The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 342

Sloane didn't say anything. She turned her head to look out the window, watching the sycamore trees standing quietly in the afternoon sun.

Then, she brought her gaze back to Cassandra, her tone suddenly shifting to something lighter.

"Is Dr. Foster... married?"

Cassandra was at a loss for words.

If I told you he was married, and that he was married to you, and that you two have a ten-year-old son together!

Would you even believe it?!

"No," Cassandra replied, feigning composure. She then threw out a probing question. "Why do you ask? Do you... have feelings for Dr. Foster?"

Sloane let out a cold scoff, an expression of utter disgust plastering her face.

"Me, have feelings for him? You're overthinking it! Look at how old he is..."

Cassandra froze, completely blindsided.

Right. Sloane's mental age was stuck at twenty-one. And Dr. Foster was already thirty-five this year.

That age gap was a bit steep.

"No, I didn't mean it like that..." Realizing her words were incredibly rude—he was her primary physician, after all—Sloane quickly tried to backtrack. "What I mean is, I just get this vibe that the way he looks at me is off. It's like... he's looking at someone else. Someone he loved deeply, but who hurt him terribly."

"Does he have some tragic lost love who died young or something?" Sloane lifted her bright, sparkling eyes to stare at Cassandra.

Cassandra was completely speechless.

She internally groaned, opening her mouth but unable to force a single word out.

Hey, that tragic lost love who died young... is literally you! I can't deal with this!

"You... you watch way too much TV!" Cassandra forced a dismissive tone. "Only you could come up with such a melodramatic plot..."

"Haha, true. But speaking of TV, what was the actual ending of The Vampire Diaries? Did Damon and Elena end up together?!"

"Hey, Garrison,"

Vanessa's voice floated through the speaker, carrying her usual bright, approachable warmth. "Are you free today? Let's grab a coffee. My treat."

*

The coffee shop was located in the courtyard of an old converted townhouse on the east side of the city. The dappled shadows of the sycamore trees danced across the patio, where a few wrought-iron tables and chairs were scattered about.

It was a quiet weekday afternoon, so still that they could hear the wind chimes tinkling from the neighboring yard.

When Garrison arrived, Vanessa was already seated at a table near the back. She wasn't wearing her usual dark gray suit today. Instead, she had on a cream-colored linen shirt with the top button undone, her short hair casually tucked behind her ears, looking much more relaxed than usual.

"Vanessa," Garrison greeted, pulling out the chair opposite her.

Vanessa drew her gaze away from the scenery and flashed him a smile. "What are you drinking?"

"Americano, thanks."