I turn back to see golden-centered hazel eyes peering down at me and a smile that momentarily makes me think sunshine has broken through the rain. But those sunset-orange tights give the brunette beauty away as images of a party last summer come flashing back.

Not sure why I glance down at her ring finger. Habit, I guess.

I’ve been called a player a time or ten, but I’ve only ever set out to break apart one relationship.

Hers.

Wonder if it worked. “Hi,” I say.

Her smile widens. “Hi.” When she glances out the window, I’m given a quick chance to study her. Again.

It’s not been a year since I last saw her, not even quite five months, but she looks a little different. Other than the telltale sign of a small green apron signifying that she works here, the strings are pulled tight around a curvy little waist I wouldn’t mind exploring sometime, and her hair is longer with lighter-colored strands blended in.

High cheekbones highlight those pretty hazel eyes and long lashes, but I’m drawn to the natural pink pucker of her lips as she studies the weather outside. Most girls choose cherry gloss, but her mouth is matte. It makes me curious what she tastes like.

A black suede skirt instead of corduroy and the same boots she wore at my party. But that’s not the difference I’m sensing. I can’t quite put my finger on it.

She shifts to look back at me. “I was saying the storm came out of nowhere.”

“The weather app predicted it, but no one expects a summer storm like this in December.”

“Not without snow along with it, but the fifties won’t get us there. And technically, that’d be a winter storm then.”

“I hate snow.”

Her smile remains as bright as her eyes. “I don’t mind it so much.”

“Yeah?” This time, I grin. “What is it about snow that you don’t mind so much?”

She slips into the seat across from me without an invitation. I like that about her. Leaning forward as if she’s revealing a secret, she replies, “I think it’s more the images it conjures. A Baileys Irish Cream hot chocolate by a roaring fire. Curled up in a big, cushy chair reading a book while snow falls outside. Christmas morning and presents under the tree.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“To me, too.” She stands. “Can I get you something to drink and eat?”

I look toward the display cabinet under the counter. Nothing appeals to me, so I eye the chalkboard menu on the wall. “What’s your soup today?”

“Tomato basil. It’s really good and even better with a grilled cheese.” She pushes some hair behind her ear, revealing a name tag pinned to her green apron.

“You know how to upsell,” I say, getting a good look at the name that I never got when I first saw her. “Story. That’s a—”

“Unique. Weird. Strange name. I get that all the time.” She shrugs and laughs to herself. “I could be describing my mom the same way.”