heels I’ve been regretting since I left my hotel room, to the swishy dress that hugs my top half before flaring out at my hips.

He pauses at my collarbone.

Shit.

I remember too late that I’m wearing the necklace he bought me for my birthday.

His eyes stay there for a little longer than they need to.

Then his gaze moves higher, settling briefly on my lips. The same brown-red shade I wore before I knew him and long after.

“You’re looking pretty good yourself, Maya.”

Heat creeps into my face. My body, traitorous as ever, remembers exactly what it feels like to be looked at by him.

“What are you doing here?” He places the book in his hands onto the shelf I’m leaning against. “How long are you in town for?”

“I’ve been here since Tuesday. I head back tomorrow.”

He nods slowly, piecing it together. That I was here, but I didn’t reach out to him. That I have one more night and then I go back.

“Not enough time for us to catch up, I guess?”

His words linger in the air.

Catching up with Luke is probably a terrible idea. Not because we ended badly. We didn’t.

There was no cheating. No screaming. No dramatic discovery that we secretly hated each other for the four months we had spent together.

I got offered a job.

I took it.

Four months didn’t feel like enough of a foundation for a long-distance relationship. He offered to come with me. I told him not to bother. So we did the sensible thing and ended things before one of us had to make a decision we weren’t ready for.

I shake my head.

“I can’t. I’ve got another meeting in...” I check my phone. “Twenty minutes.”

“After?”

I frown, confused.

“After?”

“Coffee after your meeting.”

I should probably say no.

Instead, I look down at the book still clutched in my hands, then back at the man I haven’t seen in two years.

“Sure. Okay. Where should I meet you?”

The coffee shop Luke suggests has big, cozy armchairs by the window, dim lighting, and background jazz playing over tinny speakers.

He’s there when I arrive. A jacket is draped over the back of the armchair next to him.

“Caramel macchiato with oat milk, right?” he asks, getting up when he spots me walking over.

“You remember?”

Luke gives me a look. “Of course I remember; it was all you drank when we were together.”

I nod. “Still the same.”

He smiles before heading towards the counter.

Outside, a crack of thunder fills the air, followed by a quick streak of lightning.

It’s been a couple of years, and I still heavily associate rain, thunder, and lightning with Luke. It was raining the day we first met. There was a thunderstorm on our first date. And the night we talked about whether our relationship was worth building or breaking, the lightning was so bright it lit up my entire apartment.

“I’m not sure if you’ve still got a sweet tooth, but here you go.”

He places a pack of peanut butter cups down next to our coffees, then settles into his armchair, allowing me to get a better look at him.

A few grey strands pepper his short beard. His hair falls forward again every time he looks down. The scar above his eyebrow has faded. The material strains around his biceps as he lifts the mug closer to his lips.

He looks older, more mature, and yet exactly the same.

“So,” I say, breaking a peanut butter cup in half. “Catch me up. What have I missed?”

“Not a lot, really. I’m still working at the same place. Benson left a year ago, so I run the team now. I moved out of my shoebox apartment. I kept the sofa, but I got rid of that dining table you liked. I’m doing okay.” He gives me a small smile. “What about you? What have I missed?”

A low chuckle leaves my lips.

“Um, I’m still working, still building the department. I live in a place that’s way too big for one person. I didn’t bring that much with me, so there aren’t many home comforts. I’m still trying to make it feel like mine. But, you know...”

I give him the same small smile.

“I’m doing okay.”

Something glints in his eyes. “Only brought what you could carry, or something like that?”

I nod. “Yeah, something like that.”

His eyes drop to my necklace again.

I know exactly what he’s realized: of everything I left behind, I took this.

I clear my throat, trying to shake off my embarrassment. We sit in silence, sipping our coffees, watching as the clouds open up and rain lashes against the windows. Questions I have no business asking him run through my head.

How quickly did you move on after I left?

Were any of your dates serious?

Did you ever wish you’d come with me anyway?

Would we still be together if you had?

“So, do you actually like it there?” Luke’s voice pulls me out of my head.

“What?”

“Your new life.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “You told me about the job and the ridiculously oversized apartment. But do you actually like living there?”

I think about it.

“Yeah,” I say eventually. “I do. It’s a completely different pace of life. The people are lovely. And the weather, well...”

I glance outside and chuckle as the rain continues to hammer against the windows.

“It’s warm. Almost always sunny. Definitely an improvement.”

He nods. “I’m glad.”

And he looks like he means it. Which is irritating, because some small, selfish part of me almost wishes he didn’t.

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you like the new place?”

Luke groans.

“That bad?”

“The place is fine. The neighbours are questionable.”

I grin. “Questionable how?”

“The woman upstairs owns what I can only assume is a bowling ball.”

“Maybe she bowls.”

“At tw in the morning?”

“Night league?”

He laughs, shaking his head.

And just like that, it gets easier.

We finish our coffees. We talk about his new apartment. My new city. People we both used to work with. The mutual friends he still sees and the new friends I’ve made. Restaurants that have closed since I left and the pub around the corner from my old apartment that still smells like stale beer no matter how many times they renovate it.

I lose track of time. Talking helps me forget that I haven’t seen him in two years.

My stomach growls.

Loudly.

Luke stops mid-sentence. “Huh. When was the last time you ate?”

I think about it.

His eyebrows lift. “That’s concerning.”

“I had breakfast.”

“What did you have?”

“Coffee.”

“Maya.”

“And half a blueberry muffin.”

He stares at me.

“It was a big blueberry muffin.”

“Right.”

I bite back a smile as he reaches for his phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding you food.”

“You don’t need to find me food.”

“Your stomach just interrupted our conversation.”

“It was contributing to the conversation.”

That gets another laugh out of him.

“Come on.” He slips his phone into his pocket and stands. “There’s a place around the corner.”

I look up at him. “Luke.”

“Relax, Maya, it’s food. I’m not proposing.”

I laugh, hesitating to get up. Coffee was safe; it was two people who used to know each other catching up after years apart. Food comes with an ellipsis; it opens up the rest of the day for something else.

I look outside. The rain has softened, but it hasn’t stopped.

Then I look at Luke. “Fine. It’ll probably be better than the room service.”

He reaches for his jacket.

“But as long as it’s somewhere close.”

His eyes drop pointedly to my heels. “Obviously.”

I grab my bag and follow him out into the rain.

I leave tomorrow. Surely I can survive dinner with my ex.