Chapter 1: The Glass Between Us
The spray bottle left a cold arc across the metal counter and I chased it with the white towel the way I had every morning at ten. The cafe window threw back the whole street in glass, my own hands doubled in the reflection, the chrome stools lined up empty, the black frame rattling a little every time the heat kicked on. It was supposed to be an ordinary Tuesday. I had the register counted and the stools wiped and the open door propped with the rubber wedge so the overcast air could come in without letting the flies follow.
Then the light shifted. Not much, just a shadow blocking the flat gray daylight that always fell across that window, and contradicting everything quiet about the morning was the shape standing on the other side of the glass in full OCP, tan boots planted on the sidewalk like he belonged there.
My name is Maya Reyes. I was twenty-six and wiping a counter I didn't own.
It was just after ten and the cafe was caught between breakfast and lunch with the fluorescents humming warm overhead and the windows fogged faintly at the bottom from the coffee machine. I looked up because the reflection changed. That was all. My hand kept moving for half a second before my eyes caught up.
He was outside, seen over his own shoulder at first through the glass, his back filling the frame. Short faded haircut, U.S. ARMY tape clear on his chest, the flag patch on his right shoulder turned straight toward me even through the glare. He wasn't moving. He stood with that neutral, anticipatory stillness, breathing slow, eyes fixed on the interior, on me, without lifting a hand or knocking. The daylight behind him made the brick look darker and the glass brighter, and for a long three seconds I could only see the outline of him and my own blurred figure behind the counter with the white towel in my hand.
I didn't understand right away. I thought my eyes were playing a trick with the reflections, doubling the interior lights with the street. Then his face came into focus in the middle distance and it was Ethan.
Recognition hit like cold water. My mouth opened before I could stop it and air caught without sound. My fingers locked around the white terry cloth where it lay on the edge of the metal counter and squeezed until the cloth bunched and my knuckles went white. I didn't step back at first. I couldn't. The towel was the only thing holding me in place, the edge of the counter biting into my palm. Then my whole body recoiled a half step without telling my feet to move, my shoulders pulling away from the window, my arms coming out a little from my sides like I needed space from what I was seeing.
He hadn't come through the door yet. He held his position at the window, not smiling, not waving, just breathing, his expression held tight the way he always held it when he was trying not to show anything. The two chrome stools sat empty between us, and the glass kept us separated by an inch of reflection and ten months of silence.
A couple of seconds stretched so long I heard the refrigerator case buzz and a car pass slow on the street behind him. I wanted to say his name. I wanted to ask if it was really him. Nothing came out. The cafe stayed quiet except for that hum, no words exchanged, no music, just ambient street sound and my own breath catching.
May you like
In the wide pull of the window I saw his hand finally move. He turned slightly toward the open glass door, his back partially to me now, and rested his palm flat against the edge of the door. He didn't push it wider. He didn't step inside. He waited there at the threshold, facing in, letting me see him and letting me decide what my face would do next.
I stayed frozen behind the counter with the towel clutched tight, staring at his hand on that door, one breath before anything had to happen.
