Chapter 3

The next morning, Caleb drove me home from the hospital.

I leaned against the passenger seat, watching the familiar streets slide by outside, but my mind was still stuck on that absurd lie from the night before.

Boyfriend. Three years. And now I'm supposed to move in with him.

I needed to figure out what Caleb was really up to, and fast.

"Sophie." He spoke up suddenly. "Let's swing by your apartment first and grab a few things. Then you can stay at my place for a while."

I turned to face him, letting a flicker of nervousness show on purpose. "Your apartment? I'm really moving in with you?"

His grip on the wheel tightened, just slightly. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll take the couch."

Perfect. I'd never actually seen where Caleb lived. This was my chance to dig for answers.

Twenty minutes later, the car pulled up in front of a high-rise downtown.

I looked up and froze. "Caleb, this place is huge. You never mentioned you lived somewhere like this."

He seemed tense all of a sudden. "It's nothing special. Come on, let's go up."

The elevator rode all the way to the top floor.

The second the door opened, I froze completely.

This wasn't just an apartment — it was a penthouse.

Floor-to-ceiling windows took up an entire wall, looking out over the Seattle skyline. Sleek modern furniture, an open-plan kitchen, and even a professional coffee bar built into one corner.

"Don't mind the mess." Caleb sounded oddly awkward. "You know me, I'm not exactly tidy."

But what I was looking at wasn't a mess at all.

On the couch sat a copy of Modern Coffee Brewing Techniques — a book I'd mentioned wanting to read, once, in passing.

On the coffee table, a bag of cinnamon-flavored beans. My favorite.

I froze for a second.

Caleb had already turned and headed for the kitchen. "Want some water?"

He opened the fridge, and I glanced inside on instinct. Then I went completely still.

Neatly arranged on the shelves were coffee ingredients of every kind — vanilla syrup, hazelnut cream, Madagascar cinnamon, and even Ethiopian beans I'd always wanted to try but never let myself buy because they were too expensive.

But what actually stopped my heart was a little notebook stuck to the fridge door.

"Caleb, what's this?" I pointed at it.

He glanced back, and his face changed instantly. "I... just wanted to remember your orders at the shop."

I pulled the notebook down and flipped it open.

The first page read: [Monday mornings — extra shot, needs the caffeine boost.]

[Rainy days — prefers steamed milk, no iced drinks.]

[Stressed — a splash of vanilla syrup helps her mood.]

[Good mood — likes trying new combinations.]

Then it got more specific. *"Doesn't like a bitter aftertaste.]

[Smiles every time when the coffee's exactly 140 degrees.]

[Gets irritable when the espresso sits too long.]

[Always adds half a spoon of brown sugar.]

Every single entry had a date next to it.

The earliest one was from three years ago.

My hands started to shake. "Caleb..."

I looked up at him. "How long have you been watching me?"

He lunged forward, reaching to grab the notebook back.

Too fast — it slipped out of his hands and hit the floor, pages scattering everywhere.

Every single page was about me.

"It's not what you think!" Caleb dropped to his knees, scrambling to gather them up. "I just... wanted to be a better barista. I keep notes on other regulars too—"

"Other regulars?" My voice dropped low.

His hands stopped moving.

He stayed there, kneeling, not looking up. "No."

A few seconds passed. Then, quietly: "Just you."

The room went silent. I looked down at him.

This man — the one I'd been at war with for three years — was crouched on the floor in front of me, fingers trembling slightly, ears burning red.

For the first time, I didn't know how to look at him.

Why would someone who supposedly couldn't stand me remember every single one of my habits?

Why were the things I loved sitting around his apartment like they belonged there?

And why — why — had he told the doctor we'd been together for three years?

Caleb finally stood, the scattered pages clutched tightly in his hand. There was a vulnerability in his eyes I'd never seen before.

"Sophie, I know how this looks. But I can explain—"

"Explain what?" My own voice was shaking now. "Explain why you've been secretly keeping tabs on me for three years? Why your apartment looks like it's been waiting for me to move in?"

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

I could feel my fake amnesia starting to crack.

Caleb — the man I'd written off as arrogant, selfish, my sworn enemy — had been quietly recording every detail about me for three years.

"I need to lie down." I looked away fast and all but fled the room.

"Guest room's ready. I won't bother you." He nodded immediately.

Just as he turned to go, I couldn't stop myself. "Caleb—"

He paused, turned back to look at me. "If we really were together... was I happy?"

The tenderness in his eyes was almost too much to breathe through.

"You're happiest when you're drinking a perfect cup of coffee. And me... I just wanted to be the one who made it for you."

The second the door shut, my heart was racing.

But right on its heels came a wave of doubt.

Wait. If he really cared about me that much, why had he spent three years going out of his way to fight me at every turn? Why was he still trying to take the shop out from under me?

I barely slept that night, that question circling in my head.

The next morning, the smell of coffee pulled me into the kitchen.

Caleb stood behind the bar in loungewear, and the second he saw me, he handed over a steaming cup.

I took a sip. The temperature was exactly right — 140 degrees, straight off the page in his notebook.

Damn it.

I looked up at him, deciding to go on the offensive.

"Caleb — how do we usually... act around each other?"

His hand stilled mid-motion, wiping down the counter.

"I mean, three years together — surely we've got a few habits by now," I said, drawing the words out slowly. "Something a little more... intimate?"

Clink. The spoon he was holding dropped straight to the floor.

He fumbled to pick it up, his neck flushing bright red. "W-what?"

I couldn't help the cold little smirk tugging at my mouth. The guy was falling apart over one question. Some seasoned three-year boyfriend he was.

I leaned back against the counter, pushing further. "Like, when we watch movies — do we cuddle?"

His eyes darted everywhere except my face, his hand jerking hard enough to nearly knock the cup over.

He cleared his throat, answering low and guilty. "You're... on the more reserved side. We've taken things slow. I've always respected that."

Bullshit.

A notebook full of three years' worth of quiet, obsessive devotion, and now this — a man who couldn't even hold my gaze. That was supposed to be three years of dating?

I locked eyes with him, giving him no room to breathe, and went straight for the kill.

"So — have we ever even kissed?"