Epilogue – One Year Later
461 Words
The café was exactly as she remembered — the worn wooden floors, the faded green awning outside, and the familiar scent of cinnamon drifting through the air.
Camille sat by the window, nursing a latte and half-listening to the clink of mugs behind the counter. The city outside was buzzing with spring energy, but inside felt like a bubble — quiet, safe, almost too still.
She was halfway through her emails when the door opened. She didn’t look up. Not until she heard the voice.
> “You always hated cinnamon.”
Her breath caught mid-sip. Slowly, she set the cup down and turned.
Elias Carter stood there. He was dressed more casually than she’d ever seen him — dark jeans, a grey sweater, no tie in sight — but those same eyes found her instantly. The ones she had avoided in every crowd for a year.
Camille raised an eyebrow. “And you always ordered it just to irritate me.”
He gave a small smile. “Some things don’t change.”
She leaned back in her chair, masking the way her pulse had quickened. “What are you doing here?”
> “I moved back last month,” he said, stepping closer. “Business. But… I also heard this was still your spot.”
The way he said it — like he’d been keeping track — made something twist in her chest.
“Still my spot,” she confirmed, gesturing at the empty chair across from her. “Not ours.”
He didn’t sit right away. His gaze lingered on her face, tracing every feature like he was catching up on lost time. “Camille, I’m not here for contracts. I’m not here to make deals. I’m just here… hoping you’ll let me buy you coffee.”
Her fingers tightened around the warm mug. “Coffee doesn’t erase the past.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But maybe it can start a new chapter.”
A year ago, she would’ve laughed at that. But sitting there now, she realized something: she had moved on, built a life, survived without him — yet a part of her had never stopped wondering what if.
She exhaled slowly. “One coffee.”
Elias’s answering smile was softer than she remembered, but it reached his eyes this time. He sat down, and for the first time in a year, Camille felt the air between them shift — not back to what it was, but toward what it could be.
The waiter came over. Elias didn’t even glance at the menu.
“Two lattes,” he said. “Extra cinnamon on hers.”
Camille rolled her eyes, but she didn’t correct him.
Maybe, just maybe, some habits were worth keeping.
- Writer
