The bell above the café door chimed just as I reached for my drink, a soft silver sound that barely rose above the low hum of conversation. Still, it made me glance up — and that’s when I saw him.

He stepped inside like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged there, brushing snow from his dark hair, blinking against the sudden warmth. His eyes swept the room once, quick and searching, before landing on the only empty seat left — the one directly across from me.

Of course.

He hesitated, and for a second I thought he’d turn around and leave. But then he offered a small, apologetic smile, the kind that tugged at something in my chest.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, voice low and warm.

I shook my head, trying to look casual even though my pulse had decided to sprint. “Go ahead.”

He sat, setting down a worn leather backpack that looked like it had stories of its own. Up close, he was even more distracting — sharp jaw, soft eyes, a tiny scar near his eyebrow that made him look like he’d lived a little. Or maybe a lot.

I tried to focus on my laptop screen, but the words blurred. He smelled faintly of cedar and winter air, and it was impossible to ignore the way he kept glancing at me, like he was trying to figure something out.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’m new in town,” he said, almost sheepish. “Do you know if this place is always this busy?”

“Only when it’s cold enough to freeze eyelashes,” I said. “So… basically every day.”

He laughed — a real one, warm and surprised — and I felt ridiculously proud for being the cause of it.

“I’m Rowan,” he said, offering his hand.

I took it. His palm was warm, steady. “Lena.”

Something flickered in his expression, something curious and bright, like he’d just found the first clue in a mystery he didn’t know he was solving.

“Well, Lena,” he said, leaning back slightly, “I think this might be the best accidental seat choice I’ve made in a long time.”

I tried to play it cool, but my cheeks betrayed me with heat.

Outside, snow kept falling in soft, quiet sheets. Inside, the world felt suddenly smaller — like the universe had nudged two people a little closer, just to see what might happen.

And I had the strange, certain feeling that this wasn’t the last time Rowan and I would cross paths.

Not even close.

The next morning, the café felt different.

Maybe it was just me. Maybe it was the way I kept glancing at the door like some lovesick character in a paperback novel. Or maybe it was the fact that every time the bell chimed, my heart did this ridiculous little leap.

I told myself I wasn’t waiting for him.

And then Rowan walked in.

He spotted me instantly — like he’d been scanning the room for one face, and mine was the one he hoped to find. His smile was small but unmistakably real, the kind that warmed the space between us even before he reached my table.

“Morning,” he said, sliding into the same seat as yesterday, as if it had been reserved for him all along.

“Morning,” I echoed, trying not to sound too pleased.

He set down his backpack, fingers brushing the frayed strap. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

“I’m here most mornings,” I said. “It’s my unofficial office.”

“Good,” he said softly, almost under his breath.

I pretended not to hear the warmth in that single word.

For a few minutes, we worked in silence — or pretended to. I typed the same sentence three times. Rowan kept tapping his pen against his notebook, not writing anything. It was obvious we were both more aware of each other than our tasks.

Finally, he closed his notebook. “Can I ask you something?”

My pulse jumped. “Sure.”

He hesitated, eyes flicking to the window where snowflakes drifted lazily past. “Yesterday… when I sat here… it felt like—” He stopped, searching for the right word. “Like something shifted.”

I swallowed. “Yeah. I felt that too.”

His eyes snapped back to mine, surprised and relieved all at once. “You did?”

Before I could answer, the barista called my name — loudly, cheerfully, and at the worst possible moment.

I stood to grab my drink, trying to steady my breathing. When I returned, Rowan was staring at his hands, like he was debating something.

“Sorry,” I said, sitting down.

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I just… I’m not great at this.”

“At what?”

He looked up, and there it was — that spark again, bright and unguarded.

“Meeting someone and feeling like I’ve known them longer than a day.”

My breath caught.

But before I could respond, the café door swung open and a gust of cold air rushed in. A woman stepped inside — tall, confident, wrapped in a sleek coat. She scanned the room, her gaze landing on Rowan.

Her face lit up.

“There you are,” she said, walking straight toward him.

Rowan stiffened.

My stomach dropped.

The woman reached the table, placing a hand on his shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times before. “I’ve been calling you. You didn’t answer.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I turned my phone off.”

She finally noticed me, offering a polite but curious smile. “And you are…?”

I opened my mouth, but Rowan spoke first.

“She’s—”

He stopped.

And in that pause — that tiny, fragile moment — everything shifted again.

Rowan stood so quickly his chair scraped against the floor. The woman’s hand slipped from his shoulder, but she didn’t look offended — just expectant, like she was used to him reacting this way.

“Lena,” he said, voice tight, “this is… Seraphina.”

Seraphina.

The name alone sounded like it belonged to someone unforgettable — soft, elegant, almost too beautiful to be real. And when she smiled at me, I understood why Rowan looked like he’d swallowed a stone.

She was stunning in that effortless, unfair way: long waves of honey‑gold hair spilling over a cream coat, eyes the color of warm amber, cheekbones that could’ve been carved by someone with a very expensive chisel. Even the snow melting on her lashes made her look like she’d stepped out of a winter perfume ad.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice smooth and melodic. “Rowan didn’t tell me he’d made a friend already.”

Friend. The word hit harder than it should have.

Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. “Seraphina and I… we used to work together.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Used to?”

He shot her a look that said not now, but she ignored it, sliding gracefully into the seat beside him like she’d been born knowing how to take up space beautifully.

I tried to focus on my coffee, but the air felt too tight, too full of her perfume — something soft and expensive, like jasmine and winter air. Rowan noticed my discomfort immediately, his eyes flicking to me with a quiet apology.

“Sorry about the surprise,” he murmured.

“It’s fine,” I lied.

Seraphina glanced between us, her smile sharpening just a touch. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” I said quickly.

Rowan didn’t say anything at all.

For a moment, the three of us sat in a silence that felt like it had edges. Seraphina crossed her legs, her coat falling open to reveal a sleek black dress that looked like it belonged at a gallery opening, not a snowy morning café.

“So,” she said lightly, “are you two…?”

“No,” I said.

“No,” Rowan echoed — but his voice didn’t match mine. His sounded unsure, like he wasn’t convinced of his own answer.

Seraphina’s eyes flicked to him, curious. “Interesting.”

Rowan exhaled sharply. “Seraphina, what do you need?”

She shrugged, her hair shifting like silk. “I just wanted to talk. You left without saying anything, and I thought maybe you were upset.”

“I wasn’t upset,” he said. “I just needed space.”

Her gaze softened. “You could’ve told me.”

Rowan looked away, jaw tight.

I suddenly felt like I was sitting in the middle of a conversation I had no right to hear. I closed my laptop, trying to give them some kind of exit.

“I should probably get going,” I said.

Rowan’s head snapped toward me. “You don’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “I have work to do anyway.”

Seraphina watched him watching me, and something flickered in her expression — not jealousy, but recognition. Like she’d just realized she wasn’t the only person in the room who mattered to him.

I stood, slipping my bag over my shoulder. Rowan rose too, almost instinctively.

“Lena,” he said quietly, “can we talk later?”

My heart did that stupid leap again. “Sure.”

He looked relieved — and something else, something warm and unguarded.

Seraphina noticed that too.

As I stepped outside, the cold air hit my cheeks, sharp and bracing. Snow crunched under my boots, and for a moment I just stood there, breathing in the winter silence.

I didn’t know what Rowan and Seraphina were to each other.

I didn’t know what Rowan and I were, either.

But I knew one thing with absolute clarity:

Whatever this was becoming… it wasn’t over.

Not even close.

I didn’t make it far.

Just a few steps down the sidewalk, I stopped under the awning of the bookstore next door, pretending to check my phone while my heart tried to settle into something resembling a normal rhythm. Snow drifted lazily around me, soft and quiet — the opposite of what I felt inside.

I shouldn’t have cared so much.

But I did.

Through the café window, I could see Rowan and Seraphina still at the table. She leaned in close, her honey‑gold hair falling over one shoulder like it had been styled for the moment. Rowan looked… tense. Not angry. Not happy. Just caught.

I hated how familiar that expression felt.

I turned away, ready to leave, when the café door opened behind me.

“Lena.”

Rowan’s voice.

I closed my eyes for a second before facing him. Snow clung to his hair, melting slowly down his temples. He looked like he’d run after me — breath visible in the cold air, cheeks flushed.

“You didn’t have to come out here,” I said.

“I did,” he replied, stepping closer. “I didn’t want you to leave like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you thought she meant something.”

I swallowed. “Doesn’t she?”

He hesitated — and that hesitation said more than any answer could.

Before he could speak, the café door opened again.

Seraphina stepped out, her presence almost cinematic against the falling snow. Her coat shimmered faintly in the streetlight, her amber eyes catching every bit of glow. She looked like she belonged in a winter romance movie — the kind where the girl always gets the guy.

“There you are,” she said to Rowan, her voice warm and lilting. “You left so suddenly.”

She moved to his side, slipping her hand around his arm with the kind of ease that comes from history. Rowan stiffened, but she didn’t seem to notice — or maybe she did, and chose not to care.

“I thought we could finish our conversation,” she said, tilting her head up at him. “Unless you’re busy.”

Her gaze flicked to me, soft but undeniably assessing.

Rowan gently removed her hand from his arm. “Seraphina, not now.”

Her smile didn’t falter, but something sharper glinted beneath it. “I’m not trying to intrude. I just missed you, that’s all.”

Missed you.

The words hit harder than I wanted them to.

Rowan exhaled, frustrated. “Seraphina, we talked about this.”

“No,” she corrected softly, stepping closer to him, “you talked. I listened. And I still think you’re making a mistake.”

She reached up, brushing a bit of snow from his shoulder — slow, deliberate, intimate. Rowan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean into it either. He just stood there, caught between us like gravity was pulling him in two directions.

Seraphina’s eyes lifted to his, warm and pleading. “Can we just… go somewhere and talk? Like we used to?”

Rowan looked torn.

And that hurt more than anything.

I took a step back. “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I said quietly. “Really.”

Rowan turned to me, eyes wide. “Lena, wait—”

“It’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “You two should talk.”

Seraphina’s smile returned — soft, triumphant, beautiful. “Thank you,” she said, her voice like velvet.

Rowan looked at her, then at me, then back at her. “I’ll talk to you,” he said finally, “but not tonight.”

Seraphina blinked, surprised.

“Tonight,” he continued, turning fully toward me, “I’m walking Lena home.”

The snow fell silently around us.

Seraphina’s expression didn’t break, but her eyes did — just for a second. A tiny crack in the perfect porcelain.

Then she nodded, graceful even in disappointment. “Another time, then.”

She brushed past Rowan, her perfume lingering in the air like a challenge, and disappeared into the night.

Rowan stepped closer to me, his breath warm in the cold air. “I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I want to walk you home.”

My heart thudded once, hard.

“Okay,” I whispered.

And as we started down the snowy sidewalk together, I couldn’t help but wonder:

Was this the beginning of something real?

Or the start of something heartbreakingly complicated?

Either way… I wasn’t turning back.

Three days passed before I saw her again.

Three days of Rowan walking me home, of quiet conversations that felt like secrets, of moments where his hand brushed mine and neither of us pulled away fast enough.

Three days where I almost let myself believe Seraphina was part of his past, not his present.

But then she walked into the café.

And this time, she didn’t come quietly.

Heads turned — every single one — because Seraphina didn’t just enter a room. She arrived. Her coat today was a deep wine‑red, cinched at the waist, falling open just enough to reveal a silky, low‑cut top that shimmered like liquid gold. Her makeup was flawless: smoky eyes, glossy lips, cheekbones glowing like she’d been sculpted under perfect lighting.

She looked like temptation wrapped in winter air.

And she was looking for Rowan.

He noticed her before I did. His posture stiffened, his jaw tightening the way it did when he was bracing for something he didn’t want to face.

Seraphina’s smile bloomed when she spotted him — slow, confident, devastating.

“Rowan,” she purred, gliding toward our table. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He stood, but not eagerly. “Seraphina… what are you doing here?”

She ignored the question, stepping close enough that her perfume — jasmine, warm vanilla, something expensive — wrapped around us. She placed a manicured hand on his chest, fingers splayed lightly over his shirt.

“You didn’t return my calls,” she said softly, her voice dripping with charm. “So I thought I’d come to you.”

Rowan gently removed her hand, but she only smiled wider, as if the rejection was part of the game.

Then her eyes landed on me.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “You’re here too.”

I forced a polite smile. “Hi, Seraphina.”

She tilted her head, studying me with a kind of amused curiosity. “You two seem… close.”

Rowan stepped slightly in front of me — subtle, protective. “We’re talking.”

Seraphina’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look threatened. If anything, she looked intrigued.

“Well,” she said, brushing a strand of honey‑gold hair behind her ear, “maybe you can talk later. Rowan and I have some unfinished business.”

“No, we don’t,” Rowan said firmly.

Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “Rowan, darling, we always have unfinished business.”

She leaned in, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered something I couldn’t hear — but I saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he closed his eyes for a second like he was fighting something old and familiar.

Seraphina pulled back, her lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“Walk with me,” she said. “Just a few minutes. I promise I’ll behave.”

Rowan didn’t move.

Seraphina stepped closer, her voice dropping into a soft, intimate tone. “Rowan… please.”

For the first time, I saw something vulnerable flicker in her eyes. Not manipulation. Not charm.

Something real.

Rowan exhaled slowly. “Five minutes,” he said. “That’s it.”

My stomach dropped.

Seraphina’s smile returned, triumphant and radiant. “Perfect.”

She looped her arm through his — lightly, but deliberately — and led him toward the door. Rowan glanced back at me, guilt written all over his face.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

I nodded, even though it hurt. “Okay.”

As they stepped outside, the cold air rushed in, carrying Seraphina’s perfume with it. I watched them through the window — her leaning in close, her hand brushing his arm, her laughter bright and melodic.

She was trying to win him back.

And she wasn’t subtle about it.

But Rowan… Rowan wasn’t leaning in. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t giving her what she wanted.

He kept glancing back at the café.

Back at me.

And for the first time, I realized something:

Seraphina might be beautiful, charming, unforgettable.

But I wasn’t invisible.

Not to him.

Spring arrived slowly, like it wasn’t sure it wanted to commit. But after weeks of gray skies and melting snowbanks, Rowan suggested a drive to the coast — “just to get out of the city,” he said.

Two hours later, we stood on a pale stretch of early‑spring sand. The air was cool but gentle, the kind that hinted at warmer days coming. Waves rolled in under a soft blue sky, and for the first time in weeks, Rowan looked like he could breathe.

“I’m glad we came,” I said.

“Me too,” he replied, giving me a small smile that warmed me more than the sun.

We walked along the shoreline, shoes in hand, the wind tugging at our clothes. It felt peaceful. Easy.

Then I heard her voice.

“Rowan?”

My heart sank.

We turned — and Seraphina stood at the top of the dunes, framed by tall grasses swaying in the wind.

And she looked… impossible.

Her outfit was designed to be unforgettable: a sheer, flowing beach cover‑up that tied loosely at her waist, slipping open with every breeze. Underneath, she wore a pale gold bikini top with delicate straps that crossed over her chest, shimmering whenever the sun hit it. Her skirt was barely a skirt — more like a soft, airy wrap that revealed long, toned legs with every step she took.

Her makeup was dramatic and perfect: bronzed cheeks, glossy lips, eyes lined in warm gold that made her amber irises glow. Her hair fell in loose waves, catching the light like spun honey.

She looked like the first warm day of spring had decided to take human form.

And she was walking straight toward Rowan.

“I thought I might find you here,” she said, her voice soft and melodic. “You always loved this beach when winter started to fade.”

Rowan stiffened. “Seraphina… how did you know we were here?”

She smiled, brushing windblown hair from her face. “I didn’t. I just hoped.”

She reached him and immediately wrapped her arms around his neck — slow, lingering, intimate. Her body pressed against his, her perfume drifting around us like a warm cloud.

Rowan froze. “Seraphina—”

“I missed you,” she whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. “You look good.”

Her fingers slid down the front of his jacket, tracing the zipper, the fabric, the shape of him. It was deliberate. Confident. Designed to remind him of every moment they’d ever shared.

I looked away, the wind stinging my eyes.

Seraphina finally acknowledged me, her smile sweet but edged. “Lena. You came too.”

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

She turned back to Rowan, stepping even closer, her hands sliding down his arms until she was holding his hands. “Rowan… can we talk? Really talk? I’ve been trying to give you space, but I can’t pretend I don’t care.”

He gently pulled his hands free. “Seraphina, we’ve talked.”

“Not enough,” she said softly, her voice trembling just enough to sound real. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Rowan inhaled sharply.

She took that as encouragement, pressing her forehead to his chest. “Please… just give me a chance to fix things.”

He stepped back, but she followed, her fingers curling into his jacket like she couldn’t bear to let go.

“Seraphina,” he said firmly, “I’m not going back.”

Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t break. Instead, she reached up, cupping his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You don’t mean that. I know you. I know us.”

Rowan gently removed her hands. “I’m here with Lena.”

Seraphina’s expression cracked — a tiny fracture in her perfect composure — before she smoothed it over with a trembling smile.

“I see,” she whispered.

The wind tugged at her cover‑up, revealing more gold fabric beneath, shimmering like a challenge.

She looked at Rowan one last time, eyes shining with something between heartbreak and determination.

“This isn’t over,” she said softly. “Not for me.”

Then she turned and walked down the beach, her silhouette glowing in the pale spring light.

Rowan exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know she’d show up.”

“I know,” I said, though my chest felt tight.

He stepped closer, his voice low. “I’m here with you. That hasn’t changed.”

The waves rolled in, cool and steady, brushing our feet as we stood together on the edge of a new season.

But Seraphina’s words lingered in the wind.

This isn’t over.

The drive back from the coast was quiet.

Not uncomfortable — just full of things neither of us knew how to say yet. Rowan kept glancing at me like he wanted to explain everything at once, but the words never quite made it out.

By the time he pulled up in front of my apartment, the sky had shifted into a soft lavender dusk. Early spring air drifted through the cracked window, cool and sweet.

“Thanks for today,” I said softly.

He nodded, fingers tapping the steering wheel. “I’m sorry it got… complicated.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though we both knew it wasn’t.

He walked me to my door, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense. For a moment, I thought he might say something — something real, something that would change everything.

But then his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

Seraphina.

His jaw tightened.

“You should answer,” I said quietly.

He shook his head. “Not right now.”

But the phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Finally, he sighed. “Let me just… make sure she’s okay.”

I nodded, even though my chest tightened.

He stepped a few feet away, answering in a low voice. I couldn’t hear the words, but I could hear the tone — frustrated, tired, resigned.

Then his expression changed.

Concern.

He hung up quickly. “She’s at my place.”

My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”

“She said she needs to talk. That it’s important.”

I swallowed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He hesitated — not because he didn’t want me there, but because he didn’t want me to see whatever waited for him.

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “I’ll call you after.”

I nodded, even though every part of me wanted to say don’t go.

He left.

And I waited.

It was nearly an hour before he called.

“Can I come over?” he asked, voice low.

“Of course.”

When I opened the door, Rowan looked… shaken. Not hurt. Not angry. Just overwhelmed.

“What happened?” I asked.

He stepped inside, running a hand through his hair. “She was waiting on my steps. Dressed like—”

He stopped, exhaling sharply.

“Like she wanted to make a point.”

I didn’t see it happen, but Rowan told me everything.

Seraphina had been sitting on the stairs outside his apartment, wrapped in a thin, silky robe that barely stayed closed, her legs stretched out in the early‑spring air like she didn’t feel the cold at all. Her makeup was perfect, her hair styled in soft waves, her perfume drifting around her like a warm cloud.

When Rowan approached, she stood slowly, letting the robe slip just enough to reveal the shimmering gold bikini top beneath — the same one from the beach.

“Rowan,” she whispered, stepping close. “Please… don’t shut me out.”

He told her they needed space.

She didn’t listen.

She cupped his face with both hands, her thumbs brushing his cheeks. “I love you,” she said, voice trembling. “I can’t lose you.”

He tried to step back.

She followed.

And then — before he could react — she kissed him.

A soft, desperate kiss. Not passionate. Not mutual.

A plea.

A last attempt.

He pulled away immediately.

“Seraphina,” he said, breath unsteady, “you can’t do that.”

She looked shattered. “I just… I thought if you remembered—”

“I remember everything,” he said. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

She broke then — really broke — tears slipping down her cheeks as she whispered, “I don’t know how to let you go.”

Rowan didn’t know what to say.

So he left.

Back in my apartment, he sat on the edge of my couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“I didn’t kiss her back,” he said quietly. “I need you to know that.”

“I know,” I said, sitting beside him.

He looked at me then — really looked — eyes tired, honest, searching.

“I don’t want her,” he said. “I want—”

He stopped himself, but the unfinished sentence hung between us like a held breath.

I felt my heart stutter.

“Rowan,” I whispered, “you don’t have to say it yet.”

He exhaled, relieved and frustrated all at once.

But he reached for my hand.

And this time, he didn’t let go.