The café was tucked between a bookstore and a florist, quiet enough to feel like a secret.
The bell above the door chimed softly when Rivera stepped inside, and the smell of coffee wrapped around her like something familiar and almost comforting.
They had met in cafés like this too in Italy during work breaks because they shared the same favorite café.
She spotted Luke immediately.
He was seated by the window, one arm draped over the back of the chair opposite him, fingers tapping absently against the wooden table.
He looked the same, too calm, too controlled, like a man who always knew more than he let on.
When his eyes met hers, something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or guilt.
“River,” he said as he stood.
She didn’t smile as she approached. “Hi, Luke.”
He hesitated
