Falling for my Husband

Prologue

Dave

4 years ago

I was already running ten minutes late.

The morning meeting had been moved up with almost no notice, my phone battery had died overnight because I'd forgotten to plug it in, and I'd left my apartment wearing mismatched socks. I only realized that last part while waiting for the pedestrian light to change, but by then it felt like the least of my problems.

There was only one thing that could salvage the morning.

Coffee.

The little café on the corner was packed, as it always was just before eight. The air smelled of roasted beans and warm pastries, and a dozen conversations blended into comfortable background noise. I checked my watch—old habit, even though I already knew I was late—and joined the queue.

Five minutes later, armed with a large black coffee and the faint hope that caffeine might improve my day, I turned toward the door.

That was when someone crashed into me.

"Oh my gosh!"

The impact wasn't hard, but it was enough.

My coffee sloshed harmlessly into the lid.

Hers didn't.

The paper cup slipped from her hand, and a wave of caramel-colored latte splashed straight across the front of my navy suit jacket.

For one suspended second, neither of us moved.

Then she gasped. "Oh, no. No, no, no." She looked absolutely horrified. "I'm so sorry!" she blurted, grabbing a handful of napkins from the nearby counter. "I wasn't looking where I was going. I am so, so sorry."

She began dabbing uselessly at the spreading stain. "I'm making it worse, aren't I?"

"A little," I admitted.

She stopped immediately, eyes widening. "I'm making it worse."

"Just slightly."

"Oh, this is awful."

I should have been annoyed. The jacket was one of my favorites, I had a meeting in less than half an hour, and I probably smelled like vanilla syrup.

Instead... I laughed.

She blinked. "You're laughing?"

"I think I'm in shock."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'd laugh too if I weren't dying of embarrassment."

That was the first thing I noticed about her. Not her dark hair, which had escaped the neat knot she'd tried to pin it into. Not the intelligent hazel eyes that somehow looked apologetic and amused at the same time.

It was that even while panicking, she managed to make me smile.

"I'm Maya," she said after a beat, as though introducing herself might somehow fix the situation.

"Dave."

"It's nice to meet you, Dave." She looked down at my jacket and winced. "Although I wish I'd chosen... literally any other way."

She rummaged frantically through her handbag until she found her phone. "Here." She unlocked it and held it out to me. "Put your number in."

I raised an eyebrow. "That usually comes later."

Her face turned scarlet. "No! I mean—yes—but only so you can tell me how much the dry cleaning costs."

I couldn't help teasing her. "So this isn't your elaborate strategy for meeting men?"

She covered her face with one hand. "I am begging you to pretend I never said that."

"I don't know," I said, taking the phone. "It's memorable."

"I'd really rather it wasn't."

I typed in my number before handing the phone back.

She immediately called it, and my pocket buzzed.

"There." She let out a relieved breath. "Now you have mine too."

"You really don't have to pay."

"I absolutely do."

"It was an accident."

"And it's my accident." She folded her arms with such determined conviction that I realized arguing would be pointless.

"Fine," I said. "I'll send you the bill."

"You'd better."

For a moment, neither of us moved toward the door.

Outside, people hurried past the windows, umbrellas bobbing through the morning drizzle.

Inside, everything felt oddly still.

"I should go," Maya said eventually.

"You probably should."

She took two steps before turning back. "I'm really sorry about your jacket."

"I know."

"And... it was nice meeting you."

"It was."

She smiled—a small, uncertain smile that lingered just long enough to leave an impression.

Then she disappeared into the crowd outside.

I stood there for another few seconds, staring at the door she'd just walked through.

The barista called someone's order. A chair scraped across the floor. Life carried on exactly as it had five minutes earlier.

Mine didn't.

At the time, I thought I'd met a beautiful stranger with terrible luck and even worse aim.

I had no way of knowing that spilled coffee would become my favorite story.

Or that the woman who apologized over a stained jacket would one day become my wife.

If I'd known what our future held—the laughter, the quiet Sunday mornings, the arguments over whose turn it was to cook, the dreams we'd build together, and the heartbreak waiting just beyond them—I still would have walked into that coffee shop.

I'd still have worn the jacket.

I'd still have let her spill every last drop.

Because some accidents change your morning.

Others change your life.