Saturday mornings usually meant Jasmine was holed up in her penthouse, sipping espresso while scrolling through market forecasts. But this morning, she stood outside a cozy café in Midtown, frowning at the string of group messages buzzing on her phone.
Lena: “Change of plans. Brunch at Graham’s instead. It’s quieter.”
Miles: “Also, Ezra’s bringing that legendary banana bread again. We feast.”
Jasmine sighed, glancing down at her structured blazer and heeled boots. She was overdressed, as usual. And, as usual, it annoyed her that she cared.
Inside, the café was a warm contrast to the world outside—sunlight streaming in through tall windows, potted plants lining the corners, and the hum of low conversations. She spotted their group tucked into the back: Lena waving like a maniac, Miles halfway through a mimosa, and Ezra—wearing that damned henley again—slicing banana bread like some domestic god.
“You came,” Lena said brightly, sliding over to make room.
“Someone had to keep you all civilized,” Jasmine replied dryly, sitting beside Ezra. Her arm brushed his briefly. Neither of them moved away.
“You missed it,” Miles said. “Ezra got hit on by the barista again. I think this makes attempt number four.”
“She complimented my loaf,” Ezra said, biting back a grin.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Your baking’s average at best.”
He leaned closer. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Hart.”
“It’s not jealousy,” she said coolly. “It’s taste.”
But something about the exchange felt different today—warmer, maybe. Less barbed.
Then the bell above the café door rang, and a new voice joined the mix.
“Ezra?”
Jasmine turned just as a woman approached their table—tall, polished, with honey-blonde hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. She carried a bouquet of sunflowers and the kind of smile that made people pause.
Ezra’s expression flickered. “Sophie?”
Sophie. Jasmine knew the name. She didn’t need the others' expressions to confirm it—Ezra’s ex. The one who’d moved cities and broken hearts, though no one ever said much more than that.
“Oh my god,” Sophie laughed, stepping in for a hug. “I knew it was you. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Jasmine didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Ezra pulled away. “Didn’t expect to see you back in New York.”
“Just visiting. A friend had a baby. I’m here for the week.” Her eyes scanned the group, finally landing on Jasmine. “And you are?”
“Jasmine,” she said smoothly, extending a hand. “CEO of Hart & Co.”
Sophie blinked. “Impressive. Ezra always did have good taste.”
Jasmine smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He hasn’t tried it on me.”
“Yet,” Miles coughed.
Sophie laughed, clearly missing the tension. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to brunch. Ezra, we should catch up sometime before I leave.”
“Yeah,” he said, voice unreadable. “Maybe.”
She left a trail of citrus perfume and awkward silence in her wake.
Jasmine stared down at her untouched coffee, her pulse louder than it should’ve been.
“She’s... nice,” Lena offered gently.
“She’s here for a week,” Ezra said.
Jasmine stood abruptly. “I have a call to prep for. Forgot about it.”
Miles frowned. “On a Saturday?”
“It’s Asia,” she lied. “Different time zone.”
She didn’t look at Ezra as she left, heels clicking across the tile, head high.
Outside, the sun was too bright, the air too crisp. Jasmine breathed in, forced the emotion down.
It wasn’t jealousy. It was just irritation.
At herself. For caring more than she should.
Back inside, Ezra watched the door she’d left through and didn’t touch his banana bread again.
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