I woke up with my face half-buried in a hotel pillow and the taste of regret clinging to my tongue.
It wasn't the alcohol—I'd barely finished one glass. It was the memory of me slow dancing with a stranger under fairy lights like I hadn't just accidentally crashed the wrong wedding and overshared about my trainwreck of a love life.
I sat up slowly, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the gauzy curtains. My dress from last night was tossed over the edge of the chair. My phone was face down on the nightstand, like it had given up on being useful.
I hadn't even checked it when I got back. Probably for the best. Less chance of seeing stupid photos from their wedding. Less chance of texts from my mom pretending she didn't know the wedding was happening and "just checking in" with fake casualness.
I swung my legs off the bed, feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. My head was clear. Too clear. Nothing to distract me from the questions looping in my brain like some tragic indie soundtrack.
Why had I stayed?
Why had I danced with him?
Why did I kind of want to see him again?
I shuffled to the tiny hotel bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. There were faint shadows under my eyes, like they'd absorbed all the mess I tried to keep off my face. I looked like someone in transition—caught between trying to look like she had it together and very much not.
After throwing on a clean T-shirt and jeans, I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, scrolling.
No texts from Liam. Not that I expected any. We hadn't exchanged numbers. Just names. One dance. One weird, too-honest conversation. One surreal night where, for a second, it had felt like the universe had hit pause on everything else.
I rubbed a hand over my face. Get a grip, Sophie. You don't fall for people you meet while trespassing.
There was a knock on the door.
I froze.
Housekeeping?
Another knock. Then a voice. Male. Familiar.
"Sophie? It's Liam."
Oh god.
I stood there for a second, hand on my chest like I needed to check whether my heart was actually trying to run away from me.
I opened the door.
He was standing there holding two paper coffee cups and a small brown bag like he'd just casually decided to make my morning even more confusing.
"Hey," he said, like this was normal. "Didn't know what you liked, so I got two kinds."
I blinked. "What are you doing here?"
"I figured you'd be awake regretting your life choices, and I didn't want you to do that uncaffeinated."
I stared at him. Not because I didn't know what to say—but because he was standing there in jeans, a hoodie, and messy hair like this was just any other Saturday.
"I don't even know your last name," I said.
"Yeah, and yet I brought you coffee. Brave, right?"
I stepped aside wordlessly and let him in.
He handed me the cup. "That one's a vanilla latte. The other's black. I wasn't sure what kind of chaos you prefer in the morning."
I took a sip.
Vanilla latte. Warm. Sweet. Too comforting.
"So, what… you just woke up and thought, 'Let me go see if the emotionally unstable girl from last night wants breakfast'?"
"I mean, technically, yes," he said, sitting on the arm of the chair like he lived there. "Also, I didn't get your number, and that felt like an oversight."
I sat across from him, still holding the coffee like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
"You tracked down my room?"
"I asked my cousin who you were," he said casually. "He thought you were one of the bride's coworkers. I may have nodded."
"That's mildly terrifying."
"I prefer resourceful."
There was a pause. Not uncomfortable, just… full of the weight of something unsaid.
Finally, I exhaled. "I wasn't planning to dance with you."
"I wasn't planning to be interesting enough for you to stay."
He said it so easily, like it wasn't meant to be a compliment. Just… honest.
"I don't usually do that," I added, not sure what I was trying to explain. "The whole mysterious-stranger-moment thing."
"Me either," he said. "I think you just looked like someone who needed a break from whatever was chasing you."
I looked at him then. Really looked.
His face was open in that rare, unguarded way people usually save for 3AM talks or cross-country car rides. He didn't look like he was trying to impress me. He looked like someone who'd seen too much to pretend.
"You really tracked me down just for coffee?" I asked.
"Well," he said, "and to give you this."
He reached into the paper bag and pulled out a small card. Handwritten. Folded. My stomach did a tiny twist.
I opened it.
Inside, scrawled in crooked letters, were six digits.
His number.
"I figured we did everything backward anyway," he said. "Might as well keep the chaos going."
I tried not to smile. Failed.
"You're weird," I told him.
"So I've been told."
We sat there for a while, sipping coffee in the quiet. Outside, the city was just waking up—cars passing, horns honking, someone yelling at a cab down the street.
"Are you staying long?" he asked.
"Just the weekend."
He nodded slowly. "Me too."
Another silence.
"Maybe we could… I don't know," he said, not looking at me, "do something that doesn't involve wedding crashing."
I raised an eyebrow. "Like what? Brunch?"
He shrugged. "Or something more reckless. You tell me."
And just like that, I remembered what it felt like to have options again.
To maybe say yes to something that wasn't tied to pain or the past.
I didn't answer right away.
But I didn't throw away the card, either.
It turns out Liam was serious about doing something reckless. Not in the skydiving or get-a-tattoo-you'll-regret way. Just… spontaneous. Unscripted. Messy in the good kind of way.
By noon, we were sitting in a greasy diner on the edge of town eating waffles that tasted like they'd been made by someone's great-aunt in 1962. The place had peeling vinyl booths, a jukebox that only played sad country songs, and a waitress named Barb who called everyone "sweetheart" whether she liked you or not.
"I haven't had diner food in forever," I said, stabbing my fork into a pile of syrup-drenched strawberries. "This is amazing-slash-slightly-dangerous."
Liam grinned from across the table. "That's what I was going for. Vaguely life-threatening nostalgia."
I laughed. It was the kind of laugh that caught me off guard—unfiltered, real. I hadn't had one of those in a while. Not since everything went sideways back home.
Liam was sipping his coffee like it was the best thing he'd tasted all week. He wasn't trying too hard. He wasn't making this into a date. He was just… there. Like a pause button I didn't know I needed to hit.
"So," I said, between bites. "You tracked me down. Brought coffee. Suggested brunch. Are you always this bold, or am I a special case?"
He wiped his hands on a napkin, looking amused. "I'd love to say it's a pattern, but honestly? You just looked like you were about to bolt into the night and disappear forever."
"Not far off," I muttered.
He tilted his head, curious but not pushy. "Running from something?"
"More like crawling away from a very slow-burning disaster."
He didn't laugh at that, which I appreciated.
Instead, he said, "Same. Kind of. Not the crawling part, though. I think I'm still standing too close to the flames."
I gave him a look. "Cryptic. I like it."
"Good. That's all I've got," he replied with a small smile.
For a second, we just sat there. The quiet between us wasn't awkward. It was the kind of silence that only happened when two people didn't need to fill the air with noise to be comfortable. Like we were both on some weird parallel journey neither of us wanted to name yet.
Outside the window, an old couple walked past the diner, holding hands. They looked like they'd been doing that for decades—like muscle memory.
"I used to think that was the goal," I said quietly, nodding toward them.
"What, matching cardigans?" Liam teased.
"No. That kind of love. The easy kind. Steady. Predictable."
He looked thoughtful. "And now?"
"Now I'm not even sure I believe in 'the one' anymore."
Liam leaned back in the booth, arms crossed casually. "I don't think it's about 'the one.' I think it's about timing. Like… maybe there are a lot of people who could fit. But you only meet the right one at the wrong time."
I chewed on that for a minute. "Depressing."
"Realistic."
"You sound like someone who's had their timing screwed up."
His gaze flicked to the window. "I was engaged once."
I blinked. "Wait, seriously?"
He nodded. "Two years ago. She broke it off three months before the wedding. Said she didn't recognize who we'd become."
"Damn."
"Yeah."
I wasn't sure what to say to that. I hadn't expected it—he didn't seem like the kind of guy carrying heartbreak around in his back pocket. But maybe that was the thing. We all carried it, just differently.
"And you?" he asked. "I know you weren't supposed to be at that wedding. But you didn't exactly run out screaming either."
I stared at my empty plate, trying to decide how much to share.
"I was supposed to marry him," I said finally.
Liam didn't say anything. Just waited.
"Different him," I added. "Not the guy yesterday. But close enough. His name was Chris. We were together five years. Engaged for one. Then last month, I found out he was cheating on me. With someone he works with. Someone I knew. Trusted."
I swallowed. My voice didn't crack, but it felt like it wanted to.
"Damn," Liam said quietly.
"Yeah."
We sat with that truth for a while. It didn't need fixing. It just needed air.
I sighed. "Honestly, I only stayed in this town because I couldn't face going home yet. Everyone there knows. Everyone has opinions. And I'm just… tired."
"You don't owe anyone closure but yourself," he said.
I looked up at him, surprised.
"Most people want a clean ending," he continued. "But real life doesn't work like that. Sometimes you don't get a bow on top. Sometimes you just get out, and that has to be enough."
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I let it go.
"You're better at this than I thought," I said.
"At what?"
"Helping strangers you barely know through post-breakup existential crises."
He chuckled. "It's a niche talent."
After we paid, he walked me back to my hotel. The wind had picked up, tugging at my hair, and he offered me his hoodie like it was no big deal. I wore it the whole way back.
Outside the entrance, we paused.
"So," I said, crossing my arms to keep warm. "Was this the reckless part?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether I get to see you again."
I looked at him—really looked—and felt that weird flutter of something I hadn't let myself feel in a long time. Not love. Not yet. Just… possibility.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," I said.
"I know."
"But maybe I could stay one more day."
Liam didn't smile like he'd won something. He just nodded, soft and slow. "I'd like that."
And for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like I was escaping anything.
Maybe, just maybe, I was beginning something instead.