Alex's POV — The Coffee Shop Scene.
I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over Felicity's name. Coward. That's what I was. For years, I'd carried this thing inside me. This weight. This secret. And every time I got close to telling her, I backed out. Not this time. I hit the message.
> Fel? It's me. We need to talk. Meet me at the coffee shop in five minutes.
No backing out. Not now. The café smelled like cinnamon and the kind of coffee that could make you forgive every bad decision. I couldn't tell if that was a blessing or a warning.
I got here first—because I had to. My palms were sweating like I'd just run a marathon, though all I'd done was order a latte and try not to hyperventilate. If I let another day slip by without saying this, I'd lose my mind. She'd been haunting my head ever since… well, ever since I let her slip away the first time.
The door chimed. By the time Felicity stepped inside, I'd been nursing an espresso and my nerves for ten full minutes. And then—sunlight caught in her hair, as if someone had hired it for a commercial. My heart betrayed me, stuttering in my chest, while the rest of the café blurred into background noise. She didn't just walk in; she lit up the whole room. Or maybe that was just the way my brain short-circuited every single time she smiled.
She slid into the seat across from me, raising an eyebrow. "So… urgent text messages now? What's going on, Alex?"
I swallowed. "What's going on… is that I like you. Always have. I just…" I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to keep my voice casual and failing. "And I'm done pretending I don't. I want to be more than friends. Have you… thought about us? You know, about you being my girlfriend?".
Her lips parted. She didn't laugh. She didn't run. She just looked at me, startled and silent. Which was so much worse.
Before I could chicken out, I leaned forward and took a breath.
"There's something I've been holding onto for years. Something I should've said a long time ago.
Theoretically, what would you say to the person who's had your heart forever, even if they never knew it? I'd tell them that every time they laughed, the world disappeared. That no one else has ever measured up. And that I'm done watching from the sidelines when I should've been beside them all along."
She blinked. "And this person—do they know?"
I gave a slow, dangerous smile. "They're starting to."
The air between us turned electric.
Her eyes widened. "That's… a big question."
"Yeah." My smile softened. "But I think you already know my answer."
She didn't. Not yet. But the way her breath hitched—maybe she did.
She thought I meant someone else. I could see it in her eyes. And part of me—selfish, cowardly—let her believe that. Because if I said it outright… everything would change.
>>>>>
Felicity's POV — Three Days Later.
I swallowed hard, heart pounding. Alex's words spun in my head like a carousel I couldn't get off.
Someone who's had feelings for you for years. Was he talking about… me? Or someone else?
Two days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight hundred and eighty minutes of spiraling.
Because here's the problem: Alex liked me. Alex—with his sunshine grin, those stormy gray eyes, and that stupidly unfair dimple that kind of reminded me of Theodore's. I'm just saying. Like the universe really needed to recycle heart-stopping features? Rude. And worse—he had this ridiculous ability to make every girl within a five-mile radius melt. Including me. Ugh. My pulse did that swoopy, traitorous thing every time he smiled at me, and no amount of sass could hide the fact: Alex was dangerous. The kind of dangerous wrapped in charm, heat, and the promise of a story you don't walk away from unscathed.
And then there was Christopher. Chris, with his ocean-blue eyes and that infuriating way of looking at me like he knew exactly what I was thinking. His sharp tongue drove me crazy, but somehow, I never wanted him to stop talking. And the worst part? He had this habit of showing up right when I was finally getting myself together—like he enjoyed keeping me off balance. With him, it wasn't sunshine. It was sparks. The kind that lit me up in ways I couldn't explain, and no amount of sass could hide how much I felt it.
You see my problem. Two men. Two confessions. Zero chill. By day three, I couldn't take it anymore. My phone practically shook in my hand as I typed out the separate texts:
> Hello. Meet me at the coffee shop in 3 minutes. Be on time. I want to tell you something.
If they were going to drive me insane, then fine. Let them both show up. Let them both hear this.
And then, because I wasn't about to face the Hunger Games of romance without backup, I fired off one more text—this time to Penelope:
> Emergency, Pen. This could very well be the end of me. Afterwards, meet me in the dorm room—no questions, just come. Popcorn mandatory. If I chicken out, you're my exit strategy, my alibi, and my emotional support human.
Reply from Penelope:
> I will be there in 15 minutes. Popcorn locked and loaded. If this really is the end of you, at least you'll go down with good snacks. Also, if either one makes you cry, I'm committing homicide. Just saying."
The Coffee Shop Showdown.
The bell over the café door chimed. Alexander walked in—easy grin, dimple flashing, like he had all the sunlight in the world stuffed in his pockets.
Before I could breathe, the bell chimed again. Christopher. Broad shoulders, sharp eyes, the kind of presence that made the whole room shift without permission.
And then—they saw each other. Alex's smile dimmed. Christopher's jaw clenched. The poor barista froze mid-wipe, like she was prepping for a duel over cappuccinos.
And me? I was stuck between them with two empty chairs, wondering if I should hide inside the pastry case and never come out.
"Of course," Chris muttered. "You."
"Me," Alex said cheerfully. "Try not to scowl too hard, mate. Wrinkles."
"Boys," I cut in before it escalated. "Sit. Both of you."
They did, glaring at each other like rival wolves.
"Okay," I said, crossing my arms. "Here's the deal. You're both nice. You're both caring. You're both completely impossible. And I'm not going to pick between you because you made speeches or gave me puppy eyes."
Chris frowned. "Then what exactly are you suggesting?"
"You're going to prove it," I said sweetly. "Not with words. With actions. Show me that you love me. Show me you care. Be better men—not for me, but because it's who you are. And at the Winter Ball…" I smiled, trying not to laugh at their horrified faces. "I'lI choose who's worthy of my love. I'm not the kind of girl who chases after a man—I know my worth. Love isn't a race, and I won't beg for attention. I'm different. I'd rather wait for the one who truly sees me, because my heart isn't up for competition—it's the prize."
Alex leaned back, smirking like he'd just been handed front-row tickets to a comedy show. "Deal. Christopher, you're going down."
Chris stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "This is utterly absurd. You want me to compete for your affection like this is some ridiculous reality show?"
"Yes," I said cheerfully. "Exactly like that."
"Absolutely not—"
"Oh, absolutely yes," Alex cut in. "I've been waiting for this. May the best man win."
Chris groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is insane."
"And yet," I sing-songed, "you'll do it."
Because the truth was written all over both their faces. For me? They'd walk into fire. Or, at the very least, into a series of increasingly hilarious catastrophes leading up to the Winter Ball.
And honestly? I was kind of looking forward to it.