You’ve been in town for only a week when you spot him. Sitting in a booth, leaning back with that same self-assured confidence, talking to a young nun, is Charlie Mayhew. You feel your heart stutter as you watch him—he’s changed, older and sharper, a collar around his neck you would never have imagined.

The nun leaves for the restroom, and you seize the moment, crossing the floor and stopping at his table.

“Charlie?”

He looks up, and for a moment, he seems annoyed, then recognition flickers across his face, his lips curling into a smirk. “Well, look who shows up.” His tone is mocking, and there’s an edge in his eyes you don’t remember. “You always did have a way of reappearing.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say, trying to stay steady. “I moved here, I didn’t… I didn’t know you’d end up like this.”

He lets out a low, humorless laugh, folding his arms. “You expected me to live a nice, normal life? After everything you put me through?”

The words sting, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. Memories flash between you—of the late nights, the tension, the fiery, undeniable passion that used to bind you together. And the oh so amazing way he made you feel-

“It wasn’t just me, Charlie,” you murmur. “We both made choices.”

He leans back, a dark smile crossing his face. “Sure. And look where those choices got us.” He glances at you with cold satisfaction. “Don’t go looking for something that’s not there.”

His words hit like a slap, and for a moment, you barely recognize the man in front of you. The warmth he once had, all that fire, replaced by something harsher, colder, a sharp edge that makes you wonder if the man you loved is gone for good..