He glanced at me then. Not too long. Just enough. “For what?”
“For being here,” I said. “You didn’t have to come tonight.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Didn’t look like you wanted to be alone.”
There was no pity in his tone, just fact. No pressure. Just presence.
“Or maybe you came to keep an eye on my table-stacking form,” I added, trying to lighten things up.
“Little uneven,” he deadpanned.
That almost-smile cracked into something real. Not big. But it was there.
He stepped a little closer, not crowding me—just nearby. Like if I tipped, he’d be close enough to catch it before anyone noticed.
“Callie…” His voice dipped. Rougher now. Hesitant.
But before he could say whatever came next, Marmalade shot out from under the table, barreling between our feet like a tiny orange comet.
I let out a startled laugh—sharp and short—but it felt good. Cavil stepped back just enough to give the cat room, then looked at me again, and this time, his eyes didn’t move away so quickly.
There was something there. Not loud. Not fast. But steady.
Like him.
Chapter9
Cavil
Iparked a few doors down fromThe Book Nook, engine idling until I shut it off with a click that felt louder than it should’ve. The box on the passenger seat sat heavy—not in weight, but in meaning. Scuffed corners. Faded handwriting. My mother’s collection of children’s books, saved through more moves than I could count. Stories she’d once read to me.
It wasn’t about Callie. Not really.
I picked it up anyway.
The night air bit at my skin as I walked. The snow had started to fall again, soft and lazy, like the town itself couldn’t bother to rush. Laughter and music drifted from the open doors of the shop, light pouring out across the sidewalk like it was trying to chase away the cold. For a second, I thought about turning around. Leaving the box at the threshold and disappearing before anyone noticed.
But that wasn’t me—not anymore.
Inside, the place pulsed with warmth and motion. Fairy lights twinkled around every shelf, garlands draped over book displays, and the scent of spiced cider tangled with the scent of old paper. I slipped through the crowd, keeping my head down as I made my way toward the back, the box held tight like a shield.
No one noticed me. Good.
I set the box down near the donation table, letting it blend in with the rest—plastic bins filled with toys, wrapped packages with tags, cheerful piles of dog-eared books. Mine didn’t belong here. But she did.
I lingered for half a second longer than I should’ve. Let my hand rest against the box one last time. Then I turned to go.
And stopped.
She was there. Callie. Lit from within by something I couldn’t name. Moving through the shop like she owned it—no, like it loved her back. Laughing with someone near the cocoa station, her hair pulled half up, curls catching the light. I hadn’t seen her look that alive in years.
She looked happy.
I should’ve left.
But I didn’t.
Then her eyes found me.
