Emma's Pov
The café was tucked away on a quiet corner of Westbourne Street, a little place James and I had been going to for years, back when life was simpler, back when my heart hadn't been bruised by men like Damian Cross.
The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon hung in the air, warm and familiar, but I still couldn't shake the tension in my chest.
James was already there when I arrived, leaning against the backrest with his sleeves rolled up and that look on his face, the one that told me he was trying to read me before I'd even sat down.
"Emma Lawson," he said, lips curving slightly. "You look like you haven't slept."
I dropped into the seat across from him and sighed. "You always start with that."
"That's because it's always true." He handed me a cup. "Chamomile latte, extra honey. You're going to need it."
I smiled faintly, fingers curling around the mug. "Thanks."
