Page 4 of Unlucky in Love
But now, here he was in her café, tall and broad-shouldered, the boy she remembered sharpened into a man. His dark hair was a little longer than before, his jaw dusted with stubble, his smile lazy but—oh no—directed right at her.
“Taylor Pierce,” he said, stepping up to the counter. His voice was deeper now, rougher. “I was wondering if you’d still be here, running the show.”
“Ryan.” She pasted on the same customer-service smile she used for everyone. Bright. Friendly. Impersonal. “What can I get you?”
“Just like that? Nine years, and I don’t even get a how have you been?” His mouth curved, teasing. “Brutal.”
Taylor busied herself with the register. “I ask everyone the same thing: What can I get you? Keeps it simple.”
He chuckled, low and warm, and leaned an elbow on the counter. “Coffee, black. Unless you want to surprise me. You always did make better lattes than anyone else.”
Her cheeks warmed, but she kept her tone breezy. “Black coffee it is.”
She poured it, slid it across, and moved on without another glance, calling the next order, greeting the next customer. Just another face in the line. Just another cup.
Ryan didn’t press. He took his coffee and wandered to a corner table, where he settled in with that same unbothered confidence that had once driven her crazy.
The morning bled into afternoon, and Taylor lost herself in the rhythm—orders, foam art, deliveries, small talk. Another day passing her by as she worked in the cafe.
Once the last customer waved goodbye, the doorbell chimed softly as the glass door swung shut. The café grew still in a way that always felt like a sigh at the end of the day. Chairs scraped lightly against tile as Taylor nudged them back into place. She hummed under her breath, wiping down the counter, her mind already shifting to the closing checklist she could probably do in her sleep. Cash drawer. Lights. Floors. Lock the front door.
She turned, rag in hand, expecting the corner booth to be empty.
It wasn’t.
Ryan Carter was still there.
Taylor froze, caught off guard. For hours he had sat quietly, blending into the background while she worked, and she had half convinced herself he was gone. Yet there he was, one arm stretched along the back of the booth, his long legs stretched out comfortably beneath the table, a nearly empty coffee cup sitting in front of him like it had been forgotten.
Her throat tightened. She adjusted her grip on the rag, clutching it a little too hard.
“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence. “You’ve been sitting there all day. Most people drink their coffee and leave before I close up.”
He looked at her with a slow smile that made something in her chest twist. “Maybe I just like the atmosphere.”
She arched a brow. “Or maybe you are a terrible liar.”
His grin deepened. “You caught me.”
Taylor took a few careful steps toward him, her heart drumming a little harder with each one. She dropped into the seat across from him before she could second guess herself.
“Seriously, Ryan. You do not spend six hours in a café unless you’re hiding from someone or writing a novel. And unless you’ve been keeping secrets from your sister, you’re not a novelist.”
“Harsh,” he said, feigning a wince, though his eyes glinted with amusement.
“Factual.”
That earned her a laugh, a real one, and the sound did something strange to her chest. It had been years since she had seen him like this, relaxed, teasing, the same boy who used to torment her and protect her in equal measure.
Her guard slipped for just a moment. She leaned in. “Emma said you needed a change of pace. That’s not like you. What happened?”
The laughter faded from his face, replaced by something heavier. He shrugged, but it looked forced, like his shoulders were carrying a weight too big for one person.
“Work got…complicated.”
“Marines classified complicated?” she asked, lowering her voice.
His brows lifted. “Emma talks too much.”
