IMOGEN'S POV
Isaac cleared his throat and pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. I watched him strike the match against the box and bring the flame to the end, the glow catching the edge of his tired face.
"You smoke now?" I asked, keeping my voice light even though my stomach had twisted into something tight and sore.
He looked up, blowing smoke from the side of his mouth. "Picked up a few new habits."
I gave a soft, humorless laugh. "I guess we both did."
We stood there, the smoke curling between us. The moment stretched, heavy with too much history and not enough air.
"Well," I said, smoothing my hand down my skirt. "It's been nice talking to you, Isaac. I should get going."
He pulled the cigarette from his lips and looked at me, that sharp gaze of his suddenly alert. "Wait. Let me take you out. Lunch. Just lunch."
The offer came out of nowhere, too soft, too eager. I felt it before I could name it—hope. I crushed it immediately.
