Patience Heart

Resolution

Adam's POV.

As soon as I saw her walking toward us, my heart lurched. There she was—Viola. Her eyes locked onto mine the moment she got close, her stride faltering just slightly. The sight of her brought a wave of memories I'd tried to bury deep.

She hesitated, her attention momentarily divided between Richard and me. It was clear she had noticed my presence. The familiarity of seeing her again, in person, stirred up emotions I wasn't ready to confront.

"Hey," she called out as she got closer, her tone casual but guarded. It was clear she was trying to keep things light, trying to keep me at arm's length. But seeing her like this, so composed and confident, it made something twist inside me. I wasn't sure if it was admiration or jealousy—or maybe a little bit of both.

Richard glanced up, a grin spreading across his face, his cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. "Ellie!" he said with that easy charm of his. "That was one hell of a performance in there. You killed it."

The way he called her Ellie like they were so familiar with each other—too familiar—sent a wave of jealousy through me. I knew I shouldn't care, but I couldn't help it. Seeing her with him, seeing the easy way they talked, made me wonder how close they'd gotten.

"Thanks, Richard. Just glad it's over," she replied, her voice calm, though I noticed the slight tension in her tone. As she finished speaking, she glanced toward me again, our eyes meeting. There it was—recognition, the kind that comes from years of history. The moment felt charged, like there was an invisible current running between us, sparking memories that neither of us had addressed.

Richard, completely oblivious to the tension, chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette. "You had those board members eating out of the palm of your hand. I've never seen you that on point, Ellie." She shrugged, trying to downplay it, though I could sense how much effort had gone into it. "Yeah, well, high stakes, I guess."

Her gaze flicked back to me, just for a second, and it was like she was daring me to say something—to acknowledge the tension that Richard seemed blind to. But instead, I just stood there, watching her, feeling that familiar ache settle in my chest.

Richard, still clueless, grinned and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "You made it look effortless." I couldn't take it anymore—the easy banter between them, the way she seemed so at ease around him. I reached for my Americano and, without thinking too much, held it out to her. "Here," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside. "Thought you might need this."

She stared at the cup for a moment, clearly surprised, and for a second, I thought she wouldn't take it. But then, with a small nod, she reached out and took the glass from me. Our fingers brushed—just barely—but it was enough. Enough to send a jolt through me that I hadn't felt in years.

"Thanks," she muttered, her voice low, guarded. She took a sip, her eyes not meeting mine. I could feel the walls she had built up, the way she was trying to keep things casual—keep me at a distance.

Richard, completely unaware of the tension, laughed lightly and flicked the ash off his cigarette. "You two know each other?" he asked with a grin, clearly intrigued. His gaze bounced between us, waiting for one of us to fill in the blanks.

Before I could respond, I heard myself say, in a tone that was more detached than I'd meant, "Ask her."

I instantly regretted it. The words came out colder than I intended, like I was trying to erase everything that had happened between us, even though I knew I couldn't. Viola's expression tightened, and I could see the flash of frustration in her eyes. She shot me one of those forced smiles, the kind that didn't quite reach her eyes, and I knew I'd struck a nerve.

"Yeah," she said softly, more to Richard than to me. "We go way back."

And just like that, the air between us thickened with all the things left unsaid.

Her voice was calm, but there was a heaviness in her words, a weight of things left unsaid. The air between us felt thick with all the unresolved emotions we'd buried. It was like we were both standing on the edge of something dangerous—something that neither of us was ready to confront, but couldn't keep avoiding either.

Richard, sensing the shift in mood, raised an eyebrow and flicked the last of his cigarette into the ashtray. "Well," he said, trying to lighten the mood, "Small world, huh? Funny how paths cross again."

"Yeah," Viola muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Funny." She took another sip of the coffee I had handed her, but her eyes were fixed on something far off, something beyond this moment. Her fingers gripped the cup tightly, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping her grounded—like if she let go, she'd drift away.

I took another drag from my cigarette, more out of habit than need. I hadn't smoked much before this, but seeing her again—feeling everything I'd tried to bury—made the nicotine seem like a crutch, something to hold onto. The smoke curled in the air between us, a physical reminder of all the things that had gone up in flames.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had imagined seeing her again a thousand times, but in none of those scenarios had it felt this complicated, this heavy. A part of me wanted to grab her, shake her, and force her to talk about everything we'd left unresolved. But another part of me—one I wasn't proud of—wanted to pretend it didn't matter. That she didn't matter.

But that was a lie.

The truth was, even after all this time, she still had a hold on me. One I wasn't sure I could ever break free from.

Richard's voice cut through the silence. "Hey, Ellie, you okay?"

Viola looked at him, then at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought she might say something—something real, something about us. But then she gave a small shrug and smiled at Richard, the kind of smile that was more polite than genuine. "Yeah," she said. "Just need a minute."

She excused herself and headed back inside. For some reason, I decided to follow her.

As I watched her walk away, the urge to follow was overwhelming. My heart raced, a mix of confusion and longing coursing through me. I couldn't let her leave like this—not when everything between us felt so unresolved.

I crushed my cigarette in the ashtray, the remnants of smoke dissipating into the cool air. Richard continued talking, unaware of the storm brewing inside me. I didn't want to push Viola, but I couldn't let this moment slip away.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside after her, following the faint echo of her presence. I spotted her entering the restroom. Resolutely, I decided to wait for her, hoping to find some semblance of closure or at least a chance to talk things through.