You step outside the café where you work, slipping a cigarette from the pack as the door swings shut behind you. The Paris air is warm, gold from the setting sun spilling between the narrow buildings. You promised yourself this year would be about breathing. Figuring things out before college.

Distance from home. From expectations.

From him.

The lighter clicks. Smoke curls upward as scooters buzz past and glasses clink from the terrace.

You exhale slowly.

“You’re going to get caught doing that eventually.”

Your hand stills.

You turn.

Anthony Dalton sits at a terrace table like he’s been there the whole time, long legs stretched out, a cigarette between his fingers. Your father’s oldest friend. His business partner. The man who built a multimillion dollar company with him straight out of college.

And the man who absolutely should not be here.

Forty one. Dark hair still effortlessly styles, a little stubble now along his jaw. The same sharp features, the same calm confidence that makes every adult listen when he spoke.

But the smile he gives you isn’t the one he used to give when you were twelve and he ruffled your hair and called you kiddo.

This one is slower.

Careful.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

Your stomach drops.

“You weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow.”

He taps ash into the tray. “Plans changed.” His eyes flick briefly toward the café windows. “Your dad thinks I land tomorrow.”

Of course he does.

Your father trusts Anthony more than anyone. Over twenty years of friendship and co-founders of a company together. Vacations, holidays, late nights talking business at the kitchen table.

Anthony taught you how to drive when your dad couldn’t get away from work.

And now he’s lying to him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say softly.

Anthony leans back, studying you in the warm glow of the terrace lights, guilt peeking through that impenetrable mask.

“No, I shouldn’t.”

You remember the first time. You had been seventeen. After one of your father’s company parties. Too much champagne, the balcony quiet, the city lights below you. A moment where you impulsively kissed him. He’d pushed you away of course- but he didn’t push you away when you’d kissed again him three weeks later.

Neither of you walked away. You were nineteen now.

“You said this was a bad idea,” you remind him.

“It is.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

The guilt sits between you like something heavy.

“And you’re married,” you say.

Anthony’s jaw tightens slightly.

“Sophia’s in Singapore,” he says after a moment. “She’s always somewhere.”

It isn’t defensive. Just tired.

Sophia fake baby trapped Anthony into a marriage six years ago. He didn’t find out there was no baby until after the honeymoon and Sophia swore if he tried to divorce her she’d take everything he had- since he never made her sign a prenup.

Still, miserable marriage or not, it was a line neither of you should have crossed.

He glances toward the café again, then back to you.

“You know how many times I told myself I wasn’t getting on that plane today?”

Your pulse jumps.

“I meant it,” he adds quietly. “When you left for Paris, I meant it.”

His eyes linger on your face.

“Then I didn’t see you for three months.”

Silence stretches between you.

“You should go,” you say, even though the words feel weak.

Anthony studies you for a moment.

Then he gestures to the empty chair beside him.

“Sit down,” he says softly. “You’ve got ten minutes before someone inside notices you’re gone.”

You hesitate.

Because this is exactly how it always starts. A few minutes. A conversation. A look that lasts too long.

Then suddenly you’re somewhere you absolutely shouldn’t be.

Anthony watches the conflict on your face.

Then he says quietly,

“I haven’t seen you in three months.”

That does it.

You step forward and drop into the chair beside him.

His shoulders loosen slightly.

“There you are,” he murmurs.