Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The rain was late that afternoon, drizzling quietly over the cobblestone streets of Amblewood—a small town where strangers rarely passed unnoticed. The scent of wet pavement and pine hung in the air, and the sky, thick with clouds, glowed a soft blue-gray.
Leah Evans tucked her sketchpad into her oversized canvas bag and hurried into the small bookstore café at the corner of Main and River Street. “Willow & Words” had been her haven ever since she moved back home. Quiet, warm, and filled with the smell of old paper and roasted coffee beans—it was the only place that didn’t ask questions.
She pushed open the door, a little bell chiming overhead, and shook the rain from her hair.
What she didn’t expect was her.
Jade Sinclair.
A storm of a girl wrapped in soft flannel, leaning against the poetry shelf with a dog-eared book in her hand and headphones around her neck. Her hair, short and tousled, looked like it had been sculpted by the wind itself. She didn’t look like she belonged in sleepy little Amblewood—and maybe that’s what made Leah’s breath catch for just a second longer than it should’ve.
Their eyes met—brief, electric.
Jade raised an eyebrow, then returned to her book. No words. Just a glance. But it echoed louder than any hello.
Leah shook herself free of the moment, muttered a "sorry," and moved toward the counter.
—
Fate—or something mischievous—was clearly at play.
Only minutes later, the barista called out, “Two lavender teas?” with a confused glance between the girls.
Jade beat Leah to the counter. “I ordered one,” she said, amused.
“So did I,” Leah added.
A pause. A smirk from Jade.
“Looks like someone copied me,” she teased, turning to Leah fully now. “Is this your usual?”
Leah blinked. “Every Tuesday. Yours?”
“First time,” Jade said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Looks like I have excellent taste.”
Leah let out a breath of laughter, surprised at herself. “Or you just got lucky.”
“Maybe,” Jade said, and for a moment her voice lowered, like a secret slipping between them. “But some accidents are the good kind.”
—
They ended up sitting at separate tables at first—because that’s what people do. But after fifteen minutes of side glances and silent questions, Jade stood up, walked over, and asked, “Mind if I join you?”
Leah hesitated. But her heart had already answered.
“Sure,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
What followed wasn’t loud. It wasn’t fireworks or spinning worlds.
It was soft smiles, shared stories about books they both pretended they didn’t love, Jade’s subtle sarcasm and Leah’s quiet curiosity weaving into something that felt like the start of a melody neither of them had heard before.
And when Leah looked down, she realized her hand had been resting near Jade’s on the table, almost touching.
Almost.
—
As the rain outside softened to mist, Jade stood to leave, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“Same time next Tuesday?” she asked.
Leah hesitated, then smiled. “Maybe.”
Jade smiled back, already turning for the door.
But before she stepped out, she looked over her shoulder and said, “For the record… I think we’re both the good kind of accident.”
Leah sat there long after she left, fingers tracing the edge of her empty cup, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the flicker of something warm, something alive.
Something she didn’t expect.
But maybe… had been waiting for all along.