The café was stunning, a blend of elegance and warmth. Chandeliers with delicate crystals casting soft, golden light across the room, that reflected off polished surfaces. Glass cases showcased an array of artisan breads, flaky croissants, and perfectly sculpted pies that looked almost too beautiful to eat. He could see why she liked this place—it had a certain charm, sophisticated yet inviting.
The hostess led them to a cozy table tucked further into the café, offering a sense of privacy amidst the gentle hum of conversation and the clinking of porcelain cups. Jay glanced around, taking it all in, still feeling a bit out of place.
"I'll have a hot chocolate and a croissant, please," he said, offering a polite smile. He'd already drank enough coffee to keep him wired for days.
Erin glanced at the menu briefly before ordering a cappuccino and a slice of pecan pie. Jay noticed her fingers trailing lightly over the edge of the table, a subtle habit he hadn't realized he'd missed.
He leaned back slightly to in his chair, glancing down at his worn hoodie and sneakers. "I feel a little out of place here dressed like this…" he admitted with a boyish grin, one that hadn't changed a bit over the years.
Her eyes softened, a hint of her familiar dimples appearing as she smiled back. "You're not," she said simply, her voice gentle but sure.
And just like that, something shifted. The nervous energy between them settled, and for the first time in years, he felt… right. Maybe, just maybe, he was in the right place for the first time in 5 years.
They were both quiet, a little unsure, searching for the words that wouldn't come. The air between them was thick with everything they weren't saying. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either. It used to be so easy—being with her, talking to her. Now, the weight of the years apart and the unspoken pain hung between them like a veil they couldn't quite lift.
He caught her glancing at him when she thought he wasn't looking, and he smiled faintly, his chest tightening. She was just as he remembered but different in ways that both intrigued and hurt him. And as her cappuccino arrived, she wrapped her hands around the cup, her fingers delicate but strong, the same hands that once steadied him in ways he hadn't fully appreciated until she was gone.
He didn't know what the rest of this conversation would bring, but for now, sitting across from her, he realized he'd been holding his breath for years—and he was finally starting to exhale.
She tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together, finally gathering the courage to ask what had been stuck in her throat. "What did you mean about saying goodbye?"
He exhaled deeply, his hands sliding into the pockets of his hoodie. "I'm going down to Bolivia."
"Bolivia?" The word came out as a whisper, her voice faltering. A wave of sadness clouded her eyes, wiping away the faint smile she'd been holding onto.
He nodded, his jaw tightening. "I rejoined the army."
Her head jerked back slightly as if the words had physically hit her. "You w-what?" she stammered, her voice rising with disbelief. "Why?", a mixture of shock and worry flickering across her face.
Jay ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. "I just… needed the change…. I needed to feel like I was doing something that mattered… to find myself again" he said softly, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
She was afraid to ask when he felt like he had lost himself, because she had been feeling lost ever since she moved to NY.
Her expression shifted from confusion to something heavier… "So you quit Intelligence?"
"Yeah…" Jay nodded, his voice quiet but steady. "I resigned a week ago, just before flying over here."
Erin's eyes widened slightly "You've been here for a week?" She didn't mean for it to sound like an accusation.. but he certainly picked it up..
"Training, yes…" he clarified, his tone calm but sad "Today was my first day off… so I took a chance..." He gave a small shrug, downplaying the effort it had taken.
"To go out running?" she asked, one eyebrow lifting with a smirk.
"Uh-huh…" Jay chuckled, his lips curving into a lopsided grin.
She couldn't help but smile back, a warmth spreading in her chest. "It is nice to see you," she said, her voice quieter now, sincere.
"It is!," Jay echoed, his eyes holding hers a second too long before glancing away.
A short pause of silence and hesitation fell between them. Both of their hands twitched slightly, unsure whether to reach out or remain still. They were both nervous, a mirror to their shared apprehension. Their hearts were beating so fast. But at the same time they could feel the warm familiar energy they used to share slowly resurfacing, and it felt just so good, so right. A moment they had been waiting for so long.
"When do you leave?" Erin finally asked, her voice softer now, almost hesitant, afraid of the answer.
"Tomorrow night," Jay replied, the words heavy as they left his lips.
"Oh." She nodded slightly, trying to keep her expression neutral, but the way her shoulders sagged betrayed her. Her heart sank, and despite her effort, disappointment flickered across her face.
Jay noticed his jaw tightening "When they told me I would have to come to New York for the training I knew I had to try to find you. I didn't know how but… I didn't want to leave without seeing you," he said, his voice low, almost like an apology.
Erin looked down, "Well, mission accomplished," she murmured, her attempt at a smile faltering.
"Erin…" Jay's voice softened, and she glanced up, catching the way his eyes searched hers, like he wanted to say more but couldn't quite find the words.
He reached out his right hand across the table. Hesitantly she reached out her left hand also.. touching his hand just slightly. It felt like an electric shock running through every nerve of her body giving her goosebumps. He stroked her fingers lightly, noticing her reaction with his own heart pounding inside his chest.
The sweetness of the moment mingled with a deep, creeping worry that took hold of her chest. Her gaze softened, lingering on him, as a fierce need to protect him welled up inside her. It wasn't just affection—it was an instinctual urge, a quiet, urgent drive to ensure he was safe, to shield him from harm.
"Are you sure this is the right move for you?" Erin asked, her voice steady but full of concern. She glanced down at their intertwined hands resting on the table, her thumb absently brushing against his knuckles.
Jay looked at her for a long moment before exhaling, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Not really," he admitted, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "But… I couldn't stay any longer." He squeezed her hand gently, as if grounding himself in the contact. "It's just… we've been crossing so many lines that I don't even recognize myself anymore."
Erin's brows furrowed, her other hand curling around her coffee mug. "When Mouse decided to go back to the army, you were so adamantly against it…"
"I know." Jay nodded, his thumb brushing hers now. "And you were the one who made me see that I had to let him go after what he was looking for. I get it now. I really do."
She shook her head slightly, her gaze dropping to their hands. "But with everything you've been through in the army?" Her voice cracked as she lifted her eyes to his, emotion shimmering just beneath the surface. "I mean… I don't even know... You never really told me, but…" She paused, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "Are you sure?"
Jay's let out a slow breath, his gaze falling to the table. "No, but I need to try" he said finally, his voice low and unsteady. He looked back up at her, his eyes holding a mix of vulnerability and resolve. "I guess, sometimes moving feels better than staying stuck."
"You don't look okay… you look so... lost," Erin said, her voice soft but insistent, her brows knitting together as she leaned forward slightly.
Jay let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I am kinda lost… yeah," he admitted, his eyes flickering down to the table, unable to meet hers. Five years, and she could still read him so easily.
"Jay…" she said his name gently but with a note of urgency, her grip on his hand tightening. "This is not a decision to make lightly. You're worrying me."
He glanced up at her then, his eyes clouded with emotion. "I didn't mean for you to worry," he murmured, his voice thick with guilt. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," she said quickly, shaking her head as if trying to dispel his words. "I just…" Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath before continuing, her thumb brushing over his knuckles again. "I don't want you to go and end up more lost than you are right now. You don't have to figure it all out on your own, Jay. You never did."
Jay swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he looked away for a moment, her words clearly hitting their mark. When he turned back to her, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to stay, Erin. Not like this."
Her hazel eyes softened, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Then let me help you find a way," she said gently.
For a moment, it felt as though his heart had stopped. Her words, so unexpected, left him reeling. What was she saying? Why was she saying it? The woman sitting before him seemed so calm and grounded, yet beneath that composure he could sense her vulnerability, her openness. She was offering her heart—without restraint, without masks, without hesitation. No fear. No walls. He struggled to process it. The idea that she could be this…receptive, this caring, after everything, caught him entirely off guard.
He studied her, searching her face, hoping to uncover the emotions swirling behind her steady gaze. But that was actually funny because he barely understood his own feelings. How could he even try to understand hers?
His hand lingered on hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles absently, seeking some sort of clarity in the connection between them. His gaze dropped to the table, and he found himself lost in thought again.
Five years. No, more than that—five and a half years, almost. That's how long they had let things broken, unfinished, unresolved. The pain had been mutual. The anger had been mutual. The mistakes—they had both made plenty. And yet, here they were. The bond between them was still so palpable, so unshakable.
Why? Why had he waited so long to come back? Why had he let so much time pass before trying to fix what had been broken?
He looked up again, meeting her eyes once more, as if the answer might be hidden there.
"I guess we needed this time," she whispered, almost as if speaking her thoughts aloud rather than to him.
His head jerked slightly, his mouth parting in surprise. Was she reading his mind? Or was it that she was asking herself the very same questions, wrestling with the same emotions? He had no words, only silence, as his mind tried to piece together what he was feeling—and whether they might be feeling the same thing.
