PART 2:

Not a date. Coffee meeting. Casual conversation between two adults who’d been thrown together by circumstance. He changed his shirt three times the next morning before settling on the second option, a dark blue button-down that Sophie said made him look less like a tired dad. He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment.

“Why are you being fancy?” Sophie asked around a mouthful of waffle. “I’m not being fancy. This is just a regular shirt.” “You ironed it. You never iron.” “I iron sometimes.” “Name one time.” “Your school picture day.” “That was 4 months ago and you burned the collar.” Daniel pointed his coffee mug at her. “You’re going to make a terrifying teenager.

” Sophie grinned, syrup on her chin. “Grandma says I get it from you.” “Your grandmother says a lot of things.” Most of them deeply critical of his life choices, his career, his parenting, and his general existence. Eleanor Blake hadn’t wanted Miranda to marry him in the first place. A struggling designer with no real prospects wasn’t suitable for her daughter.

The fact that Miranda had married him anyway had been a minor miracle. The fact that she’d divorced him exactly as her mother predicted had been significantly less miraculous. He dropped Sophie at school at 8:20, watched her disappear into the building with her space-themed backpack bouncing against her shoulders, then sat in his car for a full minute trying to decide if he was really doing this.

His phone buzzed. “Still on for 10? No judgement if you’ve thought better of it.” Daniel stared at the message. This was his out. He could say something came up at work, reschedule for some vague future date that would never actually happen, let the whole thing fade into uncomfortable memory. “Still on. See you soon.

” He started the car before he could change his mind. Momentum occupied the ground floor of a converted warehouse, all exposed brick and reclaimed wood and industrial lighting. The kind of place that charged $7 for coffee and somehow made you feel like it was worth it. Ariana was already there. Daniel spotted her in the back corner, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever was on her screen.

She wore black, fitted blazer, simple shirt. Everything probably cost more than his monthly rent, but didn’t scream it. Her dark hair was pulled back in a way that looked effortless, but definitely wasn’t. She looked up as he approached and Daniel caught his first real look at her in 2 years. She’d changed.

Not dramatically, same sharp features, same assessing dark eyes, but there was something different in the set of her shoulders. Less of the careful composure he remembered from the wedding and divorce, more present. “You’re early.” She said, closing her laptop. “So are you.” “I’m always early. Occupational habit.” She gestured to the other chair.

“Sit. I already ordered. Hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure what you drink, so I got you a regular coffee. Black seems safe.” Daniel sat, accepting the cup. “Black’s perfect. Thanks.” An awkward beat of silence, they both sipped their coffee. “So” Ariana said finally. “We’re really doing this.” “Apparently.” “You want to lead with the apology or should I lead with the gracious acceptance?” “I I think I covered the apology pretty thoroughly over text.

” “You did. Very thorough. Almost suspiciously thorough.” She leaned back, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “Which makes me think there’s more to this than just an accidental like.” Daniel’s stomach tightened. “There’s not.” “Okay.” “I mean it. I was scrolling, fell asleep, thumb hit the screen.

Pure accident.” “I believe you.” She paused. “But you still showed up.” “You invited me. You could have said no.” “So could you.” Ariana smiled, small, genuine. “Fair point.” The tension eased slightly. Daniel took another sip of coffee, buying time to figure out what the hell he was supposed to say next. “How’s the waterfront project?” he asked finally.

“Complicated.” “The planning commission wants fewer residential units, more commercial space. The developers want the opposite. I’m stuck in the middle trying to design something that won’t get killed in committee.” “Sounds frustrating.” “It’s architecture. Everything’s frustrating.” She tilted her head. “What about you? Still doing graphic design?” “Freelance, yeah.

” “Corporate branding mostly, company logos, marketing materials. Nothing glamorous.” “But you like it?” Did he? Daniel considered the question honestly. “It pays the bills, lets me make my own hours, be there for Sophie. That’s what matters.” “That’s not what I asked.” He met her eyes. They were disconcertingly direct.

“It’s fine.” he said. “It’s good enough.” “Good enough?” Ariana repeated the words like she was tasting something bitter. “God, that’s depressing.” “Not everyone gets to design $50 buildings for a living.” “Not everyone wants to.” “And I do?” “Don’t you?” The question landed harder than it should have. Daniel looked away, watching other customers drift in and out.

A young couple arguing quietly over a shared laptop. An older man reading a newspaper, actually reading it, not on a tablet. The barista calling out orders in a practiced rhythm. “I used to.” he said finally. “When I was younger, before everything got complicated. Before Miranda. Before a lot of things.” Ariana was quiet for a moment.

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