“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Andrew gasps, visibly shocked.

Panic hits me, desperation flooding my chest. I stop crying and stare blankly at the man who broke my heart years ago—and who is the reason I’m crying right now.

“Why are you crying, Emily?” he pries, stepping closer and invading my personal space.

“Emily? Who is Emily?” I step back, putting distance between us.

“What? Isn’t your name Emily? I’m sorry, but I don’t remember your last name,” he insists, taking another step closer.

“My name isn’t Emily. I’m Amanda,” I lie, my lips trembling.

“Is that a joke?” He tilts his head to the side, his lips curling into an amused smile.

The elevator finally comes to a stop. Needless to say, I dart out of the cramped space the second the doors open, without checking the floor or anything. All I know is that I need to disappear before Andrew can stop me and start asking more questions—questions I definitely don’t want to answer.

Luckily, I end up on the ground floor, which allows me to leave the building at an inhuman speed, proving that anything is possible when it comes to avoiding an old crush and painful memories best left buried.

A moment later, I find myself hiding in my favorite place in the entire world—the cozy coffee shop AK Café across the building. I come here almost every day to work on my books and keep my inspiration alive, especially when I need time away from the chaos in my apartment, as Hansel can be… loud when he has company.

“Hi, Emily. Aren’t you working on your book today?” Melanie, one of the baristas, asks when she notices I’m not holding my laptop like usual.

“Can I get a hot coffee, please?” I order my usual drink, glancing at my apartment building’s entrance to make sure Andrew hasn’t followed me. He hasn’t, much to my relief.

“Were you crying?” Melanie frowns as she studies my red, watery eyes and probably the mess on my face. 

Jeez, I should clean myself up. 

“Where are your shoes?” she adds, glancing down at my bare feet.

“Oh. I left in a hurry and forgot my sneakers,” I reply, suddenly feeling self-conscious. The cold floor finally registers, reminding me that I’m barefoot.

“You can sit at your usual table while I prepare your coffee. I’ll bring it to you once it’s ready,” she says, offering me a soft smile.

“Thank you.” I smile back before sitting at my usual table, away from the door and the main commotion caused by caffeine addicts—no, I refuse to admit that I might be one of them. One or five steaming cups of coffee have become my comfort and small daily indulgence for the past few months.

I can’t believe I met Andrew. Why? Why was he in my building?

I groan loudly as I bang my forehead against the table.

“Emily, what are you doing?”

The familiar, unwanted voice echoes through the air, resurrecting the butterflies in my stomach.

I make the mistake of looking up and am greeted by Andrew’s amused yet concerned gaze as he stands in front of my table.

“I’m not Emily; I’m Amanda,” I grumble, looking away from his beautiful, stupid brown eyes. Even though I do my best not to stare, I can’t help noticing how handsome he is in his twenties. Seriously, what is he? A celebrity or something?

“Okay, then. So tell me, Amanda,” he emphasizes my fake name, “why were you banging your forehead against the poor table?”

It’s crystal clear that he knows who I am but is choosing to play along—either to avoid being shut down completely or because he thinks I’m messing with him.

“Dude, what are you doing here? Did you follow me?” I ignore his question and fire one of my own instead. “I’m calling the cops, just so you know.”

“What did I do?” He laughs, the delightful sound hitting me right in the chest.

Gosh, I’ve missed his laughter so much—no. No, I haven’t. Stop it, Emily.

I shake my head, forcing the intrusive thoughts away. “You’re a stranger who’s stalking me,” I answer dryly as I pull my phone from my jeans.

“Good morning, Mr. Keegan,” Melanie greets him the moment she notices him, flashing the widest smile I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know a human mouth could stretch that far.

“Good morning, Melanie. How are things today?” Andrew replies politely, thankfully not returning the flirtatious yet unsettling grin aimed at him.

“Things are great, sir. I was just bringing Emily her coffee.”

And just like that, my real identity is exposed. Tsk. So much for living my life as Amanda.

I roll my eyes and let out a low groan.

Andrew’s lips curve into a lopsided smile, his eyes burning with curiosity as he arches an eyebrow at me. “Emily, huh?”

“Oh yes. She comes here almost every day with her laptop,” the barista continues, talking about my life as if I’m not sitting right here.

“There. You’ve discovered my real name. Are you happy now?” I snap. “Can you please leave the café and leave me alone?”

Melanie lets out an audible gasp and covers her mouth, clearly horrified by my rudeness. 

Andrew, on the other hand, looks amused. If anything, he seems to be enjoying my public humiliation. “Why would I leave my own café, Emily?” he smirks.

My jaw drops. “Your café?” I mumble, stunned.

“I’m the owner of this coffee shop chain,” he reveals, a smug smile spreading across his face. “AK Café, as in Andrew Keegan Café.”

“Andrew Keegan… café,” I mutter, realization striking me like lightning. “How is that even possible? You’re too young to own a whole coffee chain.”

“So are you,” he shoots back without missing a beat. “A published, accomplished author with a promising future.”

I freeze. “Wait. How do you know that? Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

“I’ve been trying to, but I can’t find you on social media. Why did you delete your profiles?” he asks nonchalantly, unaware of what his innocent question does to my already fragile heart.

My chest tightens, and somehow, absurdly, a tiny piece of it feels mended, even as butterflies stir all over again.

“Actually, I’m very active online, thanks to my career and the need to promote my books,” I scoff dismissively. “You can’t find me because I blocked you everywhere,” I add, my mouth moving faster than my brain.

“Really?” He looks genuinely surprised, probably because he wasn’t expecting such blunt honesty. “Why did you block me?”

Great. Can I just bury my head in the ground like an emu right now?

“Can I drink my coffee?” I point at the mug Melanie is still holding. 

The young woman is watching this bizarre exchange between her boss and me with open curiosity, probably wondering why anyone would blatantly avoid someone like Andrew, who is super handsome, confident, and successful.

“Of course. It’s on the house,” Andrew says, giving me a breathtaking smile that, annoyingly enough, makes my heart do a somersault.

Calm down, oh my silly heart.

“Do you mind if I keep you company while you enjoy it?” he continues, already pulling the chair across from me.

“Yes. I do mind,” I blurt out, my expression flat. Andrew Keegan is the most dangerous territory there is.

“That’s too bad, because I’m sitting here anyway,” he smirks while dropping into the chair, unfazed by my scowl or the very clear “go away” I mouth at him. “Melanie, could you bring me a cappuccino and another coffee for Emily, please?”

The barista remains frozen, watching the scene unfold.

“Melanie?” he calls out.

“Yes, Mr. Keegan. Of course.” She nods and rushes off to the coffee machine.

“Andrew, I need to focus on my book, and I need to do it alone. Your presence is irritating,” I complain, taking a sip of my coffee, which is cold now, worsening my mood. “See? It’s cold because of you.” I grimace.

“What’s the title of the book you’re working on?” he asks, ignoring my protest as he studies me with those stupid, hypnotizing eyes.

“Love and Shit,” I answer casually, lifting the mug again so I can hide half my face behind it.

“Love and Shit?” He arches an eyebrow. “What’s it about?”

“You,” I blurt out, then immediately regret it.

No. No. No. Emily, think before you speak.

“You’re writing a book about me?” Andrew looks pleased, a smug smile on his face.

“It’s not about you, per se. It’s about men, life, and other bothersome stuff.”

“Is it fantasy or sci-fi?” He now looks mildly disappointed.

“How do you know the genres I usually write?”

“I’ve read them.” He shrugs. “I like your books.”

My stomach flutters at his words as warning sirens blare in my head. It’s like my brain is issuing a catastrophic alert labeled love.

“Love and Shit is a romance,” I admit, sighing.

“A romance?” He leans back. “That’s new.”

“Don’t even mention it,” I grumble, draining my coffee in one long gulp.

“Why did you tell me your name was Amanda?” He laughs.

“I was pretending to be my book’s main character,” I lie. “You know, so I could get some insight into her life.” I manage to come up with the lie in seconds, which is a personal record. I might actually use it in my book.

“Is Amanda your main character’s name?” He keeps grilling me, much to my annoyance.

Jeez, what’s with the interrogation?

“It is now, I guess,” I mumble.

“What did you just say?” 

“Why are you here in the city, Andrew?” I change the subject, curiosity getting the best of me.

“I moved here last week.”

“Why did you move here? And why were you in my building?” I hiss, as I really don’t want to live in the same city as him.

“Just so you know, I had no idea you lived there,” he rushes to clarify, pointing at the apartment building across the street through the window.

“Regardless, why were you there?” I insist, a knot forming in my stomach.

“I live there,” he declares.

I choke on my own saliva, coughing violently as the news gets stuck in my brain’s processing room, prompting Andrew to jump to his feet and rush over.

He pats my back, saying softly, “Breathe, Emily. Breathe.”

“Why are you living there?” I wheeze. “Can’t you live somewhere else?”

“Why would I?” He chuckles, sitting back down. “I live right across from my café.”

“Mr. Keegan, here’s your cappuccino, and your coffee, Emily.” Melanie reappears, placing the mugs in front of us. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Would you like something to eat, Emily?” Andrew asks attentively.

When did he become a gentleman? He used to be a total caveman back in high school—unless my memory’s failing me.

“No, thank you.” I smile at Melanie, deliberately ignoring Andrew’s gaze.

“Thanks, Melanie. I’ll let you know if we need anything,” Andrew follows, dismissing her. 

I take a sip of my coffee, welcoming the heat and the calm it brings.

“Are you still dating Dylan?” Andrew pries.

“How do you know about Dylan?” I blurt out, taken aback. I’d spent years assuming Andrew hadn’t even noticed I dated Dylan for a few months because he was with Charlie back then, and we barely spoke.

Does this mean I wasn’t invisible to him after all?

“How could I not know?” he retorts. “You were my girlfriend’s best friend, and Charlie told me everything.”

Hearing Charlie’s name is enough to wipe out every last butterfly in my stomach, the small piece of my heart that had started to heal cracking all over again.

I can’t do this. Not again.

“Thank you for the coffee, Andrew.” I rise to my feet, mug in hand, and rush out of the café without looking back.

“Hey, that mug belongs to my café,” Andrew calls after me.

I cross the street, enter my apartment building, rush into my apartment, and lock myself in my bedroom, fully prepared to stay there until I’m old and gray.

I hate you, Andrew Keegan. 

* * *