Page 101 of Safe Place

The bell above the cafe door jingles, as it does hundreds of times every shift.

So I don’t look up at first—I’m wiping down the espresso machine, hoping to pass the next few hours of my shift.

Then I hear a voice I’ve heard countless times in my nightmares.

“It’s been too long.”

My heart stutters. That voice—too calm, too familiar—pulls the air straight from my lungs. When I look up, he’s already staring at me, standing just on the other side of the counter with a smirk that chills me to my core.

He hasn’t changed much. Still tall. Still has those pale, flat green eyes—eyes that, for the first time, aren’t bloodshot from alcohol. His hair is darker now, more dirty blond than I remember, streaked with silver at the temples. There’s something quieter about him. He seems controlled and calculated, and that makes it so much worse.

“I thought we could have a chat,” he says, like we’re old friends.

“I’m working,” I say, barely above a whisper. My fingers curl tightly around the towel in my hand. “I don’t have time.”

“Don’t be like that,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough. “Unless you want me to make a scene at your little job?”

I glance at Liam, my coworker, who’s restocking the pastries. Then I point to an empty table near the front of the cafe. “I’ll take my break.”

Liam nods, unsuspecting.

I walk stiffly, hyper-aware of his gaze crawling over me. As soon as we sit, he slides a small, wrapped box across the table.

“Got special permission from my parole officer to come up here,” he says, tone casual. “You know, for my daughter’s birthday. Didn’t forget about you.”

I don’t reach for it.

“Go on,” he says, smiling. “Open it.”

I stay frozen.

His voice drops, quieter. “Before I make a scene.”

My fingers move before I can stop them. I try to hide the tremble as I pull the ribbon loose. Inside the box is a single hotel keycard. Silver Pine Inn.

My stomach turns.

“I thought we could spend some time together,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t have to wait ‘til your mom’s asleep this time. It’ll just be us.”

I don’t touch it.

He lets out a low chuckle, amused. “Still playing hard to get? You don’t have to play with me, baby girl.”

His voice softens—mocking and possessive.

And just like that, he’s not pretending anymore.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he says. “Even when I was inside. That little detour. Just a bump in the road. But now we’ve got time. No more interruptions. We can finally be together. I was on my best behavior just for you.”

My throat tightens. I want to scream. Run. Anything. But I can’t move.

“We were always meant to be together, baby girl. You know that.”

The pet name hits me like a slap. My limbs go numb.

I whisper, “Did you see my mom?”

His smile fades for a second, then comes back sharper. “Yeah. Bitch has been waiting like a dog. Pathetic, really. Clingy.”