When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Twenty-Three – Confessions Over Coffee

The restaurant buzzed with the comfortable murmur of evening diners, the air fragrant with roasted garlic and freshly baked bread. A pianist near the bar coaxed warm notes from the keys, his music a soft undercurrent beneath clinking glasses and low conversation.

Emily sat at the small round table near the window, her shoulders tight, fingers locked around the porcelain cup in front of her. The coffee inside had already gone lukewarm, but she couldn’t bring herself to drink it.

Across from her, Sofia leaned forward with wide eyes, her spoon poised over a melting dessert. “You did what?”

Emily winced, wishing she could pull the words back. But they hung in the air, unescapable. She whispered, “I kissed him.”

Sofia’s spoon clattered against the plate. She blinked, then blinked again, as if hoping she’d misheard. “In a closet. With your detective.”

Emily’s face burned scarlet. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound died before it reached her lips. “It wasn’t… planned.”

Sofia pressed her hand against her forehead, then shook her head in disbelief. “Emily Carter. You kissed a man while hiding in a closet from God knows who. That’s… That’s not even in the movies.”

Emily let out a shaky breath. “It just happened.”

Sofia narrowed her eyes. “Things don’t just happen. Start from the beginning. What triggered it?”

Emily swallowed, twisting her napkin until the fabric tore. “His cologne. Aftershave. I smelled it. It hit me and I—”

Sofia cut in, incredulous. “Cologne? You kissed him because of cologne?”

Emily groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “Because it was the same scent Daniel wore.” The confession felt heavy on her tongue, bitter and raw.

For a moment, the restaurant sounds faded. Sofia stared at her friend, her lips pressed tight. Finally she sighed. “Oh, Emily.” She lowered her voice, leaning closer. “Tell me you didn’t say that to him.”

Emily’s silence was answer enough. She stared at the tablecloth, cheeks flaming.

Sofia exhaled through her nose, her tone sharpening. “Do you realize what that sounds like? You kiss a man and then tell him, ‘sorry, you remind me of my dead husband’? That’s—there isn’t a word for how brutal that is.”

Emily whispered, “I know.”

“Emily, that’s like stabbing the poor guy right in the ego and twisting.”

Her friend’s lips trembled. “But he didn’t take it badly. He… he just listened.”

Sofia leaned back, studying her. “Then maybe he’s made of tougher stuff than I thought.” She sipped her coffee, still shaking her head.

Emily, desperate to defend herself, said quickly, “It wasn’t just the scent. It was the moment. We were trapped, inches apart. Ten minutes of silence, knowing men with guns were right outside. It was—” She struggled for the words. “It was like all the fear and tension had to go somewhere.”

Sofia’s sharpness softened slightly. She reached across the table, touching Emily’s wrist. “And it went into him.”

Emily nodded faintly, her throat tight.

The two women sat quietly for a moment, the world bustling around them. An elderly couple laughed near the bar; a waiter swept past carrying a tray of wineglasses that glimmered like jewels. Life went on, oblivious to their confessions.

Sofia finally broke the silence. “Emily. Listen to me. I know you loved Daniel. I know you’re officially in mourning. But you need to stop painting him as perfect. He wasn’t.”

Emily’s gaze snapped up, hurt flickering in her eyes.

Sofia pressed on gently, firmly. “He was handsome, yes. A soldier, yes. But he wasn’t kind. I remember the night he snapped at you in front of everyone because you were late. I remember how he ignored you at that party, drinking with his buddies while you sat alone. He wasn’t the man you want to believe he was.”

Emily’s lips parted, but no words came. A lump rose in her throat.

Sofia softened. “You deserved better then. And you deserve better now. You’re a beautiful woman, Emily. You have a future. You’re allowed to feel something for someone else.”

Emily bit her lip, fighting back tears.

Sofia smiled faintly, then arched a brow with her trademark mischief. “So. What’s his name?”

Emily hesitated, then whispered, “Michael Reeves.”

Sofia’s eyes lit up. “Michael Reeves. Sounds familiar.” She dug her phone from her purse, ignoring Emily’s protest. “Don’t you dare—”

“Too late.” Sofia’s fingers danced across the screen. A moment later, she grinned. “Found him.”

She turned the phone around. An old photo of Reeves filled the screen—uniform pressed, medals shining across his chest. His face was leaner, his eyes sharp, his jaw proud.

Sofia let out a low whistle. “Well, well. Your detective’s not just a detective. He’s a decorated officer. And…” She scrolled further, her brows climbing. “Oh, my God. ‘Commended for valor.’ ‘Recipient of the Silver Star.’ And then—” She tapped another link, her voice dipping theatrically. “‘Officer stripped of his badge after internal investigation.’” She looked up at Emily with mock drama. “Your man’s got history.”

Emily frowned. “He’s not my man.”

Sofia smirked. “Not yet.” She angled the phone so she could read aloud. “‘Reeves, once considered one of the most promising officers in his precinct, was dismissed after accusations of misconduct. Critics argue the punishment was political.’” She glanced up. “Political. That’s code for ‘he pissed off the wrong people.’”

Emily found herself staring at the photo. That younger man, so certain, so sharp—it was Reeves, yes, but not the one she knew. “Life has been hard on him,” she murmured.

Sofia tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Life or not, men like that don’t stop drawing attention. You could shave his head, put him in rags, and women would still line up. Some people just have that… magnetism.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but heat crept up her neck again. “You’re impossible.”

Sofia laughed, raising her cup in a mock toast. “And you, my dear, are finally alive again. I haven’t seen that spark in your eyes since… well, since before the funeral.”

Emily fell silent. She stared down at her coffee, feeling the truth in Sofia’s words. The shame lingered, yes, but beneath it—something else. A spark.

Sofia reached across the table once more, squeezing her hand. “Just be careful. Reeves is dangerous in ways you don’t even see yet. But if he makes you feel alive again…” She gave a half-smile. “Maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world.”

Emily exhaled, torn between fear and fragile hope.