Page 75 of Wild Card 13

Every memory crashed into me at once. His laugh. His hands. His mouth. The way he'd looked at me like eight years hadn't happened.

Heat rushed into my face so fast I thought I might actually combust.

Dear God.

It hadn't been a dream. It had been so much worse. It had been real.

Ty lifted one of the cups slightly. "I figured you'd still be asleep." His voice was careful now, quieter than usual. "Thought I'd surprise you."

He crossed the room and offered me the coffee. Automatically. Like he'd done it a hundred times before.

I stared at the cup instead of taking it. Medium. Dark roast. One pump vanilla. A splash of oat milk. No foam.

My stomach dropped.

Eight years.

Eight fucking years.

And somehow he remembered.

"You still drink it this way, right?" he asked, suddenly sounding almost unsure of himself.

My fingers closed around the warm paper cup before my brain caught up. The heat seeped into my hands. Into my chest. Into places I'd spent years convincing myself had healed.

"Thanks," I whispered. I looked down before he could see what that tiny act of kindness had done to me. I took a careful sip simplybecause I needed something to do. It tasted exactly the way I liked it.

Ty smiled, relief softening his shoulders. "I wasn't sure if they'd have the?—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd meant.

His smile faltered. Silence settled between us.

I hated it immediately. Because for one reckless, impossible moment—when he'd walked through that door carrying coffee—it had felt normal.

Like some alternate version of our lives where we'd never broken each other's hearts. Where mornings like this happened all the time. Where he knew my coffee order because he'd bought it yesterday. And last week. And every Saturday morning for years.

I swallowed hard.

That life didn't exist.

Ty shifted his weight. "Lucy..." His voice wrapped around my name with a familiarity I'd spent years trying to forget.

I forced myself to meet his eyes. Blue. Still impossibly blue. Still capable of undoing entire sections of my nervous system.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "About last night?—"

"We will never speak about that again." The words were already out before he finished his sentence.

His mouth closed.

I kept going because if I stopped, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to start again. "It didn't happen."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Lucy?—"

"It changes nothing. We work together," I continued, my voice steadier now. Safer. "I'm still responsible for doing my job. You're still responsible for doing yours."

His eyes never left mine. "So..." he said quietly.