“Cavil?”
The sound of my name on her lips hit harder than I expected. I straightened, pulse kicking up. I didn’t know if I was hoping she hadn’t recognized me—or if part of me had wanted her to all along.
Caught. No turning back now.
“You came to the open house?” she asked, eyes wide with surprise that didn’t feel forced.
I shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Just passing by.”
It was a lie, of course. I’d parked two blocks away to avoid attention. I’d timed it to blend in with the flow of foot traffic. But I said it anyway—because keeping distance was easier than explaining the truth.
She didn’t call me on it. Just smiled—genuine, bright. Like I hadn’t spent the last few years fading into the edges of her life.
“Well, come in then!” she said, her voice carrying that same warmth I remembered from years ago. She waved me deeper into the shop, and I followed—before I could talk myself out of it.
The Book Nooklooked… different. Still the same bones, same layout, but something softer lived here now. Garlands looped along the shelves, ornaments tucked between books. The air smelled like pine and cinnamon, and something sweet I couldn’t name. Laughter rolled through the space—kids, adults, the clink of mugs and soft hum of music.
She moved ahead of me, greeting people by name, accepting compliments with quiet grace. I stayed close but not too close, hands in my pockets, eyes on everything and nothing all at once.
“You did all this?” I asked, nodding at the lights strung above us, the author by the fireplace reading to a crowd of wide-eyed kids.
She turned, pride flickering behind her smile. “With a little help from you. But yeah. Most of it.”
I couldn’t stop watching her. The way she lit up in this place. The way the store felt different just because she was in it.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said after a beat, her tone light, casual—too casual.
“Didn’t have any better plans.” It came out rougher than I meant. Less like a compliment, more like a deflection. But she didn’t seem to mind.
We stopped at the cocoa table, where mugs clinked and sugar overflowed. Someone beside us complimented the display—bright cups, candy canes, marshmallows in tiny glass jars. Callie just laughed it off, brushing her hands on her jeans like the praise embarrassed her.
I stayed quiet. Just watched.
“You really made this place shine,” I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked, surprised. “You think so?”
“I know so.” The words settled between us, heavier than I intended.
She looked at me again—really looked—and something flickered in her eyes that I couldn’t read. But she smiled, soft and unsure, like she was seeing a part of me I didn’t know was showing.
We stood there for a moment in silence, our mugs warm in our hands. I wasn’t sure what to do with it—with her, with this place. All I knew was that—for the first time in a long time—I didn’t want to leave.
“What about you?” she asked, her voice quiet but curious as she lifted her mug again. “You never told me why you volunteered for deliveries.”
I paused. The question wasn’t meant to press—it was gentle, laced with warmth—but it still hit something raw. There were a dozen reasons I could give her, most of them only half true. But tonight didn’t feel like the night for lies. Not full ones, anyway.
Still, I wasn’t ready to hand her the whole truth. About guilt. About my brother. About how I’d hated the idea of her out there alone with Leo, of all people.
So I took a breath and offered what I could. “Thought someone ought to make sure you didn’t end up stuck with my brother again.”
She laughed, light and easy, but I saw the way her eyes softened. She knew. She heard what I wasn’t saying.
“He’s not here tonight,” she said, watching me.
“Good.” The word came out harder than I meant. I didn’t regret it.
Part of me wanted to ask what happened between her and my brother, but I didn't think it was my place. Just because she was warming up to me didn't mean I was in her good graces.
