my prized possession

CHAPTER 17

One evening during my shift, I was refilling coffee and cleaning some cups when Agnes came rushing toward me, a mix of excitement and nerves written all over her face.

“Vanessa,” she said, barely catching her breath, “I need you to serve table five.”

I looked at her, confused. “Why can’t you do it?”

She leaned in, whispering like she was sharing a state secret. “Because the man sitting there is so good-looking, I might embarrass myself. I can’t even form words right now.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. That was so Agnes—sweet, romantic, and a total sucker for handsome guys, but never bold enough to approach them. I used to be just like her, intimidated by looks alone. But I’ve grown past that. Life—and love—had taught me to face things head-on.

“Alright,” I smiled, picking up my notepad and pen. “I’ll handle it.”

Still chuckling to myself, I made my way toward table five, ready to take the order.

But the moment I reached the table and looked up, my laughter caught in my throat. My entire body went still.

Noah.

He was sitting there—gracious, calm, looking more breathtaking than I remembered. The years had sculpted him into something almost unreal. His jawline was sharper, his posture confident, and his eyes... those same eyes, now deeper, more mysterious. There was a certain quiet power about him. Mature. Composed. Irresistible.

Now I understood why Agnes had been too overwhelmed to approach.

If I had been in her shoes, I might’ve done more than just stammer.

My heart pounded in my chest. I wasn’t prepared for this—not tonight, not ever. And yet, here he was. In my diner. In my world again.

Noah noticed my presence.

The moment our eyes met, I saw the same shock mirrored in his face. His expression softened, his mouth lifting into that familiar, crooked smile I hadn’t realized I missed. And those eyes—still so captivating, so gentle, yet unreadable. Everything about him fascinated me all over again.

He stood up slowly, as though still registering that I was actually there. He opened his arms, about to give me a hug, but I was quick to offer a side hug instead, a polite gesture—safe, controlled. He paused slightly, maybe caught off guard, but didn’t say a word. He simply sat back down, his smile never wavering.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, his voice calm and smooth, the kind that always made you feel like the only person in the room.

I chuckled lightly, nervously. “Yeah... it’s been years.”

He looked at me for a moment, then said, “You’re glowing. Even more beautiful than I remember.”

I was not ready for that. My breath hitched slightly, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. My heart skipped—then stumbled. Why would he say that? Did he think I was beautiful then too? That was news to me.

I turned slightly, trying to collect myself, my voice coming out smaller than I wanted. “Thanks... that’s sweet.”

He nodded, his gaze steady. “How’s Jackson? You two still together?”

That question hit me harder than expected.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “We’re still together. He’s fine.”

He nodded again, but this time he didn’t follow it with a smile or any comment. Just silence. For a moment, I felt a strange pull—something between curiosity and a longing I didn’t want to admit.

I wanted to ask what was going on between them. Why they hadn’t spoken. Why Jackson always brushed off his name like it burned. But I was working. And this wasn’t the time or place.

So I cleared my throat and tucked the stray thoughts away.

“What can I get you?” I asked, gripping the notepad a little tighter.

He gave me his order, his tone casual again. I nodded, then turned and made my way to the counter.

As I approached, I noticed a few of my coworkers peeking discreetly from behind the pastry shelf, clearly intrigued by the stranger at table five. When they saw me coming, they scattered like school kids caught in the act, suddenly busy wiping counters or organizing cutlery.

I couldn’t help but smile at their silliness.

“He wants a black coffee and the house burger,” I told the cook, handing over the order.

But inside, my heart was still racing. What was Noah doing here? And why, after all this time, did it feel like no time had passed at all?

After what felt like an hour, I went back to his table to check if he was done, or maybe I wanted to see him again.

He was done and about to leave when our eyes met again. He walked up to me, that calm presence of his still lingering like a familiar melody.

“I left a tip for you,” he said with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

But then he hesitated, his fingers pulling out a small folded piece of paper. “I’d really like to see you again,” he added, handing it to me. “Here’s my number. Call me… when you’re free.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just smiled again—so effortlessly—and turned, leaving behind a trail of questions I wasn’t ready to answer.

I stood frozen, staring at the note in my hand. His number. Simple digits scribbled on a plain slip of paper, yet it felt heavier than any moment I’d held all day. This was more than a number—it was a doorway. A gateway. One that, if opened, would change everything.

I tucked it quickly into my apron and forced myself to finish my shift. I cleaned up table five, still carrying his scent in the air, the phantom of his gaze lingering in the seat he just left.

Later that night, I got home just past ten.

The apartment Naomi and I shared wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was cozy—warm lights, mismatched furniture, and always smelling faintly of lavender and old books. It felt like home in a way nothing else had for a while.

Naomi was curled up on the couch, watching something on TV. When she saw me come in, she sat up and smiled.

“You hungry? I made some pasta.”

I gave her a tired smile. “I’m okay. Just need sleep.”

She narrowed her eyes, picking up on something I couldn’t hide. “You sure? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” I said a little too quickly. “Just tired.”

I didn’t wait for her to press further. I went straight to the bedroom, shut the door gently behind me, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

After freshening up, I pulled the piece of paper from my apron and stared at it for a long time. The numbers blurred slightly in the soft glow of my bedside lamp. My fingers traced over them slowly.

Calling him would mean something. Something big. Something irreversible.

If I called, I’d be letting him into my life again—not by accident, but by choice.

And deep down… I knew this wouldn’t end well.

But I couldn’t throw the paper away either.

I folded it back neatly and placed it inside my journal.

Then I turned off the light, crawled into bed, and lay there in the dark… wondering why it suddenly felt like the past wasn’t as far away as I thought.