Tuesday felt longer than usual.
Not because the café was busier—
not because anything went wrong—
…but because everything felt off.
Lia Henderson moved through The Daily Grind on autopilot.
Take orders.
Make coffee.
Smile.
Repeat.
But her mind wasn't there.
It was somewhere else.
Another city.
Another café.
Another version of her life.
"…You just gave that guy two sugars instead of one," Mia whispered.
"…He asked for two," Lia said quickly.
"…He didn't," Mia replied.
"…Oh."
Across the café, Ethan Cruz sat at his usual table.
Laptop open.
Coffee untouched.
Watching her.
Normally, he would've teased her by now.
Made a joke.
Distracted her.
But today…
He didn't.
That somehow made it worse.
By mid-morning, Lia couldn't take it anymore.
She walked over and dropped into the chair across from him.
"…Say something," she said.
Ethan looked up. "…About?"
"…Anything," she said. "…You're being weird."
He raised an eyebrow. "…I'm being weird?"
"…Yes," she said. "…You're too quiet."
He leaned back slightly.
"…I'm trying not to pressure you," he said.
That caught her off guard.
"…Pressure me?"
"…About the job," he clarified. "…It's your decision."
She frowned.
"…You're allowed to have an opinion," she said.
"…I do," he replied.
"…Then say it."
A pause.
Then—
"…I think you should take it," he said.
That should've felt supportive.
But instead…
It stung.
"…That's it?" she asked quietly.
"…What do you mean?"
"…You're just… okay with it?"
Ethan sat up straighter.
"…No," he said honestly. "…I'm not okay with it."
"…Then why are you acting like you are?"
"…Because it's not about me," he replied.
That hit harder than anything else.
"…We're supposed to be a 'we,'" she said.
"…We are," he said.
"…Then why does this feel like I'm doing this alone?"
He hesitated.
And that hesitation said everything.
"…Because I don't want to be the reason you don't go," he admitted.
"…And I don't want to be the reason we fall apart," she shot back.
Silence.
Heavy.
Real.
For the first time in a long time—
They didn't have an easy answer.
"…Lia," he said more gently, "…this is your future."
"…You're part of my future," she said.
That made him look at her.
Really look at her.
"…And what if your future is bigger than this place?" he asked. "…Bigger than me?"
Her chest tightened.
"…I don't want 'bigger,'" she said. "…I want right."
Another pause.
"…And what if this is right for you?" he asked.
"…Then why does it feel so wrong?" she whispered.
That was the moment.
The one where neither of them had a clear answer.
The café door opened.
A customer walked in.
Life kept moving.
But they didn't.
"…I need time," Lia said finally, standing up.
"…I know," Ethan replied.
"…And I need you to be honest with me," she added. "…Not just… supportive."
He nodded slowly.
"…Okay," he said.
She walked back behind the counter.
He stayed at the table.
Same café.
Same space.
But suddenly—
It felt like there was distance between them.
Not physical.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
Uncertainty.
That night, Lia lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Her phone lit up with a message from Ethan:
"I'm here. Always."
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then typed back:
"I know."
But for the first time…
She wasn't sure if knowing was enough.