Chapter 40
Sienna's POV
I frowned, hesitating. Spam calls were an occupational hazard, but something about the timing felt deliberate. I swiped to answer.
"Hello?"
Silence. Then a soft, familiar laugh—low and warm, with that slightly lazy cadence that used to drive me crazy in design school. "So you really did delete my number."
My brain stalled. I knew that voice. I knew the way it curled around vowels, the faint smile you could hear in every syllable. But it had been years, and context was everything. It took three full seconds for the name to surface.
"Aiden?"
"There we go." He sounded pleased, like I'd just answered a riddle correctly. "Wasn't sure if you'd recognize me. It's been a while."
A while. That was one way to put it. Aiden Cruz—high school classmate, someone I thought would fade into the past after graduation, until we ended up at the same college, even chose the same major. He was also one of the few people from that chapter of my life I'd actually liked as a friend. Junior year we'd collaborated on a design project, spent countless late nights in the lab testing pressure distribution models. He'd been kind, brilliant, and refreshingly drama-free. When he'd graduated and moved abroad, we'd lost touch. Not dramatically—just the slow fade that happens when lives diverge.
"I didn't expect to hear from you," I admitted, stepping away from Reina toward the quieter corner of the studio.
"Just got back a couple days ago. Work transfer—the company's consolidating their West Coast R&D. I'll be based in Aetheria permanently now." He paused. "I thought about reaching out sooner, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to hear from me. Figured I'd take the gamble."
There was no subtext in his voice, no hidden agenda. Just straightforward honesty. It was disarming. "I'm glad you did. How've you been?"
"Busy. Promoted to senior designer, so now I get to pretend I know what I'm doing while managing a team of overachieving perfectionists." He laughed. "But I'm good. Better question—how are you?"
"Getting by. The studio's getting back on track."
"I know. Indie studios are getting crushed right now." He paused. "Listen, you free? I'd love to catch up properly. That café near Oakridge—Morning Dew—still around. Want to meet up?"
Morning Dew. God, I hadn't thought about that place in years. It had been everyone's go-to study spot during high school—Hayes and I tucked into the window booth, splitting an Americano. The memory was so vivid it hurt.
"I remember," I said quietly.
"Tomorrow? Four o'clock?"
"Yeah," I heard myself say. "Four works."
"Perfect. I'll see you there." He hung up.
Reina appeared at my elbow, eyebrows raised. "Weekend date?"
"An old friend," I said with a smile, pocketing my phone.
---
Morning Dew Books & Café hadn't changed. The same two-story wooden building, the same ivy crawling up the exterior walls, the same smell of old paperbacks and freshly ground coffee hitting me the second I stepped inside. Even the layout was identical—mismatched furniture, bookshelves crammed into every available corner, the narrow staircase leading to the second-floor reading loft.
The window booth was occupied by a student with headphones, oblivious to the world. I felt a stupid pang of loss, like someone had taken my seat.
"Sienna."
I turned. Aiden stood by the counter, two mugs in hand, looking exactly like I remembered and completely different. The basics were the same—dark curly hair, warm brown eyes, that easy smile that never felt forced. But there was a polish to him now, a confidence that came from success. His cream sweater and dark slacks were understated but expensive, the kind of quiet wealth that didn't need logos. He'd grown into himself.
He walked over, setting one mug in front of me as I slid into a booth near the back. "Americano, half pump of vanilla syrup. Some things don't change, right?"
I stared at the cup. "You remembered."
"You used to complain every single time that it was too sweet, then drink the whole thing anyway." He sat across from me, his grin widening. "Figured muscle memory would kick in."
I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into my palms. "Thanks."
For a while, we just talked. Safe topics—his new position at the company, the challenges of managing a team, the culture shock of being abroad for years. He asked about K&C, and I gave him the edited version: the near-bankruptcy, the timely orders, getting back on track.
We fell into the rhythm we'd always had—easy, frictionless conversation that didn't demand anything. He told me about the nightmare project that collapsed a week before launch. I told him about the apprentice who'd accidentally glued his hand to a prototype last month.
It felt normal. Safe.
Too safe.
About half an hour into our conversation, I unconsciously pressed on the swelling at my right wrist. The movement was subtle, but Aiden caught it.
His topic suddenly halted, his gaze dropping to my right wrist. He frowned. "It's not better yet?" His tone carried familiar concern.
I instinctively pulled my hand back under the table. "Old problem." Trying to brush it off lightly.
"Sienna." His voice softened. "I've seen you work through pain before. Junior year, remember? You spent seventy-two hours straight in the lab finishing that major design project, and your wrist swelled up so bad you couldn't hold a pencil for a week."
"I had deadlines."
"You always have deadlines." He leaned forward slightly, expression serious. "You're going to destroy yourself if you don't slow down."
"I can't slow down." The words came out sharper than I intended. "If I slow down, K&C folds."
I paused. "But it's okay now. We made it through."
He didn't argue. Just watched me with that steady, patient gaze that made me feel simultaneously seen and exposed. "You haven't changed as much as you think."
I didn't know how to respond to that, so I took a sip of the Americano instead. He was right—it was too sweet. I drank it anyway.
"So," Aiden said after a moment, carefully. "How are things with you and Hayes?"