Chapter 3 — Colliding at The Oak Ember
Hannah
The Oak Ember Coffeehouse thrummed with its usual symphony: the clinking of mugs, quiet chatter, and indie music that seemed to float from nowhere and everywhere at once. Golden light spilled through the oversized windows, pooling on the mismatched furniture and catching the faint glint of worn carvings on the wooden donation shelf nearby. I wrapped my hands tightly around my ceramic mug, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I sat across from Avery. Her earrings—bright yellow crescents that seemed determined to catch every ray of light—bounced slightly as she animatedly recounted her latest creative writing fiasco.
“…so then I realized I’d submitted *the wrong draft!* The *wrong draft*, Hannah. I might as well have just printed out my grocery list and handed it in. My professor’s face—oh, the horror.”
I raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Tragic. Truly. Remind me to never take a class with him if I want to keep my GPA intact.”
“Tragic doesn’t even *begin* to cover it,” she said, gesturing so wildly her latte teetered dangerously close to the edge of the table. She caught it just in time and shot me a sheepish grin. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about psych class. You and Mr. Golden Boy were *at it.* I half expected Ames to shut the whole lecture down and declare it a duel.”
I stiffened at the mention of Jace Matthews. The memory of our earlier debate prickled at the edges of my mind—his cocky grin, the easy way he countered my arguments. He wasn’t just a thorn in my side; he was the whole bush. “He’s insufferable,” I muttered into my coffee, my voice tight with the lingering frustration of the morning. “Every time he opens his mouth, it’s like the room collectively loses IQ points.”
Avery smirked, her dark eyes flickering with mischief. “Uh-huh. Or maybe he just gets under your skin because he doesn’t roll over and agree with you. Admit it, Han—he’s your perfect intellectual sparring partner.”
I shot her a look over the rim of my mug. “He’s just another spoiled athlete who thinks life’s a game he’s already won. Spare me the psychoanalysis.”
“Sure, sure,” she said lightly, but her voice softened as she wrapped her hands around her own mug. “But, you know, sometimes people surprise you.”
Before I could fire back, the bell above the café door jingled, and a gust of cool air swept in. I glanced up—and my stomach dropped.
Speak of the devil.
Jace Matthews sauntered in, his dark blond hair tousled by the wind and his leather jacket slung casually over one shoulder. He was flanked, as usual, by Max Bennett, who was all easy grins and gangly energy. They moved like they owned the place, their entrance causing a ripple of whispers and turned heads. Typical. Campus royalty in their natural habitat.
“Do not,” I hissed to Avery, “say anything.”
She merely flashed a grin that sparkled with impending doom.
“Matthews!” she called, waving like they were old friends. “Over here!”
I wanted to sink into the floor and vanish. Not because I was intimidated, of course. I just couldn’t stand giving Jace even more attention than he already soaked up on a daily basis. Unfortunately, he caught sight of Avery and nudged Max, making a beeline for our table.
“Hey, Torres,” Jace greeted Avery with an easy smile before his gaze slid to me. His blue eyes gleamed with something between amusement and challenge. “Carter. Fancy running into you here.”
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s a free country.”
He chuckled, unbothered. “Always this friendly, or is it just me?”
“Just you,” I replied flatly, but Avery jumped in before I could skewer him further.
“Why don’t you two join us?” she said brightly, patting the empty seats at our table. I shot her a glare sharp enough to fell a tree, but she ignored me. “We’re just people-watching and talking about class. You know, the usual riveting discourse.”
Max dropped into a chair without hesitation, sprawling like he’d claimed a throne. “Don’t mind if we do. This place has the best muffins on campus. The chocolate chip ones? Absolute perfection.”
Jace hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening slightly around the back of the chair. His gaze flicked briefly to mine, unreadable, before he lowered himself into the seat next to me. The table was small—too small—and his presence felt annoyingly solid, like a heat I couldn’t block out. My knee brushed his under the table, and I pulled back instinctively, the contact sending an unexpected jolt up my spine.
“So,” Avery began, her tone deliberately casual, “what did you think of today’s debate, Jace? You seemed pretty into it.”
He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with infuriating ease. “It was decent. Carter doesn’t pull her punches—you gotta respect that.” His eyes found mine again, their blue depths catching the golden light from the window as his lips curved into a smirk. “Even if she is wrong.”
I scoffed, straightening. “Wrong? You barely made a coherent argument.”
“Oh, I think I held my own just fine,” he countered, a hint of a challenge in his voice. “You, on the other hand, seemed a little… riled up.”
“I wasn’t riled up,” I shot back, my hands tightening around my mug. “You were just being deliberately obtuse.”
“She’s got fire,” he said to Avery, his grin widening.
Avery stifled a laugh, her shoulders shaking. “She’s certainly something.”
I glared at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, obviously,” she said, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. “But you have to admit, this is way more entertaining than anything Netflix has to offer.”
Max leaned forward, breaking off a piece of his muffin. “She’s got a point. You two have this… dynamic. Like the kind where sparks fly, you know?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “Sparks? Are you out of your mind?”
Jace raised an eyebrow, his expression equal parts surprise and amusement. “Whoa, easy there, Max. Let’s not start writing romance novels just yet.”
Avery tilted her head, her earrings swaying. “Relax, you two. Max is just making an observation. Right, Max?”
Max popped the piece of muffin into his mouth, his grin sly. “Sure. Just an observation.”
The tension at the table was unbearable. My skin prickled with awareness of how close Jace was, and every time I glanced at him, I caught him already looking at me, his expression hard to decipher. There was something almost thoughtful about the way his gaze lingered, like he was trying to figure me out. I didn’t know what game he was playing, but whatever it was, I wanted no part of it.
“I think we’re done here,” I said abruptly, pushing back my chair and standing. Avery’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t stop me. “Some of us have actual work to do.”
“Don’t let us keep you,” Jace said, his tone smooth but his gaze lingering. For the first time, he looked almost… hesitant. “See you in class, Carter.”
I didn’t respond. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I strode toward the door, the bell jingling loudly as I stepped outside. The crisp air hit my face, cooling the heat that had risen in my chest, but my thoughts were still tangled.
Jace Matthews was everything I hated: arrogant, entitled, frustratingly charming. So why couldn’t I stop replaying the way his grin softened when he looked at me—or the strange, fleeting disappointment that flickered in his eyes as I walked away?
No. I shook my head firmly, starting down the cobblestone path. Absolutely not. Whatever game he was playing, I wasn’t going to let him win. Even if part of me already suspected he might not be playing at all.
