"You weren’t complaining when your tongue was down my throat," I snapped back before I could stop myself.
He glared at me, eyes cold as ice. "That was a mistake," he spat out. "A moment of weakness with some desperate café owner who can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business."
I froze. His words cut deep, each one like a dagger twisting in my chest. But I refused to break down in front of him. I wouldn’t cry.
“Fine,” I said quietly, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
"Good," he growled. "I never asked for your goddamn attention. Or your fucking pity."
"Pity?" I echoed, my voice trembling slightly.
"You think I'm some kind of stupid, Morrison?" His southern drawl thickened, the anger palpable. "You look in the mirror? You're… fuck, and I'm… What the hell you thinking of, being with me? You fucking blind?"
I looked him square in the eyes, not backing down. "I think you're beautiful, Daryl Walker."
He jerked back like I'd slapped him. His face twisted in confusion and pain.
"I don't know what happened or what your problem is," I continued, placing the food next to the doorway. "But I know I like you." I chuckled softly, a bitter sound in the cold night air. "In fact, I actually could have… You know, it doesn't matter."
"Why?" he demanded, his voice a mix of desperation and frustration.
"Because you're a good man, Daryl," I said firmly. "And I don't know why you can't see it, but I do. And you… you deserve everything good life has to offer."
He sucked in a breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It was like he wanted to believe me but couldn't bring himself to hope.
The silence between us stretched out, heavy and thick. The cold bit at my skin, but I stood my ground. For a moment, just a brief flicker of time, something softened in his eyes.
But then it was gone.
"You don't know a damn thing about me," he snapped, eyes narrowing. "You think bringing me cookies and inviting me to your little Christmas party is gonna fix anything? You think you can just waltz into my life and make everything better?"
"That's not what I'm trying to do," I protested, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in his eyes. "I just wanted to share some joy with you."
"Joy?" He let out a bitter laugh. "You think I need joy? What I need is for people to stop sticking their noses where they don't belong. I don’t need your goddamn sympathy."
"It's not sympathy," I argued, frustration bubbling up inside me. "It's just kindness, Daryl."
"I don’t want your kindness!" His voice rose, echoing in the cold night air. "I don’t need anyone’s help or pity or whatever the hell it is you're offering."
"Why are you so afraid of letting someone care about you?" I shot back, my own temper flaring now. "What’s so wrong with accepting that maybe someone wants to be there for you?"
"Because people like you always leave!" he shouted, fists clenched at his sides. "They leave or they die or they betray you! Fuck, I'd rather be alone then deal with all of that."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Not everyone leaves, Daryl," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly.
He shook his head, eyes full of anger and pain. "You don't know what you're talking about. You have no idea what it's like to lose everything and everyone that matters."
"I've had my own losses," I said quietly. "Maybe not the same as yours, but that doesn't mean I don’t understand pain."
"Just go home, Beth," he said wearily, his anger seeming to drain away suddenly. He looked tired—bone-tired—and it tugged at something deep inside me. "Stay away from me."
"I’m not leaving until you understand that you’re worth caring about," I insisted.
"Why can’t you just listen?" His voice cracked slightly as he glared at me.
“Because someone needs to show you that you're wrong,” I said softly.
For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of our words hanging between us.
