Elena's POV:
The plate in front of me was empty. Finally. Scrambled eggs, pancakes, coffee—good food. Comforting, even. Exactly the kind of breakfast people wanted in small-town diners with fogged-up windows and old wooden booths. Cozy. Full.
And yet, it didn’t taste like Caleb’s pancakes. It didn't come close. Caleb's pancakes... were heavenly. Like clouds. Fluffy and...
Shut the f**k up. Stop waxing poetry about his pancackes.
I controlled myself. I was an idiot... I should just push everything about Caleb Monroe into a deep box and forget about it all.
I stared down at the faint smear of syrup left on the plate, my chest doing that stupid, traitorous tight thing again. I pushed the plate away gently, like it had personally offended me. The bell above the diner door never rang onc
