You sat in the cozy corner of the café, your eyes flickering toward the door every few minutes. When Tom Buckley finally walked in, shaking the rain off his hair, your heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call traditionally charming—disheveled, a little scruffy—but there was something in the way he carried himself that you couldn’t ignore.

He spotted you and made his way over, his familiar half-smile disarming as always. Sitting across from you, he gestured at the clutter of papers between them. “Still chasing shadows?”

You smiled softly, trying to focus on your notes, but your thoughts betrayed you. You could feel your pulse quicken just from the way he looked at you, sharp and curious. Unable to stop yourself, you said, almost in a whisper:

“It’s not the shadows I’m chasing, Tom. It’s the light they hide.”

For a moment, his expression softened, his usual guarded demeanor slipping. ”You’ve got a way with words,” he muttered, his eyes lingering on yours just a little too long.