AT THE SAME TIME
ISABELLA
The bell jingled again, and my stomach sank. Wanessa Roisane walked in. No dramatic ballroom entrance this time, just her, calm, collected, coat draped over her shoulders, scanning the cafe with those sharp, curious eyes that always made me want to hide under a pile of unpaid manuscripts, and then… she spotted Michael. I swear the air shifted, not for Xavier, not for me, but for Michael.
He froze mid arrangement of pastries, a croissant halfway between plate and plate. His ears went crimson, and his hands hovered over the counter like he was trying to decide whether to run, faint, or just melt into espresso foam.
"Uh… good morning." He stammered, voice wobbling in a way that made my life miserable just watching.
Wanessa tilted her head, one brow arched, studying him like he was a particularly intriguing crossword puzzle.
"Morning." She said smoothly.
Then she glanced at the menu, and back to him. Her smile was small, casual, but there was a softness there, a definite interest. I dropped the cup I was holding, cue to internal screaming. Xavier, who had been calmly sipping his coffee and pretending he owned the place, stiffened. His eyes flicked between us, sharp, calculating, and very clearly not pleased.
"Interesting." He muttered under his breath, voice low and deadly.
I cursed softly, he is using it, he noticed her looking at Michael and he's going to leverage it somehow. Michael, oblivious to Xavier's plotting, tried to speak.
"Would… uh… you like a cappuccino? Or a latte?"Michael asked.
Wanessa laughed softly, and it was like a bell chime of doom for my poor side character soul.
"I will have whatever you recommend." She said, eyes still locked on him.
"This is catastrophic."I muttered under my breath.
Xavier's hand tightened on his thermos, his gaze snapped to me, sharp and precise.
"Seems like you are enjoying yourself." He said, calm but loaded with that 'don't underestimate me' tone.
"Excuse me?" I squeaked.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned just slightly closer, lowering his voice in that way that makes your heart pound involuntarily.
"Do you know what she is doing?"He asked.
"She is ordering coffee?"I blinked.
"Watching him." Xavier corrected, voice smooth but deadly serious. "And judging by the tilt of her head… she's interested."
"Oh no. No, no, no. She's not-"I swallowed hard.
"She is. He said, smirk tugging at his lips. "And this could be useful."
"Useful?" I croaked. "For who?"
He leaned just a fraction closer, eyes sharp.
"For me. Keep her attention here and it keeps me entertained." Xavier grinned.
Michael turned toward the espresso machine like it was a lifeboat.
"Right coffee. Coffee I can do." He muttered, rolling his shoulders like he was about to enter battle.
His hands shook just enough to be noticeable as he grabbed the portafilter, grounds spilled and he stared at them like they had personally betrayed him. I slid closer, lowering my voice.
"Breathe, you have made coffee for actual criminals before. Remember the guy who yelled at the milk foam?"I whispered.
"That man threatened me with a spoon." Michael whispered back. "This is worse."
"Just pretend she is a regular customer." I hissed. "A normal one. With zero plot significance."
Wanessa leaned her elbows lightly on the counter.
"So." She said pleasantly, eyes still on Michael. "Do you always look this focused when you work?"
Michael nearly dropped the tamper.
"Uh yes. I mean. No. I mean sometimes? When the machine behaves." He laughed nervously, then immediately regretted it.
Xavier cleared his throat, loudly. Wanessa did not look at him. Xavier tried again.
"Miss Roisane, if you have questions regarding-"He began, but was clearly left ignored.
"I like this place." Wanessa said, cutting in smoothly, still watching Michael steam the milk. "It feels warm."
Michael glanced up, startled.
"Oh yeah! We, uh, try. The machine screams sometimes, but we try."He chuckled.
I closed my eyes, this was happening, this was really happening. Xavier's jaw tightened. He shifted his stance, clearly inserting himself into Wanessa's peripheral vision.
"And the coffee?" He prompted coolly.
Wanessa finally glanced his way, briefly. Too polite, distant. Like he was a mildly inconvenient pillar.
"I am sure it is fine." She said, then turned back to Michael immediately. "You recommend cappuccino, right?"
Michael nodded too fast.
"Yes, definitely. I mean unless you hate foam. Some people hate foam. I respect that."Michael said nervously.
"I like foam." She said. "Especially when it's made carefully."
His ears went red again. I reached over and poked his arm.
"Milk, you are overthinking the milk."I sighed.
"Right. Milk." He exhaled like he had been holding his breath for years."
Xavier leaned toward me, voice low and amused.
"You look tense."Xavier teased.
"I am watching my coworker get emotionally ambushed by a woman who bends the room around her." I whispered back. "Forgive me for not enjoying it."
"On the contrary. I find it refreshing."Xavier smirked.
Michael slid the cup onto the counter with exaggerated care, heart foam slightly crooked but sincere.
"Here you go." He said. "Cappuccino."
"Thank you."Wanessa's smile widened.
She took it and instead of leaving, she stayed. Resting her hip lightly against the counter. Xavier opened his mouth, but Wanessa spoke first.
"You work mornings too?" She asked Michael.
"Uh yes. And afternoons. And whenever she." He nodded toward me. "Forgets to sleep."
"Rude." I muttered.
"I might come more often then."She laughed softly.
Michael's brain visibly short circuited. Xavier stared at the cup in her hands like it had personally insulted him. I pressed my fingers to my temple. This wasn't just catastrophic, this was escalating in the worst way possible. Lunch break saved me, or so I thought. I escaped to the far corner of the cafe, the table by the window that everyone pretended didn't exist because the chair wobbled and the sunlight was aggressively judgmental. I sat down hard, unwrapped my sandwich, and hugged it to my chest like it was an emotional support object.
"Okay." I muttered to myself. "Half an hour, eat, breathe. Do not think about flirtation, CEOs, or narrative derailment."
I took one bite and the chair across from me scraped softly. I froze. Wanessa Roisane sat down like she had always been meant to sit there. My sandwich stopped halfway to my mouth.
"Hi." I said weakly.
"Hi, Bella." She replied.
Something about the way she said my name too precise, too familiar, made my stomach twist. We sat in silence for three heartbeats. Then she spoke, quietly. Like she was commenting on the weather.
"You are not the original Isabella."Wanessa said calmly.
The sandwich fell out of my hands. It hit the table with a sad, defeated thump.
"Haha." I said automatically. "What?"
Wanessa tilted her head, studying my face not my reaction, not my panic, but me. Like she was checking a theory.
"You are reincarnated." She continued, voice low. "So am I."
The cafe noise faded into static. I laughed again, louder this time, brittle.
"Wow. That's bold. Is this a prank? Did Michael put you up to this? Because he can't lie to save his life."I said.
"I was wondering how long it would take before I met another one." She said softly. "You slipped up earlier. Just a little. The way you looked at Xavier. The way you flinch when the plot tightens."
My hands clenched in my lap.
"You are talking nonsense." I whispered.
"In the original novel, Isabella Roisane never worked at a cafe. She hated crowds. She never drank iced coffee. And she definitely didn't mutter about 'side character chaos' under her breath."Wanessa leaned closer.
My blood ran cold.
"That line." Wanessa added gently. "Was from chapter seven. Internal monologue, I read a book before I got reincarnated here."
I stared at her. The way she held herself too controlled. Too observant. Like someone who already knew where the story bent and where it snapped.
"Which version?" I croaked.
Her smile softened, almost sad.
"The second draft. The one where Isabella dies early."Wanessa said.
My heart dropped into my shoes.
"So." She continued, resting her chin lightly on her hand. You are not her. Not really. You are someone else wearing her life."
"And you?"I asked.
"I woke up as Wanessa Roisane." She said. "With the ending memorized. With regrets intact and with zero intention of following it again."
My sandwich lay forgotten between us.
"Why tell me?" I asked quietly.
Wanessa's gaze flicked briefly very briefly toward the counter, where Michael laughed at something, completely unaware of the metaphysical landmine detonating at table six.
"Because." She said, turning back to me, voice warm but serious. "I can tell you are different." She extended her hand across the table. "And because I want to be friends with the real Bella."