Patience Heart

Tingling Feelings

Adam's POV

Seeing her again, standing up there, confidently presenting her redesign project—it felt like a punch to the gut. My heart ached in a way I hadn't expected, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop staring at her.

Viola.

She was nervous, I could tell from the slight tremble in her hand as she clicked through the slides. But her voice? Her voice was steady, confident, commanding. She had always been like that—stronger than she gave herself credit for. I remember that about her. That was one of the many reasons I had fallen head over heels for her all those years ago. And now, seeing her like this, so composed yet still so... her, it stirred something inside me I thought had long been buried.

Her appearance had changed. She no longer had the same curves she once did, but even with her new figure, there was a beauty about her that captivated me in a completely different way. She was radiant, a woman who had grown and transformed—yet still capable of making my heart skip a beat just by standing there.

The way she commanded the room, every word perfectly timed and delivered, filled me with pride I had no right to feel anymore. But there it was, flooding my chest, as if she was still mine. As if she ever had been.

I couldn't take my eyes off her, even after she finished her part of the presentation. Even when she sat back down, blending into the background as her colleague took over, I was still glued to her every move. Every glance. Every breath.

By the time the meeting finally ended, I was wound tight, the tension in my body almost unbearable. I needed to find her, to say something, but when I scanned the room, she was gone.

Shit.

I headed out of the meeting room, my pulse still racing. I needed air, and I needed to calm down. The smoking area. That's where I could clear my head.

On my way down to the lobby, I felt a gnawing craving for coffee. Anything to distract me from the mess swirling in my head. I made my way to the café in the lobby, hoping a cup of something strong would help steady my nerves.

Shally, the barista, spotted me right away. She had been working here for years, always quick with a smile, and she knew my usual order. "Hi, Mr. Adrian. What's the brew for today?"

I opened my mouth to say my usual, but the words didn't come. For some reason, instead of asking for my typical cappuccino, I found myself blurting out, "Americano."

Shally raised an eyebrow, surprised. "This is a new one?" she asked with a hint of curiosity. "I thought you weren't into bitter coffee."

I paused, not really knowing how to respond. She was right. I didn't usually go for the bitter stuff. Shally knew me well enough by now, having been my barista here for the past few years. I was one of the regulars, always ordering something smooth and mild. But today... well, today was different.

"Yeah, just trying something new," I finally muttered, giving her a tight smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.

She studied me for a moment, probably sensing that something was off but, to her credit, didn't press the issue. "One Americano coming right up," she said, slipping into her usual cheerful tone as she turned to prepare the drink.

As I stood there, waiting, my mind was still back in that boardroom with Viola—Ellen as she was known now. Seeing her again had thrown me completely off balance. I hadn't been able to think straight the entire presentation, my eyes constantly drawn to her. And then, to top it off, I'd gone and ordered her favorite coffee without even realizing it. The damn drink that had somehow gotten lodged in my memory, connected to every moment we had shared.

The hiss of the espresso machine pulled me back into the present. I glanced over the counter at Shally, who was expertly making the drink. My usual easygoing banter with her wasn't there today; I didn't have the energy for small talk. Not after what just happened. Not after seeing Viola in person again.

When Shally handed me the cup, I took it with a nod of thanks. The smell of the strong brew hit me, and instantly, memories of Viola flooded back—the way she used to sip on her Americano when she was stressed, the way her lips would curl into a smile after that first sip. I sighed and took the coffee, hoping it might help clear my head.

Still clutching the cup, I made my way out to the smoking area. The garden outside the Chattame building was calm, the city's noise barely a hum in the background. A few people were scattered around, some absorbed in their phones, others lost in their thoughts. My eyes quickly scanned the area, hoping—no, expecting—to see her there. Maybe she had come out to clear her head like I had.

But she wasn't there.

Instead, I spotted the man who had been with her earlier—her partner in the presentation. Richard, I think his name was. He was sitting on a bench, seemingly relaxed, but there was no sign of Viola.

I hesitated for a moment, then walked over and sat next to him. I could feel the tension thrumming through me, the unease that had settled deep in my chest since I'd seen her earlier. Without thinking much about it, I pulled a cigarette from my pack and lit it. The first inhale was harsh, a reminder that this was never really my thing. I was always the one pushing for clean living, the one who avoided stuff like this. But things had changed.

I had changed.

Losing her had shifted something in me, broken a piece of who I used to be. And now here I was, smoking, doing something I swore I'd never do. The irony wasn't lost on me. If she saw me like this, I could imagine the shock on her face. Viola had always been the one who laughed at how uptight I could be about health, making jokes about my obsession with clean eating and exercise.

But that was then. This... this was now.

I took another drag, feeling the smoke fill my lungs before releasing it slowly into the cool air. The bitterness of the cigarette mixed with the taste of the Americano still on my tongue. It was a strange combination, but it suited the strange mood I was in.

I glanced over at Richard, wondering if he knew anything about what had happened between us. Did he know the history Viola and I shared, the reasons I still couldn't get her out of my head? Probably not. He seemed relaxed, too casual to be aware of the storm brewing inside me.