“It’s fine,” she said. Too quick. Too polished. Like she’d rehearsed it in her head five different ways before I walked in.
I didn’t believe it.
But I nodded anyway.
For now.
The way Leo shifted on his feet—shoulders tight, jaw ticking—told me everything I needed to know. We had too much history for me to miss it. He was unraveling. Just like old times.
“Looks anything but fine,” I said lightly, but the edge wasn’t accidental.
Leo scoffed. His irritation flickered behind his eyes like a warning flare. He shifted again, weight bouncing between feet like he couldn’t find solid ground.
“Can we not do this right now?” he snapped, voice sharpening. “I came here to talk.”
“Then talk,” Callie said, her tone cool but frayed around the edges. Like a cable stretched too far.
Leo opened his mouth. Closed it. The silence that followed felt thick—static in the air before a storm. He glanced at me, probably hoping I’d throw him a rope.
I didn’t.
Instead, I walked farther into the shop. Quiet, steady. I set the envelope down on the counter between them—not forceful, just enough to draw a line. A buffer. Maybe even a shield.
“I’m here about reserving space,” I said, voice firm. “For my group.”
It was a lifeline. Not for Leo. For her.
Callie looked at me—really looked. Her gaze flicked to the envelope, then back to my face. I saw it in her eyes: calculation, curiosity, something like relief creeping back in around the corners.
She nodded once, slow. “Of course.”
Her voice had steadied again. Practical. Professional. But I didn’t miss the flicker beneath it—the way she leaned into this shift, needing the structure it gave her.
“What kind of group?” she asked, softer now. Her eyes darted once more toward Leo, whose posture still screamed tension.
“Veterans,” I said simply. “We meet once a week. Some old friends. Thought this might be a good place for it.”
A pause settled. Comfortable this time.
My eyes swept the room—the shelves, the air still scented faintly of pine and dust and something like memory. I could picture it already: chairs in a circle, coffee on the counter, quiet talk among men who didn’t say much but meant every word. This place had always held space for that kind of quiet.
And tucked in the background of those memories—Callie. Not always center stage, but always there. Light in the corners. A kid who saw more than she let on.
She nodded again, slower this time. Like she could see it too.
“Oh, right. Mrs. Tilby told me,” she said finally. "I’d love to help however I can."
Her words were threaded with sincerity—warm and certain, even as her eyes flicked once more to Leo. Like she was trying to fit a puzzle piece back into the wrong corner, hoping maybe it had changed shape over time.
We both knew it hadn’t.
But we were here now. Standing on ground neither of us expected to revisit. Still, something in her expression told me maybe… maybe she was ready to claim it for herself this time.
And if I could help with that—even just by holding space—I would.
I felt the shift the second Leo’s eyes darkened.
He stepped forward, jaw tight, movements sharp with that brand of entitlement he’d never bothered to outgrow.
