At twenty-eight, Emma had built a life that looked successful from the outside. She managed one of Seattle's most popular coffee shops, lived in a cozy apartment just blocks from Pike Place Market, and had cultivated a circle of friends who genuinely cared about her. Yet sometimes, in the quiet moments between customers, she felt an inexplicable longing for something more, something she couldn't quite name but knew was missing.
The bell above the door chimed, and Emma looked up with her practiced customer service smile, ready to greet whoever had just entered. The smile froze on her lips as her eyes met a pair of familiar green ones that had haunted her dreams for the better part of a decade. Time seemed to slow as recognition dawned, her heart skipping several beats before resuming at double speed.
"Emma?" The deep voice was older now, more mature, but unmistakably the same one that had whispered sweet words in her ear during long summer nights ten years ago. "Emma Richardson?"