Emma saw him through the window of the book cafe before he saw her. Same jacket. Same slow walk, like the door would wait for him. She was twenty-two and had spent last Friday reading Pride and Prejudice alone because a different man said he would come and did not. She had reread Darcy's letter three times that night. Now the ex from two years ago stood on the sidewalk, and her hand was already reaching for her phone to check if he had texted a warning. He had. Three messages. All of them soft. All of them the kind of soft she used to believe. She set the phone face down and opened the old leather book she had bought that morning. The pages smelled like a closet. She read the same line four times. The bell over the door rang. He slid into the seat across from her without asking and smiled the smile she remembered. He said he had been thinking about her. He said he was different now. He asked what she was reading, then answered for her before she could speak. Across the cafe, a woman at the counter was watching. Dark jacket, hair pulled up, arms crossed. Emma had seen her here before, always with a book, never with company. The woman caught Emma's eye and lifted an eyebrow, a small question. Are you okay. Emma looked back at the man across from her. He was still talking. He had not asked one real question. He was telling her about a trip he wanted to take, and Emma understood he wanted her to say she would come. Two years ago she would have said yes before he finished the sentence. She would have called it being open. She would have called it love. "I can't," Emma said. He stopped. He asked what she meant. She closed the book. "I can't do this again. You should go." He tried the soft voice. He tried the hand on her wrist. She pulled her wrist back and waited. He left slower than he needed to, so she would watch. She did not watch. When the bell rang again, the woman from the counter walked over with two mugs and set one down in front of Emma. "You looked like you needed this five minutes ago," she said. "I'm Morgan." Emma held the mug with both hands. It was warm. Morgan sat down without asking, the way he had, but she waited for Emma to speak first. Emma opened her mouth and found she did not know what to say to someone who had simply shown up. So she said her name.

A week later Emma sat at the same table by the window. The old leather book was open in front of her, but she had not turned a page in twenty minutes. She was watching the door. A man named Ethan Carter had messaged her three times that morning, each note warmer than the last, asking if she wanted to meet for coffee here at four. It was ten past. Emma reread his last text and looked for the word that would tell her he did not mean it. She could not find one. That scared her more than finding one would have. The bell over the door rang. It was not Ethan. Morgan walked in, hair pulled up, jacket zipped against the cold, and stopped when she saw Emma. She had not been invited. Emma felt her old habit rise in her throat, ready to say she was fine, ready to say she was waiting for a friend, ready to send Morgan back out the door with a smile that meant nothing. Morgan crossed to the table and set down a small ceramic owl with a heart-shaped face and one chipped wing. "Found it at the shop next door," Morgan said. "Made me think of you. The wing is messed up. Still an owl." She did not sit. Emma looked at the owl. She looked at Morgan standing there, waiting to be told to stay or go. The easy thing was the hedge. I'm meeting someone. Maybe another time. The words were already shaped in her mouth. She thought about last Friday and the Friday before, and the man who had said he would come and did not, and the ex she had sent out this door a week ago. She thought about who had actually shown up. "Sit," Emma said. "Please." Morgan sat. Emma turned her phone face down without reading the new message that had just lit the screen. "I was waiting for someone," she said. "He's late. I don't think I want him to come anymore." Morgan did not ask who. She nodded once and picked up the owl and turned it in her fingers. "Then tell him," she said. Emma picked up her phone. She typed four words. Please don't come today. She sent it before she could reread it. The screen went dark. Her hands were shaking a little, but she set the phone down and left it there. Morgan pushed the owl across the table until it sat beside the open book. "Coffee?" she said. "I'm buying." Emma said yes. She said it the first time Morgan asked.