Emma stayed true to her word and avoided the coffee shop for the rest of the week. She worked from home, grateful for the flexibility of her job, and found solace in the small routines of her day. Morning yoga, brewing her own coffee, and playing her favorite playlists gave her a sense of control, even as unease lingered in the back of her mind.
But despite her efforts, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every time she glanced out the window or walked to the corner store, she felt eyes on her. It was irrational, she told herself, a product of her overactive imagination. Yet, she double-checked the locks on her doors and windows every night before going to bed.
On Friday evening, Emma decided to treat herself to dinner at her favorite bistro down the street. It was a small, cozy place with warm lighting and friendly staff—somewhere that felt safe. She sat at a corner table, sipping a glass of wine while waiting for her food.
The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air. Emma allowed herself to relax, her shoulders easing as she flipped through her phone. She was midway through reading an email when she felt it—a prickling sensation at the back of her neck, like someone was watching her.
She looked up, scanning the room casually, and her heart sank.
Ethan.
He was seated at the bar, his body angled toward her, his eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity. For a moment, Emma froze. It could've been a coincidence, she told herself, but deep down, she didn't believe that.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stay calm. She couldn't let him see that he was getting to her. She returned her attention to her phone, ignoring the way her pulse quickened as she felt his gaze linger.
Minutes passed, and Emma dared another glance in his direction. He was still there, but now he was standing, his drink abandoned on the bar as he made his way toward her table. Panic surged through her, but she pushed it down, refusing to let it show on her face.
"Emma," he said, stopping a few feet from her table. "Fancy seeing you here."
Her grip tightened on her glass. "Ethan," she said, her voice steady but cool. "What a surprise."
"I didn't expect to run into you," he said, his tone overly casual. "It's been a while since I saw you at the coffee shop."
"I've been busy," Emma said shortly, hoping he'd take the hint.
Instead, he smiled, as though her dismissal didn't register. "I was worried I'd done something to offend you."
Emma blinked, caught off guard by the statement. "No, you haven't. I've just had a lot going on."
"Good," he said, the relief in his voice palpable. "I'd hate to think I upset you."
Emma nodded, eager to end the conversation. "Well, I hope you have a good night."
Ethan hesitated, as though expecting her to invite him to sit. When she didn't, he finally said, "You too." But the way he lingered before walking away made her stomach churn.
She watched him leave the bistro, his figure disappearing into the night. Only then did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
---
Across the street, Ethan stood in the shadow of a lamppost, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He had left the bistro, but he hadn't gone far. He couldn't. Seeing her had only confirmed what he already knew—they were meant to be. She just needed time to realize it.
He would wait. He was good at waiting.
For now.