Chapter 17
Noa
I wake before my alarm, guilt gnawing at me as I realize I never remembered to text Brian. My phone, fully charged on the nightstand, displays three missed calls and two text messages from him, the last one sent just before midnight:
Let me know you're safe. Worried about you in this weather.
I groan, pressing the phone to my forehead. I disappeared on him. After everything—after he told me he was considering moving to Pittsburgh, after the night we shared, after the way he looked at me like I was something precious—I vanished without a word.
Not intentionally, but does that matter? The result is the same.
I type out an apology, delete it, try again. Nothing seems adequate to explain my absence without sounding like I'm making excuses. Finally, I settle on simplicity:
I'm so sorry. Family dinner ran late. Can we talk today?
The response comes almost immediately:
I'll be on Butler Street this morning.
Not exactly warm, but at least he's willing to see me. I rush through my morning routine, throw on a cream sweater and my favorite jeans, and try to tame my curls into something presentable. The image in the mirror looks like me, but somehow different—brighter eyes, flushed cheeks, a certain energy I haven't seen in myself for a long time.
Downstairs, I flip on the shop lights and begin my opening ritual. Cash in the register, books straightened on display tables, computer system booted up. Through the front windows, I can see the street coming to life—morning commuters hurry past, and coffee shops across the way are already busy.
As I unlock the door to spin the sign to OPEN, a familiar figure appears on the sidewalk. Brian, in a charcoal suit that fits his shoulders perfectly, looks slightly more rumpled than his usual pressed perfection. Has he been waiting nearby? The thought makes my heart skip.
"Hi," I say, holding the door open.
He stops a few feet away, hands in his pockets. "You're okay."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes. I'm so sorry about yesterday. My phone died, and then I was late for family dinner, and?—"
"I was worried." His voice is carefully controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the tightness around his eyes. "Your shop was dark, your apartment too."
"I know. I'm sorry." I step back, gesture inside. "Come in? I was about to make bean water."
He grins at the reference to Legends and Lattes and follows me in, looking around the shop as if seeing it for the first time. I busy myself with the small coffee station in the corner, giving my hands something to do besides fidgeting.
"How was your family dinner?" he asks, the politeness slightly forced.
"Chaotic. My niece is in a school play, and all she wanted to talk about was her costume. My nephew demonstrated karate moves dangerously close to the fireplace. My dad made chicken." I hand him a mug of coffee. "They saved the candle lighting until I arrived, which made me feel even worse about being late."
His posture relaxes slightly. "Family waits for family."
"Yeah." I take a deep breath. "I really am sorry, Brian." I quickly explain about the dead phone and unsent message.
He nods, accepts the apology. "So, you weren't avoiding me?"
"No! God, no. I was actually excited to tell you about—" I cut myself off, suddenly aware of how domestic it sounds to share details of my family dinner with a man I've known for less than a week.
"Tell me what?"
I smile sheepishly and peel off my scarf now that the shop has warmed up. "They loved your challah. My dad kept asking where I got it."
Something brightens in his expression. "You took it to dinner?"
"I did. Said a customer gave it to me."
He sets his coffee down on the nearest shelf, a smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. "I have news, too."
