Purposefully Accidental

Chapter Twenty-Three

Heart thumping inside my ribcage, I sit still at the table, stealing quick glances at the man I'm almost 100% sure is Jonah Gibbs.

My ex-boyfriend Jonah Gibbs. My first love. My first heartbreak. The man I haven't seen or talked to in five years.

Somehow, if that really is Jonah, he still hasn't noticed me. He keeps on sipping his drink, almost serenely. Every once in a while, he'd glance at his wristwatch or type on his phone.

I almost forget the reason why I'm in the coffee shop, until the barista calls out my name. Her voice rings clear. Twice, because I'm too busy staring at the man who might-or-might-not-be Jonah Gibbs. Because I'm too busy paying attention to the way his body very slightly flinches at the mention of my name out loud.

As if the sound of my name still affects him physically. As if it means anything to him.

It's not anything major. It's almost unnoticeable, unless you're paying close attention to him. It's the way his hand clenches jerkily around the mug he's holding. The way the corner of his eye twitches in surprise, eyes almost widening. The way his shoulders jerk, as if a breath hitches in his chest. It only happens for a split-second, before his body relaxes again.

I get up to take my order, carefully keeping my back turned to him as I walk. My order is to-go, two drinks in a cupholder and pastries inside a paper bag. Walter is already waiting for me, the car parked outside the building.

I walk back to my table, my brain whirring with indecision. I could go out, walk into the car, and pretend this never happened. Pretend I never saw him and continue with my life the way I've lived it since we stopped talking five years ago.

Or I could walk up to him and say hi.

I close my eyes tightly, gritting my teeth.

This is the man who broke my heart twice. Who proposed to me at my brother's wedding, only to turn around and kiss another woman the day I planned to surprise him with an answer to his proposal. He didn't only break my heart—he threw it to the floor, stomped on it, and then flushed the shattered remains down the fucking toilet.

But it has also been five years.

Ever since winning that goddamn cooking show, he's become somewhat a celebrity now. Especially since he was also famously dating his opponent in the show, the influencer/food vlogger/internet personality he kissed after the winner announcement.

Last I heard, he's residing in LA, owning a restaurant there. A few years ago, his family moved out of the small town where we fell in love, and I lost contact with his sister. Not to mention, I had his number and all his public social media accounts blocked.

The chances of seeing him again on another day is impossibly, cosmically small.

"Fuck it," I say to myself, before standing up and adjusting the stuff I'm holding. As I do so, the ring I'm wearing catches on the paper cup holder, and I curse to myself.

For some reason, I know I can't let him see the ring. It feels too big on my finger. Too... sparkly. Too heavy. Too much.

I don't want him to know. Something that feels like guilt begins to gnaw at the insides of my chest, clawing up my throat. I can't let him know.

Quickly, I slide the ring off my finger and drop it into my purse without another thought. Then I take a deep breath, let it out, and turn around, making my way toward the man sitting by the window.

He's still there, and still hasn't seen me. I have the impression that he's keeping himself from looking around, trying to be unnoticeable, keeping away from attention. He's sitting a bit hunched—he's attempting to look smaller, probably. Maybe he's even more famous than I thought he was. I wouldn't be surprised. He was a fan-favorite ever since the first episode of the show. Everyone and their mothers were rooting for him to win. Everyone loved him.