Eight Years

Present

"Jaxon?" I ask, even though I very well know without a question that it's him. I'd recognize those eyes anywhere.

The eyes that once watched me sing karaoke. Used to watch me in class, when the teacher was telling us about the assignments we were supposed to have done on her desk by the next friday. Eyes that used to watch me during the cheerleading practice, when his practice was canceled because of the coach being sick.

He blinks a couple more times, like he can't believe I'm here, sitting a foot away from him. "What are you doing here?"

My gaze travels down his black suit jacket to the black shirt underneath —no tie or anything—, down to his black suit pants. "I think the better question is, what are you doing here?" I meet his eyes again. "Since, I live in the building we just left."

He looks through the rear window, but the building is far behind now. "I'm running some errands." He meets my eyes again. "Wait. You live here? In Boston?"

I nod. "Yeah, I've lived here ever since I graduated from college. Now, what are you doing here? How are you just running some errands in Boston?"

He clears his throat, still looking very confused. "I live fifteen miles away."

What?

I thought for sure he'd be living in New York, pursuing his dream of building his own empire in the city, which he told me about years ago.

How have we never bumped into each other on the street or at a cafe or a grocery store, if we've been living this close to one another?

"This is crazy," I say, my eyes wide and staring at something through the windshield.

"My thoughts exactly." He runs his hand down his face, and for a moment, we both just sit there in silence, processing this.

Then he turns to look at the side of my face, and one corner of his mouth lifts up in a half smile. "It's good to see you. I've wondered where you might've ended up and if you're still following your dream of becoming an architect."

A bang hits my heart at the reminder that as of today, I'm unemployed. And if I don't find a new job soon, I'll have to also start looking for a new apartment.

But that's the last thing I ant to be thinking about tonight.

So I put on a smile and turn to him, those gorgeous pools of green staring back at me. "Yeah, living the dream and all that. How about you? New York not interesting enough for you anymore?"

He snorts and looks out of the window on my side. "It wasn't the place for me. My dreams changed pretty quickly after high school." He looks down at his hand resting on the empty seat between us. "After college, I moved here to be closer to my mom and her side of the family, and a few weeks after that I was working at her restaurant as a chef."

"Still there?" I ask, remembering all the amazing foods he made me after school, or when I slept over at his place and he prepared breakfast for us before waking me up. I can't remember a food that's ever tasted better than the ones his magical hands have prepared.

A smile flashes on his lips. "Not anymore. Moved to another place with a better future, but yes, still a chef."

"What's the place's name? I'd love to come by and see if you still have your talent with you, or if you've lost it over the years."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, looking like he's hesitating if he wants to tell me, if he wants to see me again after this. "It's 'Ann's'," he says, barely above a whisper.

"It's like your mother's name," I realize. Annalee.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, that's because I named it after her." A pause as he runs his fingers through his dark hair. "I own the place. She just never got the chance to see it up in business."

Oh no. I knew Ann was fighting cancer, but I always hoped that she'd beat it and survive long enough to see all of her son's dreams come true. "I'm sorry, Jax." I lay my hand on top of his just as the cab comes to a halt on the side of the street.

I look out of the window to see the bar's neon sign on the wall. I dig my wallet out of my purse and pay the driver. "I guess this is it, then," I say to Jaxon. "But I promise to come eat at the restaurant someday in the near future, and see if you can still make as good of a lasagnette as back then."

A smug smile. "Even better."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," I laugh. I thank the driver before opening the door and stepping out onto the street. "It was nice to meet you again, too," I tell Jaxon before closing the door.

I hate goodbyes. I've hated them ever since I had to give a particular one eight years ago.

Letting out a long breath, I watch as the taxi continues down the street to wherever Jaxon's going, dressed in that suit that makes him look like he belongs on the front page of a magazine.

After a moment of just standing there, I stroll inside and sit down onto a stool at the bar, ordering a drink.

But as always, one drink turns to two.

And after half an hour and two beers, I'm more than ready to call it a night and go back home to eat ice cream under my warm and comforting blanket.

I throw a couple dollars into the tip jar and pick up my stuff from the bar, taking my phone to call a taxi. But as I bring the phone to my ear and turn towards the door, my eyes meet Jaxon's, who's standing by the door, having just entered.

Huh? Two beers can't make you see stuff that's not actually there, right?

I do feel kind of dizzy. Maybe I should've just gone with a glass of water after the events of the day.

Jaxon walks toward me, his jacket off and hanging from his fist, and a few buttons of his shirt opened. He looks even better now than he did in the cab.

"What– What are you doing here?" I ask, clutching my phone in my hand, which is probably still ringing, but I don't care.

My heart is beating, maybe even more rapidly than in the taxi, when he was just inches away from me. I still can't believe he's here. Jaxon's here, in Boston.

And standing a few feet away from me, his eyes searching something in mine.

He looks around before back into my eyes. "I don't know—" His chest moves up and down with a deep breath as his eyes wander around my face. Then he looks over my shoulder at the bar. "I guess I needed a drink."

He moves around me to the bar, his arm brushing against mine and sending goosebumps down my spine. "Care to join?" he asks, glancing at the stool I was sitting on a moment ago.

Without a hesitation, I press the red button on my phone and tuck it back into my purse. "Sure." And sit down onto the stool, putting the purse onto the counter while he orders us a round.