Chapter Nine— The Weight of First Impressions
By the time Eva got home that night, her apartment smelled faintly of eucalyptus and paint thinner. The scent of creative chaos. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her sketchbook on the kitchen counter, barely glancing at the half-finished mood board spread across her dining table.
Her mind was still at the boutique.
Still on Luke.
She poured herself a glass of red wine and stood in front of the corkboard she’d been building for the hotel presentation. Concept photos. Color palettes. Fabric samples pinned like thoughts she didn’t trust to memory. The theme was simple: stillness in motion—the kind of space that felt both grounded and alive. A place someone could walk into and feel like they were returning to themselves.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
Eva took a slow sip of wine, then picked up a charcoal pencil and began sketching over one of the rough layouts. The hallway installation needed texture—something raw, maybe even a little broken. She scribbled loosely: fragmented mirror panels, aged brass sconces, layered shadows. Honest light.
Truth through reflection.
And just like that, her thoughts spiraled back to Luke’s voice in the boutique.
“I think he’s not the only one lying to himself.”
She set the pencil down with a snap.
She hated how much of her history was still tangled up with Noah. Hated how Luke’s words kept ringing in her ears—not because they were cruel, but because they weren’t. They were too knowing. Too measured.
And now he was part of the very thing she’d built to move forward.
Her phone buzzed.
She expected Claire. Maybe Julian.
But it wasn’t.
It was Noah.
A name she hadn’t seen on her screen in nearly two years.
For a moment, all she could do was stare.
No message.
Just the missed call.
Eva backed away from the phone like it might bite.
Had Luke told him something? Had the hotel project dragged her back into Noah’s orbit whether she liked it or not?
She rubbed her temples, trying to push down the rising panic. Then, instinctively, she grabbed her pencil again and returned to the sketch.
If she couldn’t control the past, she could at least shape the room around her.
Stillness in motion.
Even if she was anything but still.
Eva stepped into the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her. Her shoulders were still tense, her hands aching from gripping the edge of the presentation board. But she’d done it.
And from the way Julian smiled as she left, she’d done it well.
She took the elevator down alone. The silence inside was clean, untouched. But her mind was anything but.
Luke.
She hadn’t expected him to be there. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to speak.
“She’s not chasing style. She’s creating feeling.”
It was the kind of thing someone would say only if they knew her. Really knew her. Which made it sting a little. Because he didn’t.
Not the way his brother had.
Eva pushed the thought aside.
By the time she stepped outside, the city air was thick with late-summer heat. She walked quickly down the block toward a nearby café, hoping the movement would shake something loose.
She had barely sat down with her iced matcha when Claire called.
“Well?” Claire’s voice was eager. “How did it go? Did you destroy them?”
Eva smiled despite herself. “Not sure about destroy, but... I didn’t fall apart.”
Claire whooped. “That’s a win! Julian texted me—he said the board loved you. He thinks you’re getting the lead.”
Eva’s smile faded just a touch. “Luke was there.”
A pause.
“Wait—Luke Luke?”
“Yeah.”
Claire lowered her voice like Luke could hear them through the phone. “Was he... weird?”
“No,” Eva said. “Too not-weird. Polite. Helpful. Supportive.”
“Ugh, how dare he,” Claire said dryly.
Eva laughed under her breath, but it didn’t erase the chill running underneath. “He defended me in front of the board.”
Claire was silent for a moment. “That’s... a choice.”
“I know.”
“You okay?”
“I don’t know,” Eva admitted. “It’s like... he’s not doing anything wrong. But he’s still connected to something I’m trying to leave behind.”
Claire sighed. “Well, that’s the thing about ghosts. They don’t knock. They just show up and sit in your damn boardroom.”
Eva chuckled. “Thanks for the poetic dread.”
“Anytime.”
They said goodbye, and Eva sat in the sun-drenched corner of the café, sketchbook unopened, drink untouched.
She was moving forward. Her career was about to shift.
But the past wasn’t staying buried.
As the café emptied out around her, Eva finally rose, tucking her sketchbook under one arm and leaving her drink half-finished.
She walked slowly down the sidewalk, letting the buzz of the city wash over her—horns in the distance, a couple laughing behind her, someone strumming a guitar on the corner near Lafayette. Everything moved. Everyone moved. And still, she felt stuck somewhere in the middle of then and now.
When she reached the crosswalk, she looked up at the tall glass building she’d just come from.
The hotel.
Her design.
Her future, maybe.
But all she could think about was Luke’s voice. Luke’s gaze. Luke’s resemblance to someone she wasn’t ready to think about yet.
She turned away from the building and started walking again.
One foot. Then the other.
Eyes forward.
Because the truth was, the past wasn’t knocking yet.
But it was out there.
Waiting.