The man held the door open for her, and she stepped inside, the warmth enveloping her instantly. The low murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine all blended into a cozy hum.
"What's your name?" she asked, surprising herself with the question. She wasn't one to pry. Not anymore.
"Liam," he replied easily, a crooked smile on his lips. "And you?"
"Emma." She didn't offer a last name.
"Nice to meet you, Emma." He stepped up to the counter, glancing back at her. "What was your drink? Let me guess... vanilla latte?"
Her brow lifted slightly. "Hazelnut. But close."
Liam turned to the barista. "A hazelnut latte and a black coffee, please." Then to Emma, "I'm a simple guy."
She gave a soft chuckle. "Apparently."
They found a small table by the window, tucked away from the bustle. Liam pulled out a chair for her—a small gesture, but one that tugged at a memory. Politeness like that used to be a tactic. A way to disarm. But there was something disarming about Liam in a very different way. Natural. Unforced.
"So, Emma... what do you do?" he asked as he stirred his coffee.
A practiced question. A normal one.
She hesitated for a beat too long. "I work in publishing," she lied easily. "Freelance editor."
It wasn't entirely false. She had once worked in publishing. Years ago, before the life she had now.
"Ah, the unsung heroes of literature," Liam said, sipping his drink. "Writers get all the glory, but I bet you've saved a few manuscripts from disaster."
"Maybe," she said, smiling faintly.
"And what about you?" she asked, shifting the focus. "What do you do?"
"Architect," he said. "Mostly residential projects. I like building homes people actually live in. Something about creating space for memories. Cheesy, I know."
"No, it's... kind of beautiful."
Their eyes met, and for a second, the world outside seemed to pause—the sun catching in the window, framing him in a golden glow. Emma looked away first, fingers tightening around her cup.
She couldn't let this become anything. It was already too much.
"So, do you always offer to buy coffee for people you bump into on the street?" she asked, voice light.
"Only the ones who look like they're having an important inner monologue," he said. "You looked like you were a million miles away."
She shrugged. "Maybe I was."
He leaned in a little, curious. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Emma almost laughed. She couldn't imagine telling a stranger about her real life—the aliases, the safehouses, the way she always kept one suitcase half-packed. She hadn't trusted anyone in years. But Liam wasn't pushy. He wasn't trying to get information out of her. He was just... asking.
"No," she said softly. "Not really."
Liam didn't press. Instead, he took another sip and smiled. "Fair enough. Then let's talk about coffee. On a scale of one to ten, how good is this latte?"
She sipped again, grateful for the subject change. "Eight. It's better when it's not on my coat."
He laughed, a low, warm sound. "I really am sorry about that."
"It's okay. Honestly, I needed a break from my routine."
He looked at her thoughtfully. "I know the feeling."
They chatted for a while longer—about books, travel, coffee spots around the city. Emma found herself relaxing, letting down her guard inch by inch. It wasn't often she could pretend to be normal.
Eventually, Liam glanced at his watch and stood. "I have to run to a site meeting. But I'm glad I ran into you—literally."
She smiled. "Me too."
He hesitated, then pulled a card from his wallet. "If you ever want another coffee... or if you ever need someone to bump into on purpose."
She took the card, her fingers brushing his. "Thanks."
And just like that, he was gone.
---
Emma walked home with the card tucked safely in her coat pocket. The city around her blurred into golden light and shadows. Every step felt surreal.
When she reached her apartment—a modest second-floor walk-up—she locked the door behind her and pressed her back against it. Her pulse was still quick, but not in the usual anxious way. It was something else.
She went to her desk and opened the drawer where she kept the things she was supposed to forget: a passport with a different name, a key to a storage unit in another state, a folded photograph of someone she hadn't seen in years.
With careful fingers, she slipped Liam's card in next to them.
She shouldn't call. She knew that.
But she didn't throw it away, either.
---
Three Days Later
Emma tried to go back to normal. She woke up early, made tea instead of coffee, worked on her editing jobs, and went for quiet walks. She even started a new book, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Liam.
She hadn't meant to keep thinking about him. But he had a presence—one that lingered.
On the third morning, she was sitting on a park bench reading when a shadow fell across the page.
"I thought I recognized you."
She looked up, startled.
Liam.
He was holding a coffee in each hand, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world to find her here.
"You found me," she said, trying not to smile too wide.
"I took a chance," he said. "You said you liked hazelnut, and there's only one bench near this park that gets the right afternoon light. Lucky guess."
He handed her a cup.
"You're good at this," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm good at architecture," he said with a wink. "People? I'm still figuring that out."
She sipped the drink. Perfect temperature. Just enough sweetness. Her shoulders relaxed without her realizing.
They talked again—more this time. She told him about her "editing projects," carefully avoiding specifics. He told her about the building he was working on, a home for a young couple expecting their first child.
"I like designing for beginnings," he said.
Emma looked down at her coffee. "Beginnings are hard."
"Yeah. But they're worth it."
She didn't answer right away. The wind rustled through the trees, scattering petals like confetti.
"I've moved around a lot," she said finally. "I'm not great at... starting things. Or finishing them, for that matter."
Liam didn't try to fix it. He just nodded. "Sometimes moving is survival. Sometimes it's running."
Emma glanced at him sharply. "And which do you think it is for me?"
He met her gaze. "I don't know. But I think you're stronger than you realize."
She felt a lump rise in her throat. No one had said that to her in a long time. Maybe ever.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
They sat there for a while in silence, sipping coffee, letting the world spin on around them.
---
Later That Night
Back in her apartment, Emma stared at her reflection. She was still the same woman—same eyes, same scars hidden beneath fabric—but something was stirring. Something dangerous.
Hope.
Hope was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She pulled Liam's card from the drawer again, running her thumb over the print.
Architect. Dreamer. Normal.
She wanted to be normal.
She wanted to stay.
But she knew better.
The past always caught up eventually.
And she wasn't sure if Liam could survive it when it did.