Chapter One
Isla
The city was already wide awake, dressed in gray skies and early morning horns. Isla Monroe tugged her coat tighter as she crossed the street, her boots dodging puddles from last night’s rain. She hated mornings, but she hated being late even more.
Hazel & Pine sat quietly at the corner of 9th and Eldridge, a little haven of calm. The smell of roasted beans and warm pastries met her at the door, soft jazz playing over the low hum of laptops and morning chatter.
“Morning, Isla,” said the barista, Lucy, her dyed-pink hair tucked beneath a knit beanie.
“Hey,” Isla said, forcing a smile. “Oat milk latte, extra hot, no foam.”
“You got it.”
She placed her phone on the counter, glancing at the screen. Four emails. Two from her co-founder. One from her therapist. One she didn’t want to open yet—her mother. Isla sighed. Today was not the day to unpack that drama.
Her eyes drifted to the corner table by the window—the one she always took. Light poured in from the rain-slicked glass, making the space feel less like a trap and more like a fresh start. She grabbed her drink, picked up her phone without looking, and slid into the booth.
For a moment, she let the steam of the coffee warm her face, pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.
The phone vibrated.
Unknown Number:
Hey, I think we just switched phones at Hazel & Pine. If this isn’t Isla, please ignore this and pretend I’m not a mess.
Her brow furrowed. She turned the phone in her hand.
It wasn’t her case. It wasn’t even her background. A photo of the ocean stretched across the lock screen—calm waves under a setting sun.
Her heart skipped.
She swiped through the screen and tapped into the messages.
Unknown Number (Again):
Okay, I’m definitely a mess. You have my phone. I have yours.
Also, hi. I’m Julian. And I swear I didn’t go through your photos. Much.
Isla stared at the text, half amused, half horrified. She reached into her tote for her laptop and typed in her phone number into her calendar. Nothing. No sync. Definitely not her device.
She had his phone.
She looked up, scanning the café. It was already fuller than when she walked in—people buried in laptops, earbuds in, faces she didn’t recognize.
How had she not noticed someone picking up her phone?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then back to the phone.
Isla:
Hi, Julian. You’re not a mess.
Okay, maybe slightly.
But I guess that makes two of us. Where are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
Julian:
I was there. I left five minutes ago—white hoodie, headphones, in a rush to catch a cab.
Also, your phone smells like vanilla. Is that a thing?
Isla smirked.
Isla:
Vanilla hand cream. And I bet yours smells like… sea salt and regret?
Julian:
That’s weirdly accurate.
I’m two blocks away. Want to meet halfway or should we play Phone Roulette all day?
Isla:
Let’s meet at Madison & 10th. Five minutes.
She shoved the phone into her pocket, slung her bag over her shoulder, and bolted toward the door. Her coffee sat untouched.
As she stepped into the street, she paused. The sky had cleared just enough for a sliver of sun to peek through.
Isla didn’t know it yet, but she was about to fall in love with a man she hadn’t even seen.
Not truly.
Not yet.
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