Chapter Eight— The Calm Before the Shift
C
The hiss of the espresso machine and the steady hum of conversation created a white noise that Eva had grown used to. Monday mornings at District Roasters were always a tangle of caffeine orders and deadlines, a rhythm she could count on—unlike most things in her life lately.
Eva tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers stained faintly with charcoal from sketching the night before. She’d been up late, staring at a blank page longer than she'd like to admit. Work, at least, didn’t require inspiration—just precision and instinct. And when it came to designing window displays, she had both.
She stood back from the boutique’s front window, squinting at the layout she’d spent the past three days refining. A scattering of dried florals, rust-colored velvet drapery, and a central mannequin dressed in deep forest green—early fall with a whisper of melancholy. It was beautiful. But something about it felt…unfinished.
“Looks like a memory,” said Claire, her assistant, appearing at her side with a clipboard and a smirk. “Like someone’s last perfect September.”
Eva blinked. That’s exactly what it looked like.
Maybe because she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he used to bring her coffee during long nights designing mock-ups. The way he’d pick out obscure songs and call them “the soundtrack of now.” She hadn’t even told Claire about him—not really. But somehow the memory was leaking into everything she touched.
“I might swap the scarf on the mannequin,” Eva said quickly, brushing past Claire’s comment. “The amber’s too loud.”
Claire arched a brow but said nothing, jotting it down.
They worked in companionable silence until Eva’s phone buzzed on the counter. She ignored it at first—no one she wanted to hear from texted her this early. But the second buzz came with a preview name.
Julian R.
Her hand stilled.
Julian. Not the ex. Not the flame she’d left behind. This was the client. The big client. The one who’d asked her to pitch a concept for the new flagship hotel downtown—something minimalist, yet emotionally rich. A contradiction she found maddeningly intriguing.
Eva opened the message.
Looking forward to your mock-up tomorrow. Also—random: is the green in your last concept inspired by Monet? It feels like it.
— J.R.
She stared at it, heart ticking just a little faster.
Monet? No. Not consciously. But now that he said it, yes. That depth of shadowed green, the way it curled into gold—it did feel like Giverny in early dusk.
She typed back before she could second-guess herself:
Maybe subconsciously. You have a good eye.
— E.
She hit send and realized she was smiling. Which was ridiculous. It was work. Just work.
But still, as she turned back to the window display, the colors didn’t feel so unfinished anymore
Eva’s fingers froze mid-adjustment on the scarf when Claire appeared in the doorway again.
“Eva, someone’s here about the hotel pitch—he says he’s one of the investors?”
Eva straightened, puzzled. “Julian didn’t mention anyone coming by today.”
Claire shrugged. “He didn’t give a full name. Just said, ‘She’ll know me.’”
Eva stepped toward the front of the boutique with cautious curiosity. The moment she rounded the display shelf, her breath hitched.
Luke.
He looked the same—infuriatingly composed, with that quietly intense energy that made people take him seriously without quite knowing why. His suit was slightly rumpled, like he’d come from somewhere he didn’t want to be.
“Hi,” he said. “Didn’t mean to drop in like this.”
Eva’s brows knit. “Luke? I didn’t know you were involved with the project.”
“I’m not, officially. But one of the funding arms is mine. Julian probably didn’t think it mattered who the backers were.”
“And you do?” she asked carefully.
“I do now,” Luke said, eyes meeting hers.
Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist.
Claire hovered uncertainly nearby. “Everything okay?”
Eva nodded. “Yeah. Give us a minute?”
Once they were alone, Eva crossed her arms, guarded. “So what is this, Luke? A surprise investor visit? Or are you here for some other reason?”
He exhaled slowly, a flicker of something—frustration?—in his eyes. “I saw your name on the design deck last night. And I… I needed to see you for myself. Not because of Noah.”
Her heart gave a small jolt at the name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years.
“Then don’t bring him up,” she said flatly.
“I’m not here for him,” Luke insisted. “But I’m also not going to pretend he’s not part of this.”
Eva looked at him, really looked. There was something worn at the edges of him—tension in his jaw, a tiredness in his posture. Whatever was happening between the brothers, it wasn’t surface-level.
“You two aren’t talking,” she said quietly.
“No,” Luke said. “We’re not.”
She hesitated. “Because of me?”
Luke hesitated too long. “Not only.”
The silence stretched, taut with old ghosts and new fractures.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Eva admitted. “Especially not wrapped up in my work life.”
“I didn’t plan on it either,” he said. “But here we are.”
Her defenses flared. “So what do you want, Luke?”
He looked away for a moment, then back at her with something closer to honesty than she expected.
“To understand what really happened between you and my brother. Because nothing he says makes sense. And I think—” he paused, “—I think he’s not the only one who’s lying to himself.”
Eva stared at him, stunned. “That’s not your place.”
“Maybe not,” Luke said. “But I’m already here.”
And in that moment, she realized this project was no longer just about creativity or career. It was about the past—hers, Noah’s, and now Luke’s—twisting back into the present whether she was ready or not.