**Chapter Four** The morning air in Kelly’s Café buzzed with a hint of adrenaline, and I felt it in my bones—the moment I saw him again. Jericho. Here. My heart raced, uncertainty swirling around me like a storm. Had he tracked down my details? What other secrets did he hold about me? The questions plagued my mind, both unsettling and thrilling at the same time. There I stood, a statue behind the counter, hands stiff at my sides, caught in the gaze of the man who had once defined a significant chapter of my life. The shock hit me again, just as it had the night before. His reappearance after eight long years sent familiar echoes of our past flooding back. The way he looked at me—was it just deja vu, or was it something deeper this time? Today, he was dressed more casually than last night—his T-shirt and Levi’s brought back a wave of nostalgia. This was the Jericho I remembered, the one from a life that felt like another lifetime ago. My mood soured at the thought of him being back in my life; I was so damn tired—mentally and physically. The clock ticked past six-thirty, and less than three hours of sleep loomed over my consciousness. As I reluctantly turned to replenish the napkins scattered haphazardly on the tables, he chose a spot in the back, his piercing blue eyes trained solely on me. That unmistakable mix of curiosity and desire danced in his gaze, reminiscent of our past encounters that had once left me breathless. “Oh my God,” Kelly, my boss and lifelong friend, gasped as she sidled up to me. “Is that seriously Jericho Grayson? In my café?” Her star-struck expression made me roll my eyes. It was shocking that she didn’t already know; currency like Jericho’s was synonymous with celebrity status in a city like New York. “Yes,” I mumbled, forcing a curt smile through the crash of emotions brewing within. “All I can say is wow,” she grinned, her eyes practically sparkling. “He's looking right at you. Go! Serve him before Talia gets there!” She nodded toward Talia, the other waitress, whose gaze was effortlessly drifted toward Jericho. Talia fit the mold of his type—recently turned twenty-five, lush dark hair, and a figure that screamed confidence. She was everything he adored. I could feel the weight of Kelly’s protective instincts pressing down on me. Ever since she learned I was single, she’d been on a crusade to find me a decent man. As sweet and motherly as she was in her late fifties, I wasn’t in the mood for matchmaking, especially not when it came to Jericho Grayson. “I think Talia should help him instead. She's closer to his table.” I hoped my suggestion would convince her I didn’t want to deal with this. “River,” she said, her tone shifting to that of a boss who meant business, “don’t make me march you over there.” She absentmindedly pinned her messy brown bun, adorned with a pencil, a cute, chaotic blend of practicality and charm. “This is exactly why you’re still single. You need to seize opportunities, just like I did with Ed.” Her dreamy recollection of her husband’s courting only further reminded me of how different Jericho was. I had no interest in diving into a whirlwind romance like her story. I wasn’t going back there again. “Don’t keep the man waiting. He’s our customer.” Her insistence was as firm as it was futile. With a hefty sigh, I finally relented. “Okay, fine. I’ll serve him.” I forced determination into each step as I walked toward the storm brewing at the back table. My heart pounded, each beat a blend of dread and anticipation. My mind raced between a torrent of unsaid things—points of anger and heartbreak I wanted to hurl at him. Jericho looked up, a wave of familiarity crashing over me as my body involuntarily tensed. He sat tall, those muscular shoulders framing a figure that once made me swoon. When our gazes met, my breath hitched. Then he graced me with that infuriating half-smile—the same one that had captivated me when we were young and reckless. “Do you realize this is bordering on stalking?” I raised my eyebrow, challenged by his audacity to be here. “Oh yes, but when has that ever stopped me?” He leaned back, the smirk on his lips edging into something more serious, something that stirred memories of him keeping watch over me, lurking from a safe distance, all those years ago. “I suppose never.” My voice trembled slightly, as he caught the hint of the truth buried beneath my annoyance. He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if revealing an untold secret. “Five minutes, River. Just five minutes.” The gravity in the air shifted. I wanted to resist, yet there was a part of me clinging to the thrill of his presence and the nostalgia that accompanied it. “No, if you really just wanted coffee, I’d be happy to serve you. Any other conversation is a hard pass.” I stood my ground, but his gaze bore into me, challenging and scrutinizing. “How about five minutes, and I promise I’ll leave you alone afterward? You won’t see me again.” His tone carried an intensity that made me hesitate. I stared back, weighing his request against the clamor of my emotions. Did I care? Would I want to know what really happened to him? “Why are you so hell-bent on talking to me?” I pressed, unable to shake the genuine curiosity trickling through my defenses. “Because I want to know what happened to you,” he said simply, unnervingly earnest. “You wouldn’t want to know what’s become of me if you ever found me dancing in a strip club, would you?” “I can’t see you there, Jericho.” My laugh escaped, barely masking the frigid chill running down my spine at the thought. No doubt, he’d captivate every eye in the place. “Good to know I can still raise a smile.” He smirked, the lines around his eyes crinkling. Despite the charm he exuded, the history between us felt heavy, a weight I didn’t want to bear. “Then give me five minutes, River. Just five.” His persistence pinched at the edges of my resolve. With a sigh, I pulled out a chair opposite him, feeling my defenses crumble. I was stepping into a world laced with past shadows, yet I felt compelled to lean into it. “Okay,” I relented, “but I’m not answering any questions I don’t want to answer.” “Fair enough.” He nodded, a hint of appreciation flickering in his eyes as I sank into the chair, dragging my thoughts back to reality. “So,” he began, fingers steepled, “when did you get back to New York?” I blinked, caught off guard. “I wasn’t aware you even knew I left,” I answered warily. “News travels, River,” he replied, his expression curious yet nonchalant. “Right,” I countered, feigning indifference. “I’ve been back for almost ten months now.” “Oh, that’s quite a while,” he remarked, surprise etched across his features. “What else did the news tell you?” My tone piqued with insistence; I needed to know where his knowledge ended. “It told me you stopped dancing with the Bolshoi Ballet,” he paused, tension rippling between us, “and that you never married your fiancé.” I bit my lip, emotions tumbling inside me like a clockwork disaster. Jericho’s gaze fell to my bare ring finger, and I felt the ghost of that painful chapter mock me. “It didn’t work out,” I murmured, my voice barely escaping as I clung to the flimsy fragility of the truth. “Neither the ballet nor the engagement.” “I’m very sorry to hear that.” His words rubbed me the wrong way, igniting embers of irritation. Was he pitying me? And for what? My broken dreams? About my empty engagement? “Is that why you came back?” he pressed, cautious and almost melodic. “Yes.” The word sat heavily between us, a bridge that connected two distant realities. “Please tell me Club Edge isn’t the end of your dancing career.” “No,” I assured him, a weak light flickering in the abyss. “I have the lead in a production with the Emersons Dance Company this summer. An audition with the New York City Ballet is next. That’s not happening for a while, though.” The hope within me felt delicate, hidden deep away from prying eyes. He offered a genuine smile, his enthusiasm for my ambitions a strange comfort. “That’s fantastic.” “And at least I’m still dancing,” I added, though the gravity of my situation loomed large. “Working three jobs isn’t easy.” His gaze sharpened, and I could tell the conversation was heading into dangerous territory. “I have things to take care of,” I declared, fighting back the pang of vulnerability creeping in. “Things?” “Bills,” I rushed out, emotion coating my words. “Must be quite a bit, then,” he said, the curiosity driving him to press further. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it under control.” “Let me—” “I think your five minutes are up.” I interjected, cutting him short before he could voice another offer of help. The silence that followed felt cavernous, heavy with unspoken truths. I stood abruptly, unwilling to linger in this tangle of confrontation. “I should get back to work.” Our eyes locked, and a gravity I couldn’t interpret pulled at the thread of our connection. “Okay,” he replied with resignation, a tight-lipped smile playing across his face. “It was good seeing you again, River.” “You, too.” I uttered, the words hesitant, like a fragile peace treaty. “Take care of yourself.” “And you.” This time, I didn’t walk away alone. He stood up, acknowledging the finality of our exchange. As he turned toward the door, I caught his gaze lingering on me for one last moment, a bittersweet reminder of everything unspoken between us. Goodbye, Jericho Grayson.