Almost Familiar

Chapter Two Half-Remembered

Ryden

I hit the welcome sign just after noon.

Welcome to Willow Heights — population still small enough to fit on a single line, apparently.

The town hadn’t changed much. Same quiet streets, weathered storefronts, and sidewalks cracked with time. It felt like driving into a faded photograph.

I slowed at a stop sign near the center of town, glanced around, and figured I might as well grab a proper coffee before showing up on Dad’s doorstep.

Harps — I mean, Aunty Harper — always said, “Never turn up empty-handed. Even if all you’ve got is a smile and something strong from the bakery.”

A small café sat on the corner of Main and Maple — The Brew House, painted sage green with fairy lights still strung from the awning like it was always the holidays.

I parked out front, cut the engine, and climbed out. Three guys were posted near the entrance, leaning against the railing and goofing off like they didn’t have anywhere else to be. Two of them looked like carbon copies — identical height, same sharp jawlines, same careless hair. Twins. The third one — a little taller, easy swagger — was the one cracking most of the jokes.

One of the twins nudged the other and nodded at my car. “That’s a ‘69, right?”

I gave a casual shrug. “Yeah. She’s temperamental, but loyal.”

“Clean finish,” the other twin added, stepping closer to get a better look. “Jensen, you see this?”

“Hard to miss,” said the third guy, Jensen.

His voice stuck with me more than his words. That name... Jensen.

Something about it lodged in my brain like a pebble in a shoe. Familiar. Too familiar.

I didn’t respond, just gave them a small nod and pushed through the café doors.

The bell chimed overhead as I stepped inside. The air smelled like coffee, sugar, and something warm from the oven. Cozy but not cutesy — wooden shelves lined with plants, a chalkboard menu, sunlight filtering through lace-trimmed curtains.

Behind the counter, a girl stood with her arms crossed, watching something out the window and laughing quietly.

She was beautiful in that don’t-look-too-long-or-you’ll-forget-why-you-came kind of way— hair in a messy ponytail, flour dusted on her sleeves, a smudge of something sweet near her jaw. I followed her gaze and realized she was looking at the boys outside. Laughing at them. With them. Whatever. The kind of laugh that told me she probably knew them all too well.

Maybe one of them was her boyfriend. Wouldn’t surprise me.

I tried not to wonder if one of them was hers and stepped forward.

She turned at the sound of my approach, still smiling, and met my eyes. There was something soft in her expression, something easy — and suddenly, it felt like I’d walked into someone else’s story. Like I didn’t belong yet, but I might want to.

“What can I get you?” she asked, voice smooth, friendly.

“Coffee. Black,” I said. “And... surprise me with something from the cabinet.”

She nodded. “Risky move, stranger.”

I offered a tired smile. “Figured I'd start fitting in somehow.”

As she moved to pour the coffee, I glanced back toward the window.

Jensen. That name still echoed in my head. Could he be the JJ from my childhood? Thick as thieves, Mum used to say.

But that was a lifetime ago. I had no idea what JJ even looked like now — or if he’d remember me at all.

Still... the name stuck.

She slid the coffee across the counter, along with a brown paper box tied up with twine.

“Hazelnut twist and a cinnamon bun,” she said. “Safe bets.”

I nodded, reaching for my wallet.

She waved me off. “First one’s on the house. Welcome to Willow Heights.”

That startled me. People in the city didn’t give away free pastries to strangers.

“…Thanks,” I said, a little unsure.

She just smiled, the kind that made me wonder how someone’s whole face could light up from the inside out and turned back toward the espresso machine.

I left with the coffee warming one hand and the box tucked under my arm, the bell above the door giving one last jingle on my way out.

The boys were still outside. Laughing about something.

I didn’t look at them too long.

Jensen.

The name scratched at the back of my skull like it was trying to remind me of something I wasn’t quite ready to remember.

I shook it off, slid back into the Mustang, and turned the key.

The engine coughed, then purred to life.

I glanced once at the café in my rear-view mirror, then pulled away from the curb.

Harps always said to show up with something in your hands and respect in your eyes.

Well… I had the box.

The respect part?

Still working on it.

Time to go meet the man who gave me my face and a lifetime of unanswered questions.