Miles’s POV
It had been over an hour since I sat down at this corner coffee shop, eyes flicking to the entrance every few minutes. I told Reynold it was urgent. I sent the message. He read it—I know he did. But still, nothing. No reply. Not even a “no.”
So why was I still here?
Maybe because some part of me still hoped he’d show. Even if he hated me now. Even if everything between us was wrecked beyond repair.
Just when I was about to give up, a familiar voice sliced through the low hum of chatter.
“What do you want?” The irritation in his tone hit first, sharp and cold. I looked up and saw him—Reynold.
He came.
I didn’t expect it. Not really. But there he was, arms crossed, brow furrowed, every line of his body tense with annoyance. And yet, seeing him pulled a tired smile from me.
