I don't tell Freddie about running into Jonah at the coffee shop.
It's not like we keep secrets from each other when it comes to our personal romantic pursuits—past, present, or future. It's also not like we need each other's permission when it comes to that. It's not even that he gets easily jealous. It's just that... talking to him about Jonah embarrasses the shit out of me.
Though I tried to keep it from him, he eventually found out about Jonah's proposal at my brother's wedding, the very one that he interrupted, and he felt so guilty about it he wouldn't stop apologizing to me for months.
Freddie kept blaming himself for ruining what might have happened between me and Jonah. But I never once blamed him. I was glad to have been there for him when his father got sick. He was a wreck, and I wasn't sure he'd make it to New York if I'd left him at the airport by himself.
I told him that I'd accepted what fate had written for me, that that was it—the end of me and Jonah. I told Freddie to never bring it up again, because it actually only got harder for me to close that chapter of my life if I didn't force myself to stop thinking about him.
Talking to him about Jonah just feels... not right.
I barely ever talked about Jonah to anybody else, anyway. Only Gina knows almost everything, after a long phone call while I was waiting for my flight on that fateful day. My roommate in college also knew, to an extent—not the full picture, but enough—after I once had a meltdown when I saw his face on TV. My family knew that Jonah and I had another falling out—if you could even call it that. But I stopped talking about him pretty much after I came back from Los Angeles, and I guess everyone just understood what that meant for our doomed relationship.
I never told Freddie anything more than what he'd already known—that Jonah came to Tony's wedding, proposed to me, and I left him without giving an answer. We never talked about Jonah because there was just no point in ever talking about him after that point in my life.
So, no. I haven't told him about the run-in at the coffee shop.
Besides, it's not like anything happened. It's been nearly a week since the coffee shop thing, and he only contacted me a few days ago just as I was about to start wondering if I gave him the wrong number. But we've made plans to go out for drinks—as friends—tonight. Which is cool. No big deal.
Jonah told me he's staying at a hotel in Greenwich Village, so I said I'll meet him around the area, since it's right on the way to Freddie's place from campus. He agreed to meet me there.
After finishing the last class for the day, I'm taking the train from Brooklyn. I've ditched Walter since that second day I was in New York, because the traffic is horrible, and I actually enjoy wandering around the city by myself.
Also, the thought of having one of Freddie's employed chauffeurs waiting around for me while I finish my classes and have lunch and meet my professors makes me feel a bit weird. I'm sure he's got better things to do that's worth his time.
I send Jonah a text, telling him that I'm on my way. About ten minutes later, he shares the location of a bistro near Washington Square Park, saying that he's also on his way.
I know there's still all the hurt and heartbreak that wants to flash its warnings in the back of my head. But it doesn't stop my heart from racing at the thought of seeing Jonah again.
It should scare me, I think to myself as I get off the train and walk toward the bistro Jonah chose for our meeting. I'm opening myself back up for another heartbreak—not even for the second time, but for the third.
It makes me an idiot, and I know that. If Tony was still around, he'd tell me so, and I'd laugh along with him in agreement.
But it's been five years since I've felt anything. Five miserable years since the last time my heart thrummed like this, like it's alive again.
I could yell at him, and slap him in the face for good measure, just to let him know how much he's hurt me and how that heartbreak has stayed with me even with all the years that's passed since I last saw him.
But what's the point in that? In the last few years, I've learned how precious and fleeting time is. How my world could flip upside down with the snap of a finger. Everything could be taken away from me without a warning, like how I had to live my worst nightmares when my brother died. And with my own close brush with death, I don't want to live with another regret.
I could stay heartbroken and angry at him, and if fate would have it that I didn't wake up in the morning, then I'd die heartbroken and angry.
Or I could mend things with him and tick a long-abandoned box from the list my therapist had me write down during my recovery.
And I'm not even talking about rekindling a romantic relationship with him. Maybe it's long gone. It's over. It's done. I'm fine with that.
So what if my heart still races when I look at him, the way it always did back when we were in high school? What if my brain still glitches and my skin still tingles and my breath still stutters like I'm a teenager with a big fat crush whenever I think of him? Doesn't mean anything is going to happen between us now. We're just catching up. As friends. Nothing more than that.
Jonah's already waiting for me, standing in front of a place called Madeleine's Bar and Bistro. His back is facing me, both of his hands stuffed into his dark jeans.
... Don't tell me how I know it's Jonah just from looking at the back of his head.
Maybe it's his posture. A certain tilt of his shoulders as he stands with his hands in his pockets. So familiar, as if nothing's changed in him.
I unfasten my KN95 mask as I walk up to him, and when he turns around to see me, his face brightens up with a smile. I can't help but smile back, taking mental notes of what might've been different from the version of him I last remembered from five years ago. And there it is—the same shy dimples on his cheeks that only appear when the corners of his mouth curve up. The slight crook of his nose, the slope of his jaw faintly shadowed by a light stubble. My fingertips tingle as I'm awash with memories of tracing the outline of his face, one night two thousand and five hundred nights ago, in this same city, back when I woke up in the middle of the night just to watch him sleep next to me.
Goosebumps run along the skin of my arms, despite the cardigan that I'm wearing on top of my floral tank top.
"Hey, been waiting long?" I say to him, after a half second pause where I debate myself whether I should go in for a hug in greeting. Obviously, I don't. I just keep my arms stiffly at my sides like an idiot.
Jonah shakes his head. "I just got here, too. Let's go in."
We're seated at a table for two inside the bistro, and make our order after quickly glancing at the menu. I already know what I want to order, since I've already Googled the place on my way here. I didn't want to make things awkward since I know I can get indecisive whenever I'm faced with a restaurant menu.
After returning the menu to the waiter with a quick smile, Jonah finally meets my eyes. His face softens.
"So, here we are."
"Yep," I say with a nod. "Here we are."
He chuckles softly. "Thanks for agreeing to meet me."
I give him a small shrug and take a look around the room. "Pretty nice place."
"Yeah, it is. I always try to make time to eat here, every time I'm in New York."
"You come to New York often? I thought you were based in LA now."
He tilts his head side-to-side and makes a "so-so" gesture with his hand. "Not much in the past couple of years, no. But after the show and graduating college, I did come back here for culinary training, for about a year and a half."
"Oh," I say, surprised.
I didn't know Jonah came back to New York after he won the competition. I thought he just moved straight to LA after he graduated.
This means there was probably a period of time when we both lived in New York, walking around in the same city just a few miles away from each other, completely unaware.
And yet, we accidentally ran into each other last week, on a completely random Friday morning...
"Well, since you've been here often, is the salmon I ordered any good?" I ask him, trying to shake myself off from the weird feeling that's started to grow in the pit of my stomach.
"Yeah! It's one of my favorites, actually. But if you ever come back here, you should also try the lamb burger." He smiles. "What about you? How long have you lived here?"
"Oh, I don't live here," I say, even though technically, Freddie's home is my current mailing address. The uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach slams with full force. "I just got here last week, for a few in-person classes. I've been mostly taking my classes from home. You know, online."
Jonah nods attentively, but his gaze is also a bit questioning. "You said you started grad school before the pandemic, though? Did you live here then?"
"Yes." I let out a breath, trying to find a way to explain this in the simplest way possible. "Well, I lived in Brooklyn—only for a few months. I had just started my spring semester when the lockdown happened. I was locked down here for a while, then went back to my parents' as soon as I was able to."
He's quiet after that, brows furrowed a little. I know I was omitting a lot of detail, but I don't think I want to begin our night with such a heavy topic, when our drinks have just arrived.
There's no way I can just tell him, Oh, and by the way, I got cancer in the beginning of a global pandemic, my brother and his wife died while I was stuck here, and then I had to marry my friend so he could help me afford medical care! and then move on to the next topic.
I'd probably burst into tears, and he'd have to ditch my sorry ass at this lovely bistro.
But Jonah surprises me by admitting, "I was in New York when the lockdown first happened, too."
My jaw drops at the sight of his wry smile. "Oh. I assumed you were in LA."
"No. I was here, actually." Jonah takes a sip of his Iced Tea. "It was supposed to be a three-day trip, but then I couldn't leave the city at all. Thankfully, I had a friend who lived in Murray Hill and he let me crash until I could fly back to LA."
Throat suddenly parched, I grab my glass of my Virgin Mojito and gulp it down. "Murray Hill?" I breathe.
"Yes. You were in Brooklyn, right, when we went into lockdown? Which part?"
"No. Um." I shake my head slowly. I clear the itch in my throat, and my voice comes out a bit rough. "I was in Lenox Hill, actually. Um, I stayed at my friend's place."
Jonah, whose fingers have been lightly tapping on his glass of iced tea, pauses in shock. "... Oh."
"Yeah." We stare at each other, until I start giggling. I'm about two seconds away from going hysterical, I think. "Oh, God."
"That's... pretty close," he murmurs. "How did we never run into each other? I—wow."
"Crazy, right?" I say once my giggles die down, hiding my face behind my drink before I could start crying.
That revelation halts our conversation for a few moments, until our waiter comes with our meal.
Jonah wasn't lying—the salmon looks incredible.
The beautiful piece of salmon—and Jonah's lamb burger—makes a great conversation to deflect away from the fact that we were only a couple neighborhoods away from each other during the first pandemic lockdown.
I don't even want to start to think about it, or I'd probably spiral.
Despite the small hitch earlier, dinner flows comfortably between us. I try to keep away from more personal topics, and I think he does too—I end up making him try to describe the dishes just like cooking show judges would, and I giggle over my non-alcoholic rosé while he smiles in amusement.
"So," I start, just as Jonah begins digging into his chocolate mousse. "How does it feel like to be famous?"
He grins a little and shakes his head. My heart flip-flops inside my ribcage, it's not even funny. "I'm not famous."
"You are in the celebrity chef category. If I try to search you up on Google, that's what shows up."
He keeps shaking his head in disagreement. "That's silly. I'm nobody, really."
I crack a grin. "At the very least, you're like... TikTok famous. You're also on YouTube, right?"
"Well," he makes a face and shrugs a little, but still, he smiles at me. "It's weird. I don't think I ever really thought about that, when I decided to audition."
"About what?" I pierce the corner of my apple tarte tatin slice with my fork.
"About the fact that the whole thing would be televised." He pauses as he slides a forkful of his fancy bistro brownie into his mouth. "I mean—I knew. We had a lot of briefings about it, before we even started filming the show. NDAs to sign. But for some reason, I didn't think people would watch it. I mean, it's no MasterChef."
He tells me a little bit about the show—the auditioning process, what the competition was actually like, what he brought home when he won. I vaguely remember parts of it—some things his sister probably already told me, when she convinced me to fly to LA to watch the taping of the finale.
I don't say anything, but I keep my eyes on him to let him know I'm listening even though I'm also busy enjoying my dessert.
"Honestly, I expected to be eliminated early in the competition," he says, laughing a little. "Definitely wasn't expecting to win."
"But you did. You were amazing."
He looks away for a moment, focusing on the empty plate of food in front of him. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hm," I hum, nodding. "I know people picked you as their favorite because you're... attractive." I can feel my face warming up a little. "But I thought you were clearly one of the strongest contenders from the start."
He looks up at me through his lashes, almost bashfully. I can't really tell from the dimmed lights in this room, but I think he's blushing, too.
I carry on, "I mean, I couldn't taste your food through the TV screen and I'm obviously not a food critic, but I remember one of my favorite episodes from that season—when you were picked as team leader during a restaurant takeover. You were just... spectacular."
He smiles a little as I speak. "You really watched the show?"
I did end up watching the whole season of the show once it aired—but I never found the courage to watch the final episode. I didn't need to watch the infamous kiss twice. I didn't hate myself that much.
"I did," I tell him. I take a deep breath, then go ahead and ask him, finally breaking the imaginary no-serious-talk barrier that we've put up, "Why did you never tell me? That you were busy preparing for the show, I mean. I would've... I would have understood."
Jonah is silent, for a moment. He takes his glass in his hand, takes a careful sip, then puts it back down.
"I know you would. But I'm... I was... stupid. I was stupid," he finally answers. He looks away, his jaw ticking. "I don't... have a better explanation than that. I was stupid. The audition process was time consuming, but that's... that's not an excuse. I know that. You were busy, too, while you were with your sister in LA, and you still made time for me... while we were still together."
I don't say anything.
He looks to the side, his gaze faraway. "I should've told you what was going on, instead of disappearing on you. I was about to... but then I missed my flight and missed your birthday. And when you didn't reply, I knew you were angry at me. I'm... I'm sorry, Hannah."
Slowly, I nod, accepting the apology. I don't see any point in doing otherwise. It's been five years, and we were both young and stupid. From the look on his face, I knew he'd spent a while beating himself up over it. He can't change what happened now, so why should I stay angry?
I spent months stewing in that anger, so much that it consumed me. I try to summon that feeling back, but I find that I'm unable to. I'm not... angry at him anymore. I can't tell exactly when I finally stopped. But I don't feel it anymore.
Oh, would you look at that. I guess therapy did help.
I do feel a little bit of sadness and regret swirling in my stomach. He might have screwed up, big time, but I wasn't making the situation any better. I could've given him another chance and heard him out. But I was too disappointed to think straight after he missed my birthday. Even though, I know now, that he tried to be there.
"Okay, Jonah." Then, I smile a little. "That's okay. Anyway, I was really happy for you when you won the competition. You broke the internet, with the finale."
He fixes his eyes on me then. Studiously, like he's trying to find something in my face, as I try to keep it neutral. I know he can't believe I'm just brushing off his explanation with a smile.
I gaze away first, pretending like I'm busy shoving the last forkful of dessert into my face.
"The kiss took me by surprise," he lets out, his voice rough. When I glance up at him, he's no longer looking at me. "I was very aware that the cameras were rolling. I couldn't just... shove her away."
I have no idea why he's telling me this. Why he made it sound like he didn't want the kiss to happen.
After all, he did end up dating her—Renata. They made it into news. They jointly got invited to morning talk shows. Not that I watched any of that. Gina did, though.
They dated for years. Lived together, if the little snippets of information I got from my best friend were right. He was... happy. With her.
I don't say anything in response to that. Jonah bites his lip and averts his eyes as we both sit there in silence.
"I think about that day a lot," he says quietly, after calling for the bill. "That, maybe, if I'd stopped her from kissing me, or if I'd convinced the producer to cut that part out—maybe you'd pick up my calls."
I inhale sharply, the food sitting in my stomach threatening to come back up. I look away then, just in time for the waiter to bring the bill to the table, and I snatch it before Jonah could grab it.
"Wait, Hannah, let me—"
I shake my head. "Mm-mm. I'll take care of this."
"At least split it up?" Jonah tries.
"Nope. I've got this."
Our heavy conversation momentarily put on hold, he sighs exasperatedly at me. "Come on."
"Nuh-uh."
"I picked out this place. Let me pay for it. Please."
I slip my card into the folder and return it to the waiter, as Jonah groans in protest. "It's fine. It's done. Chill out."
He shakes his head at me and keeps protesting about the bill even as we leave the bistro.
I shrug into my cardigan and then put my mask back on, silently smiling at the way he's pouting at me as we walk.
"I'm not trying to make you feel like loser, Jonah," I say with a laugh. "It's just one dinner, and I can afford it."
"Next time, I'll be faster," he grumbles to himself, and I have no idea if he realizes that I can hear it.
Next time. My body shivers, but it's not from the wind. I pretend that I didn't hear it, and try to focus on keeping my expression neutral as we continue walking down the street, with him by my side.
Our interrupted conversation hangs in the air, but I savor this quiet moment between us in this loud, busy city. I brace myself for yet another goodbye, although I'm not quite ready yet.
I won't ever be ready. But at least I can pretend.
Author's note: Forgot to ask, but did anyone have any problem with the text message illustration from the last chapter? Should I add the written text as well?
Btw—if you live in NYC I am so sorry. I was just looking at Google Maps and literally just pointing at random neighborhoods and probably messing up a lot of details. I've never been there. I've never been to the United States. Why am I writing books set in America. Only God knows hahahah (please do correct me if I get anything wrong/weird, I probably won't be able to edit again after the Wattys are done but I'll definitely take notes!!)