Seduction of the Mind

The Easier Choice

The café was warm against the bite of December air, windows fogged with a watercolor blur of streetlights and passing cars. Ethan had claimed a table near the back where the holiday music sounded like a distant echo instead of an assault. The air smelled of cinnamon and roasted beans; somewhere near the counter a bell chimed with every order.

Julia arrived like she always did—exactly on time, coat draped over one arm, a soft scarf looped around her throat. She shook off the cold and smiled, and for a second Ethan remembered her as she’d been in college: the girl who made every room feel like it had better lighting.

“You haven’t changed,” she teased as she slid into the chair opposite his. “Still early for everything.”

“Old habits,” Ethan said, his smile faint but real.

They ordered cappuccinos—hers with cinnamon, his plain black—and let the small talk run its course before the conversation curved toward the season pressing at every corner of the city. Lights glowed in shop windows, wreaths hung heavy on doors, and carols trailed behind strangers like shadows.

“Can you believe Christmas is two weeks away?” Julia asked, warming her hands around the cup. “It doesn’t feel real this year.”

“Nothing feels real this year,” Ethan said, and his tone was softer than he meant it to be. He caught himself and forced a lighter edge. “Any plans?”

Julia sighed, leaning back a little. “Not sure yet. My brother’s already asked me to come upstate. Big family, six kids, the works. They do the whole tree-to-the-ceiling thing, matching pajamas, carols by the fire.” She smiled wryly. “Sounds like a movie, right? Except after about two hours, I remember why I live alone.”

“You hate chaos.”

“I hate… noise,” she corrected. “Noise and questions. When are you getting married? When are you settling down? I’m forty, Ethan. The answer is probably never, but God forbid I say it out loud.” She traced a finger along the rim of her cup. “What about you? Traditions with the girls?”

Ethan hesitated, just long enough for the silence to tilt between them. “We used to,” he said slowly. “Tree, gifts, the whole illusion.”

“Used to?” Julia’s eyes lifted, curious. “Not anymore?”

“They’re teenagers,” Ethan said with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “They’d rather be anywhere else. Christmas morning now is just… two hours of them scrolling through their phones between opening boxes they picked out themselves.”

“That’s sad,” Julia murmured.

“That’s life,” he said quietly. Then, because she was still watching him, he added, “It’s fine. They’re good kids. Just… done being kids.”

Julia studied him for another beat before tilting her head. “And Helena? She still goes all out for the holidays?”

The name fell like a stone. Ethan looked down at his coffee, watched the steam curl and vanish. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost too calm. “Helena won’t be there.”

Julia’s brows lifted, the smallest flicker of surprise but nothing like shock. “Won’t be?”

“We signed the papers,” Ethan said simply. “A week ago.”

Julia didn’t gasp, didn’t fumble for sympathy. She just nodded slowly, like a piece of a puzzle had slid into place. “I wondered when that would happen.”

“You’re not surprised,” Ethan said.

“No,” she replied softly. “You’ve been living like a man in limbo for years. The paperwork just caught up.”

He gave a quiet laugh that wasn’t quite a laugh, then tipped his head toward her. “And you? Still single by choice?”

“Single by evolution,” Julia said, smiling with the kind of honesty that cost nothing and everything at once. “Career first. Then a divorce that barely dented me. After that… I guess I stopped looking for reasons to try. And before you know it—” she gestured toward the window, “—you’re forty and the world feels… complicated.”

“Forty isn’t old,” Ethan said automatically, though something in his chest tightened.

“It’s old enough to make everything harder,” Julia countered gently. “People have walls now. Suitcases full of history. Everyone’s too tired to unpack.”

Ethan let that settle, heavy and true. Outside, snow dusted the glass like ash drifting on wind.

Julia’s smile returned after a pause, soft but sure. “Tell you what—let’s stop theorizing and test it. Dinner this week. Somewhere with real silverware and overpriced wine. If we can get through two hours without running for the exits, maybe forty isn’t as complicated as it pretends.”

Ethan felt something ease inside him—not all the way, but enough to breathe without the weight. He nodded. “Dinner sounds good.”

Julia grinned, and her voice carried that quiet tease he’d almost forgotten. “Good. I’ll text you the day.”

Ethan let the words linger, then said, “It’s been so long… I’m not even sure—do I still bring flowers on a first date?”

Julia’s laugh was warm, low. “Probably not flowers. But if the evening goes well…” Her eyes glinted, mischievous now. “You can think about a really good dessert.”

The line hung between them—sweet and sharp—and for the first time in a long time, Ethan smiled without forcing it.

But when Julia looked down at her cup, he did too, and another image slid in behind his eyes: roses blooming across white silk, and a voice saying waiting for weight, for heat, for something to make the air move.

He blinked hard, pushed it down, and raised his cup in a silent toast to the easier choice.