Recognition whispered through him, and he realized he knew this strip mall. He spent a lot of time there in high school. With Rae. There was no way it was the same place. There had never been any customers back then. The sign was the same, but it had probably just been cheaper to keep it when ownership changed.
Part of him didn't like the idea of stepping back into that memory, but he was thirsty, and pride refused to let anything to do with her drive his decisions. Besides, once he stepped through the front door, he could close that part of his past. Because that’s worked out so fantastically for you lately. The sarcasm in his own words rubbed his thoughts raw.
A bell on the handle jangled when he entered the shop. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.
“Evening,” a cheerful voice called from the counter. “What can I get you tonight?”
He wasn't looking at the coffee shop employee. His gaze had been drawn to the back of the room and a familiar booth.
No.
Rae stared back, cheeks puffy. She blinked, brown eyes a melancholy compliment to the red rimming them.
Zach needed to leave. Closure zero. Getting stuck in the past wins.
“Do you need a minute?” the barista asked.
“He’ll have an Italian soda with cherry.” Rae's voice was clear and empty in the otherwise deserted room. She stayed seated, but never looked away from Zach.
“Half and half?” the barista asked.
Rae shook her head. “No. The cream makes the cherry taste funny.”
Zach wasn't sure what compelled him forward, but he found himself sliding into the seat across from her. The joke tickled something in the back of his mind. Something he didn't want to enjoy. He'd always teased her about it when they were dating. He'd loved to see her blush when he made the comment about the cream and the cherry and winked at her.
That had been more than ten years ago. So much had changed since then.
The barista set the drink in front of him.
Zach handed him a five. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, man.”
Zach didn't touch the drink. Thirsty didn't seem important anymore. His mind was moving so quickly, he couldn't grasp anything. He wasn't used to being at a loss for words.
“Let's try this again.” Rae finally broke the silence. “Why are you so dead set against my idea?”
“It’s not—”
She held up her hand. “No, that's how the conversation went last time. That won't work. How about this? I'm not Kelly.”
The sorrow in her eyes called to something inside him. Zach fumbled for a response. “So I noticed.”
Her cheeks dimpled for a moment before the half smile vanished again. “Are you sure? That night you rescued me at the bar… The conversation we had in the car after... I’ve replayed that in my head so many times since then.”
Don’t let her do this. He didn’t want to linger on those memories. It wasn’t relevant, and it wouldn’t solve anything. “And?”
“You told me our breakup hurt because what we had together was different than what you had with anyone else. Together, we were unique.”
No. Unwanted emotion bubbled up inside. He wasn’t going to listen to this. “We’re talking business. Don’t make it personal.”
She took a deep breath, and her expression went blank again. “At the risk of sounding immature, you started it. This isn’t about the fact we had great sex, or that I still wish I hadn’t walked away from my perfect guy back in high school. And you know what? This is personal. It doesn’t matter if we try and pretend otherwise. I wouldn’t be upset if I didn’t care, and neither would you.”
She took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and then pushed the cup aside. “I don’t know why Kelly did what she did to the two of you. I don’t know why you and she didn’t work out. I do know it wouldn’t have been possible if she hadn’t had controlling interest in your company.”
“So we’re back to casting blame.”
She clenched her hands, knuckles whitening. Her tone remained even. “No. Not even close.”
He shouldn’t be picking this fight. He needed to hear her out. But she was reopening so many old wounds. “Are you sure?”
“If you’d listen for a minute, you’d know.” She slid down in her seat, fists loosening. Crescent-shaped creases marred her palms where she'd dug her fingernails in.
He wanted to bury it all under an argument, but he couldn’t drag enough fight to the surface. “You talk, I'll listen. No assumptions.”
“I loved you back in high school.”
He swallowed as the unexpected words—the phrase he lived to hear back then—sank in.
She didn't look at him. “I didn't know how to act in a relationship. I'm not saying I'm an expert now, but I have a better idea of what not to do. I would have done anything to keep you.”
“You broke up with me. Left town without even saying goodbye.” He wished the retort had come out with less emotion behind it.
She raised an eyebrow. “Told you I didn't know what I was doing. You're going to insist you acted perfectly?”
“You know I'm not saying that.”