Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc

She found out he was in love with her the way you find out about most important things — too late, from someone else, in a room she couldn’t leave.

His sister said it at the wedding, casual and slightly wine-loose: “God, Leo’s been in love with you for years. We all thought you knew.”

Elena stood very still with her champagne glass.

She didn’t know.

She thought about every coffee. Every 2 a.m. phone call when her marriage was falling apart, when Leo had listened and never once said: leave him. Had just said: what do you need, right now, tonight? She thought about the way he looked at her sometimes — and she had noticed, she had filed it somewhere under things she was not going to think about — and how she had let herself believe it was just Leo, just his warmth, just the way he was.

She found him on the terrace.

He was watching the garden with a drink in his hand and the particular stillness of a man who was not enjoying the party.

“Your sister told me,” she said.

He didn’t turn around. “What exactly did she tell you?”

“Everything.”

A long pause. She could see the tension move through his shoulders, the decision being made.

“How long have you known?” she said.

“Long enough to know it’s not going anywhere.” He finally turned. “You were married.”

“I’m not anymore.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “That’s been harder than when you were.”

She didn’t know what to do with that. She stood on the terrace in someone else’s wedding and looked at a man she had known for eleven years and understood, with a kind of dull, clear shock, that she had been using him as a benchmark without realising it. Every man she’d dated — is he kind the way Leo’s kind? Does he listen the way Leo listens? Does he know me the way—

“Say something,” he said.

“I’m rearranging eleven years in my head,” she said. “Give me a moment.”

He waited. He was very good at waiting. She had always known this about him and had not understood why.

She crossed the terrace. She took the drink out of his hand and set it on the ledge and she kissed him, which was either the boldest thing she’d ever done or simply eleven years overdue.

He went very still for one second.

Then he kissed her back like a man who had been holding something for a long time and had finally, gratefully, been allowed to put it down.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she said against his mouth.

“You’re here now,” he said. “That’s the whole thing. That’s all of it.”

The party was inside. The garden was dark. The night was long.

They stayed on the terrace until the stars shifted.

So you made it to the end… which probably means you’re the kind of person who enjoys a little romance with their coffee ☕. If you’re in the mood for more stories about messy feelings, stubborn attraction, and women who absolutely refuse to settle for boring love, you can find all my books here.

Fair warning though. One story tends to lead to another. I’ve seen it happen. Repeatedly.