The mother still has her sunglasses on, a cup of coffee in her hand and her son next to her, playing on his phone. "He's learning French. So the theme will be Paris."

How original.

"I want the Eiffel Tower, made with macarons. He loves macarons."

Macarons, Caroline writes. Eiffel.

"We want to have a chef for his party to make little cakes with the kids. Gluten-free, of course." She takes a sip of her coffee and Caroline wonders if she's even looking at her. "Not an actor. A real chef. French, preferably."

Caroline has to note down every request for Elias — an angel, according to his mother, but he's already stuck his tongue out at least twice. She's already planning everything in her head regardless, because it's good money and a good distraction.

"Of course," Caroline tosses out, even if her comments are useless as her client obviously doesn't care.

"I want an accordion, like in Amelie, you know the movie?"

"Yes -"

"I want mimes!" she interrupts, "it could be fun, right Elias?"

He's too busy killing zombies to bother responding.

"He's ecstatic."

"Caroline?" She hears Katherine calling for her.

"I'm outside," Caroline answers, dipping a mozzarella stick in a little cup full of sauce.

She sees Katherine climbing in the window; her feet, despite her red stilettos, en pointe like a ballerina, and she, still gracefully, sits down next to her on the metallic stairs.

Caroline has no stilettos, no makeup on, was just getting some fresh air — with her notebook, of course.

"Hello sunshine," Katherine greets her, "brought you coffee."

"I hope there's a ton of sugar in it."

"I got the one with cream, caramel, and its name is diabetes."

"My favorite."

Katherine sits on the staircase next to her with a disgusted expression. Caroline doesn't care, she takes a sip of her coffee and moans - pure sugar in a cup. Katherine's coffee is black, without cream or sugar, and really, it's not surprising. What kind of girl are you according to your favorite drink in Starbucks - she'd taken a test once.

"Are you seriously considering eating mozzarella sticks with your coffee?"

"Yes I am."

"Gee, Caroline, dating a chef clearly didn't help you."

"I didn't date him," Caroline defends herself - or tries to.

"You know what I mean. Anyway, what are you doing?"

Katherine is the best when you need salt on an old wound - part of her charm, maybe.

"Watching people," Caroline answers simply, sipping on her glass of red wine - a gift from Tyler for their 2nd anniversary. Might as well enjoy it for the two months without him. "The building across the street," she clarifies.

She's been sitting on the fire escape, imagining all the possible romantic scenarios for the inhabitants of the building across from her. Perhaps she shouldn't imagine all these love stories, but Caroline is a helpless romantic.

A girl is leaning on her window, waiting for her beau. A couple is kissing. There are no sad stories in the building next door, Caroline decides. The world is shitty enough, it can have one happy building in this whole town.

Instead of thinking about Elias, his rude mom, or a certain guy.

"Interesting," the brunette says, stealing a mozzarella stick. "Are you ok, Caroline?"

She doesn't take a second to answer. "Yes, I am."

She enumerated everything she had done in the last two months: work harder than she'd ever worked before, planning parties and events; but she also came home every night to an empty flat. It was a strange feeling. Truth be told, she liked it. She could wander around in panties eating peanut butter from the jar while Beyoncé was on. It was carefree, almost dumb, but it felt good. She could choose what she wanted to watch, to eat. She rearranged her furniture. She even got herself a cat. Polka the Cat.

Most importantly, she learned how to live alone, a discovery, an adventure almost, and she'd noticed the dimple on her cheek. She'd looked at herself smiling in the mirror, and had noticed it. It maybe hasn't been the huge revelation she'd been expecting, but she'd laughed, it had felt good.

"I am really good, actually," she emphasizes. "I have a lot of work. And I made crème brûlée today," Caroline says proudly, "and it wasn't even disgusting. The caramel was too soft though."

"I'm glad you're fine, Care. But what are you going to do now?"

"About what?"

"About Klaus."

"What Klaus?"

"There's some things left unsaid, right?"

"I said everything I had to say. And he did too." There's a bit of venom, right here, she's trying to brush it off, convincing herself that she's fine alone but -

And that's the whole problem, this 3 letter word like a wave shattering the sand castle she's built around her.

"Oh please. Listen. I am all for self-discovery. Looking at yourself in the mirror without makeup on for 10 minutes straight. But I can't let you miss out on something that could be great."

Could is such a stabbing word, as if she hadn't imagined what could have been when she was with him. Going head first into something was great when she was 17, when she met Tyler, when she wore cheerleader uniform and kissed the quarterbacks under the bleachers.

"Sometimes, you learn more about yourself when you're with someone, you know? and there's nothing wrong with it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, don't pretend you haven't thought about him."

"Of course I have, but it was a simple flirtation that happened at the wrong moment." She was with Tyler, they were stuck in a routine, and Klaus had been here, breaking the pattern. It had felt good, but still, it was wrong.

"And all those sweet words he said to you."

"Yeah, that's the thing. I've always been the head-first kind of girl, and he - "

"He just swept you off your feet and took your place on the podium."

"That he did. A real romcom cliche." Caroline says, but it's not true. If anything, his words were painful. She tries to take them lightly, like they weren't a slap on her face, simply because she won't allow herself to.

Katherine steals a mozzarella stick from her and points at another window in the building next door.

Klaus looks at the hot water coloring, trying to listen. Really, he is trying. But somehow the leaves in the little tea bag are more entertaining than Rebekah's day.

"Klaus!" she snaps a finger close to his face making him focus on her entirely.

"What were you saying?"

"I said I was dating Marcel to see if you'd react but it didn't work."

Klaus just hums. It's not like they hadn't dated before, even if they'd tried to keep it hidden from him.

"What is up with you today? I swear I should have gone out with Elijah. Or worse. Kol. But day drinking is not my thing."

He doesn't want to talk about it, in fact he doesn't want to talk at all. "Nothing."

Rebekah leans on the table and grabs what's inside Klaus' bag, " You're still obsessed with this?" She unfolds the newspaper and sees a column outlined with angry red marker.

"The Originals is not that original," Klaus mutters, "even the title is bad."

"This is just one bad review among the many praises you've received."

Klaus raises his eyebrows because it's uncharacteristic of her to dismiss this kind of thing. If it would have been about her, she would have slaughtered the person who wrote it. In fact, he normally would have done that too.

But there's some indifference in everything he does lately.

"- you could try shaking things up a bit. Change the menu."

He isn't listening. Klaus is not fond of change. And the only time he's tried it, it hasn't worked that well.

The last and only time he'd dared try something else, he couldn't cope and just ran away, spitting words only to hurt.

Is that guilt he can taste in his mouth? Can tea have the taste of guilt?

" - since that girl, you've been brooding like a teenager."

"I don't want to talk about it." And how is she even aware of it? He never talks about it to his siblings, better cut off a limb than talk about his love life to Kol or Rebekah. But he's not surprised when he thinks about it, Marcel must have told her.

"You'll have to, eventually, to move on. I actually wanted to hire her for my party but I didn't, for you."

"Please. That's not the real reason. Could you pass the reins to plan your own party?"

"Probably not."

She reminds him of Caroline in a lot of ways, from her blond hair to the way she keeps her chin up. Perhaps she's right, and you tend to listen people who hold their heads high. He could make some changes, try to think about something else — forget the review, and her. Klaus is used to make things work, and he finds himself in front of a bad gear and he needs to fix it.

There are at least 20 people waiting on the street in line. It makes Caroline stop. Actually, it's not the real reason she stops to look at this building.

Caroline likes to believe in signs. She often thinks that if she sees two swans in Central Park, then today is going to be a good day. If she sees two red cars next to each other, it's going to be a busy one. If beignets, fries and stupid dimples tell her to run, she does. She likes signs, coincidences, they make her feel like there's something helping you, nudging your arm and guiding your decisions. It makes them easier.

But fate is cruel, and sometimes, it's just here to slap you in the face.

Caroline stops in the middle of the street because there's a sign right here.

She squeezes the handle of her bag, hoping maybe it could bring her somewhere else.

There are a lot of people waiting, talking energetically.

And she has a meeting next door, the next door down from The Originals.

So she looks at all the letters, remembers when she was there, when she visited the kitchen. It might as well be fate slapping her in the face.

She remembers the crème brûlée.

She hasn't allowed herself to go back here. She hasn't allowed herself a lot of things these past few months. She hasn't allowed herself to feel sad, to be heartbroken, to be pissed because of what he said. All in the name of this need to be alone and self-discovery.

She hasn't admitted to herself that she's felt lonely, sad and angry.

Yes, she smiled in the mirror and saw the little dimple, but fuck what an asshole to just disappear after saying that.

What a stupid dimpled asshole.

What a stupid smiling blonde.

And there's the crowd waiting — he's successful, and deep down, she almost wishes he wasn't, because it means he's doing fine without her. That's selfish but she can't help it. She wants him to be broken-hearted because she hasn't allowed herself to be.

She would love to barge in his restaurant to point at him and his feelings, to yell that he shouldn't have run away. He shouldn't have made it about himself, and if he'd just given her the time.

Oh - she took the time and now she wants to barge in, yell at him, perhaps slap him or kiss him.

She wants to barge into his restaurant with bravado and just smile and tell him that yes, she's happy now, that she wants to try this and oh god she wants his fucking crème brûlée but what would that make her?

So she just turns on her heel and goes to the door right next to his restaurant.

"What is she doing?" Lucien asks, looking at the blonde through the glass doors. "Looking for Klaus?"

"I have no idea."

"Should we tell him?"

Marcel smiles, it's not that he doesn't love bugging his boss and friend, but he wants what's best for him, and maybe she is. "Allow me."

"You look pathetic."

Klaus takes a drag of his cigarette, sitting on the stairs behind the restaurant. It smells like smoke, dirt and dusty food, but he likes it here only because the walls are so tall he can't even see behind it.

"Thanks," Klaus whispers back.

"This is a bad habit," says Marcel, grabbing Klaus' cigarette before taking a puff and killing it on the ground. "Kills your taste buds you know."

"I am aware."

"What's making you all moody on this fine day?" his sous-chef looks at the grey sky, threatening to rain sometime soon.

Klaus just shrugs, dismissing whatever discussion Marcel was hoping for.

"Right. By the way, your blonde friend was here."

And Klaus takes another cigarette, because he feels his hands shaking suddenly. "Who?" he lies, as if he doesn't know who Marcel is talking about — when it's more a question of wanting to know.

"Your almost, Mikaelson." He looks at him with a sad smile, and Klaus hates it. "I mean, not in here, but she just stood there, looking at the front door for quite some time."

"And?" Klaus shrugs again, trying to convey a fake detachment. He's convinced himself already that he didn't stay a bit too often at Lexi's only to see if she would walk by.

She had, twice, and it had been a feat to stay seated. But he had.

"You're a good liar. But not when I know you're lying."

Klaus takes a drag, to clear his thoughts with smoke, maybe. "We're not together, so it doesn't matter."

"You should call her and talk."

"Last time I did, I made a fool of myself and blurted out nonsense."

Marcel grabs his cigarette again and takes a drag, "Like how you were falling for her?"

Klaus bites his cheek. He doesn't know if it was a mistake, really, he did it because he'd wanted to hurt her, as bad as it sounds, because she didn't feel the same and he'd wanted her to feel guilty. But he'd also said it because it was true. He was falling in love with her. The way she bit into life, how she took her time to taste things and enjoy. She's his opposite in a lot of ways.

"Maybe you should talk to her about that."

He would love to say that he's been so busy he hasn't take the time to call her, but it's a lie. He's busy, the restaurant is popular, but he's also incapable of typing the 7 numbers to call her. Klaus doesn't know if he wants to, he doesn't even know what to say. Maybe he should apologize, but he knows himself, he's not sure he can do this.

But still, he writes on a post-it: Caroline; and sticks it to his computer screen, because he'll have to do it eventually.

Not right now. Tomorrow, maybe.

Caroline has a long checklist, but only half of it is done — only because Rich Mom keeps adding things to it.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a horse? or chicks? Elias would love chicks!"

So she had to install a cage for a dozen yellow chicks.

She bangs her head on her homemade desk — a stack of cardboard in a small closet in the place she's rented for Elias' party, listening to 12 little chicks squealing. Cute, but loud. But also too early, she's received them 2 weeks early, and Caroline believes she'll soon have a dozen chickens running around instead of adorable chicks.

And of course, she has to walk by the restaurant everyday to get here. She's backtracked twice, hoping he would be there.

It's stupid.

"Did he call her?"

"No."

"So that's why we're planning this?"

"Yes."

Lucien is looking at his watch, counting the seconds, while Marcel is keeping his eyes open on the sidewalk, waiting for stilettos, long legs and a blonde head — he'll never say this out loud, especially not to Klaus or Rebekah.

"7:02," Lucien says.

"She'll be here soon."

"7:03."

The stilettos are red and the hair's tied back, but it's her. "There she is. Always on time."

They look at the blonde walking down the street determinedly. Sometimes she stops and stares for a second, but she always keeps walking.

"So she goes out every day, approximately at 7 p.m.."

"Yes," says Marcel, thoughtful, "now we just need to bring Klaus out here too."

"It's pissing down," he mumbles, "what did I have to see?" Klaus is drenched from heavy rain of New York. "Bloody hell, the lights are fine!"

Lucien had talked about a problem with the light, it's the Original, now, he'd said, and almost pushed Klaus outside. But in the end, the lights are fine, and he's just wet.

"What if they kiss under the rain?" Lucien says, "it could be romantic. Like in the Notebook."

"It's already past 7," Marcel ignores him. "Maybe she took a cab."

"He's coming back, should I lock the door?"

Klaus finds himself banging on the locked door, screaming at Marcel and Lucien — who are making excuses — as he shouts threats and imaginative ways to kill them.

"Klaus?"

He stops banging at the voice. He hasn't heard this one in a long time. He tries to steady himself, slicking his wet hair back, because he also hasn't said her name in a long time — he's been avoiding it, really — and he needs to compose himself before he does so. "Caroline?"

Klaus can't help himself. He looks at her, from her toes to her head. She has a green umbrella, and he could be poetic about it, but right now, what he needs is a shelter and to clear his thoughts.

She brings her umbrella higher, inviting him to slide next to her. He's careful not to wet her, like she's some pristine artifact who shouldn't be stained — or a gremlin.

"Hi," she simply says, and he almost hadn't remembered how cheerful her voice sounds.

"Hi."

Caroline wonders how she can talk at all, how she can pretend, even make herself believe that it's just some random discussion. "How are you?"

She has a lot of things she wants to say. She's angry at him. But what dawns on her is how much she's missed him, and that's scary.

"A bit wet," he gives her a little laugh. It's probably fake, but it's the best he can give her.

"I can see that."

It's almost suffocating under the umbrella, maybe because of everything they mean to say but can't bring themselves to.

"And you?" Klaus suddenly says.

"Working a lot. Your restaurant is successful. I've seen a lot of people."

"Yes. It's busy. Which is good, considering."

Oh, so he'll be the first to talk about it. It surprises her, but maybe she should stop being that way when it comes to him. "Considering," she repeats.

She wants to yell. You didn't have to say all those things to me, I didn't deserve any of it. But there's this drop, gliding down onto his lips, and for a second she's mesmerized. She also realizes that even if he was a stepping stone in her love life — because he was really — she'd never even kissed him.

Not that she wants to. She has things to say.

Klaus wants to yell too. He doesn't know if he wants to say sorry. He'd said what he said, he hadn't lied, but the reasons behind it hadn't been good. He wants to ask too, if she would have given him a chance. If he'd given her time, like she asked, would she have agreed to go on a date with him?

And all of this is too much for one umbrella, "I better go," and "I should get going," they both say.

They both try to give a smile, a fake one, maybe, and they go on their way.

*coming back from the dead* hellooooo

I have nothing to say except I am sorry for the time I took to update this, and also, thanks to Kally (garglyswoof) for her beta work! thank you! (I am so glad it killed you a little)

thanks to Jo (fanfantasticworld) and Paula (howeverlongs) for their cover for this story!

and thanks to Kate (accidental-rambler) I think I promised to dedicate a chapter, and since I don't know if it was the last one, this one is for you again.

and also, it was supposed to be a 3-shot, well, guess it will be longer (maybe one chapter more!)

thanks for reading!