The arrival
1131 Words
Evelyn woke up the next morning with the ghost of Ryan’s kiss still warming her lips. For a moment, everything felt soft and full of promise. But as sunlight poured through her curtains and the sounds of the city trickled in, her stomach twisted with something sharp. Real life.
She rolled out of bed, tugged on an oversized hoodie, and padded into the kitchen, where Jules was already pouring coffee.
“Well, well,” Jules said, eyeing her over the rim of her mug. “You look kissed.”
Evelyn froze. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone who knows you. You look like you dreamed in rom-com colors.”
Evelyn poured herself a cup and sank onto the bar stool. “It was just one kiss.”
“But?”
“But it didn’t feel like just a kiss.”
Jules leaned on the counter. “You like him.”
Evelyn hesitated. “I do. And I hate that I do.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s complicated. He’s a lawyer. I’m an artist. We’re barely orbiting the same universe. And then there’s the fact that—” She stopped.
Jules arched an eyebrow. “That?”
Evelyn looked down. “I don’t trust it. When something feels this good, this early… it usually falls apart.”
Jules didn’t argue. She just placed a gentle hand on her friend’s. “Then let it fall if it needs to. But don’t run before it even trips.”
---
Ryan sat in his car, parked outside the courthouse, watching people pass by in suits and rushed heels. He was early for his hearing, but that wasn’t why he was distracted.
He’d kissed Evelyn. And everything after that had changed tempo. It wasn’t casual anymore. Not in his head. Not in his chest.
He thought of calling her, texting her even, but couldn’t bring himself to push too soon. He wanted to do it right.
His phone buzzed.
Marcus: Joan lands at 4. Drinks tonight?
Ryan: Count me in.
Joan. A welcome distraction. She always had been.
---
Later that night, Ryan walked into a sleek rooftop lounge. The skyline glittered behind floor-to-ceiling windows, and laughter spilled over from the bar. Marcus waved from a corner booth, already sipping something suspiciously fruity.
Joan was seated beside him, her signature leather jacket slung over the chair, hair longer than he remembered, smile just as wicked.
“Well, well,” she said, rising to hug him. “Look who still thinks a tie makes him trustworthy.”
Ryan laughed. “Joan. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“You mean I haven’t grown soft like you two?”
Marcus raised a glass. “Soft is in. Vulnerability is sexy now.”
They talked, drank, and traded stories. Joan caught them up on her consulting work in London, the chaos of her latest clients, and a disastrous Tinder date that involved someone bringing their pet ferret.
“Tell me about you,” she said eventually, turning to Ryan. “Still a workaholic?”
Ryan hesitated.
Marcus smirked. “He’s seeing someone.”
Joan blinked. “Seriously?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” Ryan said.
“I’m not shocked. I’m... impressed.” Her smile faltered for half a second, too brief for anyone else to notice. “Who is she?”
“An artist,” Marcus said before Ryan could answer. “And I think he’s already writing sonnets in her honor.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Her name’s Evelyn. We met at an exhibit.”
Joan took a slow sip of her drink. “Interesting. Is this... serious?”
“I don’t know yet,” Ryan admitted. “But it feels different.”
Joan nodded, though her gaze drifted past them, unfocused.
---
The next morning, Evelyn received a message. Not from Ryan. From the gallery.
Her new commission had been canceled.
“What?” she gasped, rereading the email.
Jules rushed over. “What’s going on?”
“They pulled the piece. The client backed out.”
“Do they say why?”
Evelyn shook her head. “No explanation.”
Her chest tightened. She needed that commission. Rent. Supplies. Everything hinged on it.
She paced the studio, then grabbed her phone and dialed the gallery manager.
“Anna, it’s Evelyn. I just saw the email—what happened?”
There was a pause on the other end.
“The client didn’t give specifics,” Anna said slowly. “Only that they no longer felt your work aligned with their... values.”
Evelyn frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Anna hesitated. “There’s more. The client is connected to Cole & Price. One of the senior partners.”
Evelyn’s stomach dropped. Cole & Price. Ryan’s firm.
“What’s the name?” she asked quietly.
“I really shouldn’t—”
“Please.”
Anna sighed. “Gerald Reese.”
Reese. Ryan had mentioned him. Evelyn sat slowly on a stool.
“Thanks,” she said, voice hollow.
She hung up.
And for the first time since that kiss, doubt flooded in.
---
That night, she didn’t respond to Ryan’s message. Or the next one.
By the third, he called.
“Evelyn?”
She answered on the fourth ring. “Hey.”
“You okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know.” Silence stretched. “I just... needed some space.”
“Did I do something?”
She closed her eyes. “No. Not you. Just... something happened. A commission got pulled. Someone from your firm was involved.”
There was a pause.
“Reese?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, Evelyn. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t. But it complicates things.”
“Only if we let it.”
She hesitated. “I need time, Ryan. I just... need to figure out what this means.”
His voice softened. “Okay. But don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not.”
But even as she said it, she knew she already was.
___
Across town, Ryan stared at his phone long after the call ended.
Joan, now sitting in his office with two coffees, tilted her head. “Everything okay?”
“No,” he admitted. “She pulled away.”
Joan handed him a cup. “Maybe she’s scared.”
“Or maybe this thing was doomed before it started.”
Joan didn’t respond. Instead, she reached into her bag and handed him a slim file. “Then distract yourself. This just came in. New client. Big case.”
He glanced at the name. “Joan—this is Evelyn’s gallery.”
“I know,” she said softly. “Looks like fate’s not done with you yet.”
- Writer
