My brain short-circuited.
“I—” I started, only to have Cavil cut in sharply.
“We need to meet back atThe Book Nook,” Cavil said, his voice sharp enough to slice through the tension that still buzzed in the air like static.
I blinked, startled not by the suggestion but by the way he said it—firm, direct, like he had every right to decide how this all played out. Leo caught it too, I could tell. He arched a brow in Cavil’s direction, lips twitching in amusement like he’d just been handed front-row seats to a show he hadn’t bought tickets for.
My jaw tightened.
I didn’t like being told what to do—especially not by him. Especially not after the way the ground had just been yanked out from under me. I glanced between them, my two least favorite kinds of men at that exact moment: the ex who still thought he had a stake in me, and the brother who kept stepping into spaces he didn’t belong.
This wasn’t how any of it was supposed to go. I’d had a plan—simple, manageable, mine. Now I was half-paired with a man I hadn’t spoken to in years, who thought volunteering meant he could bulldoze his way through my boundaries without blinking.
“You can lead this little mission all you want,” I said, my voice a touch too calm to be natural. “But let’s not pretend we’re friends.”
He didn’t even flinch. “Who said anything about friendship?” he replied, his tone neutral but laced with something that made the back of my neck prickle.
That offhand dismissal—the cool detachment in it—shouldn’t have hit so hard. But it did. I’d wanted clean edges, neat roles, polite distance. Instead, I got Cavil with his unreadable eyes and steady presence, acting like none of this was personal.
“Well then,” I said tightly, shifting my weight on the icy sidewalk as if that could settle the unevenness inside me. “Let’s get this over with.”
Snowflakes floated down around us, gentle and beautiful in a way that made the bitterness between us feel even more stark by contrast. My breath fogged the air between us, thin and unsteady. And somewhere, beneath the brittle edge of my bravado, I felt something shift—just slightly. The kind of shift you try to ignore because acknowledging it would mean admitting you weren’t as unaffected as you claimed.
I turned away before either of them could see it, my boots crunching against the frostbitten pavement, the weight of their silence trailing me like a second shadow.
Chapter5
Cavil
The bell above the door chimed as I stepped inside, and immediately, the warmth ofThe Book Nookwrapped around me like a memory I hadn’t realized I missed. The soft glow of amber lighting spilled across weathered wood floors, flickering against the shadows cast by leaning bookshelves. The place smelled like cinnamon and old paper—comfort layered over time.
Callie stood behind the counter, arms folded across her chest like a shield. She didn’t move when I came in. Just glanced up and met my eyes with a look that didn’t quite welcome me.
“You’re on time,” she said, cool and flat.
“Trying to make a good impression.” I kept my voice light. Didn’t match the weight sitting low in my gut, but it was the best I could do.
“Hmm. Too bad I already know you.” She turned her attention back to whatever she was organizing. The silence between us wasn’t hostile, just taut—like a rope pulled too tight between two people trying not to look down at what lies between them.
"Do you?" I quipped.
Both our phones buzzed at the same time. The vibration against the counter felt louder than it should’ve.
I glanced down.Holiday Delivery Route Begins Tomorrow Morning.
Callie let out a breath. Not annoyed—just tired. “Guess we’re really doing this,” she said, walking around the counter without waiting for a response.
I followed her down a narrow aisle flanked by mismatched bookshelves. She didn’t look back.
“This is the community room.” She pointed to a cozy space tucked into the back. “You’ll have privacy. Coffee’s usually out by the cabinet. We’ve got folding chairs if your guys need more seating.”
She moved like she was reciting a routine, like she’d already given this tour in her head and just wanted it over with. Still, she paused at a table in the corner stacked with wrapped books tied in twine.
“Donations,” she said shortly. “They go out this week.”
She turned as if to end things there.
I didn’t say anything right away. Didn’t plan to, honestly. But something in her posture—the slight slope of her shoulders, the way she kept her hands busy even though there was nothing left to adjust—made the words slip out.
