“But he just bought the coffee shop. He renovated it. He has plans…”
“Plans can change.” Amelia’s voice softens. “People leave when they’re hurting. Sometimes it’s easier than staying and facing reminders of that pain every day.”
What if she’s right? What if Caspian decides he can’t stay here? The thought makes my chest tight with panic.
“He can’t leave,” I whisper. “He belongs here.” The thought makes me feel physically ill.
“Then fix whatever you did,” Amelia says firmly. “Before it’s too late.”
“I need to go,” I tell Amelia, already standing and gathering my things. She watches me with knowing eyes but doesn’t try to stop me.
My hands shake slightly as I grip the steering wheel. Should I go to the coffee shop? Caspian should be there now, but having this conversation while he’s working wouldn’t be fair to him. Plus, the thought of seeing that hurt in his eyes again, but this time in front of his customers… No, I need to go home first and figure out what I’m going to say.
When I turn onto our street, my heart skips a beat at the sight of Caspian’s car in his driveway. Maybe this is my chance to make things right.
My heart leaps, and I practically run to his door, knocking perhaps a bit too eagerly.
The door opens, but instead of Caspian, there’s a stranger. Short, with pale-white skin, the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and a mop of curly bright-red hair. My first panicked thought is that Caspian’s already moving out.
“Can I help you?” the man asks, leaning against the doorframe with casual interest.
“I… Is Caspian here?”
“Depends who’s asking,” he says, giving me an appraising look. “Though given the height, the rugged outdoorsy vibe, and the kicked-puppy expression, I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re Nate?”
“Yeah, I’m Nate,” I confirm, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny. “And you are…?”
“Marcus,” he says with a flourish. “Best friend, chief emotional support, and the current guardian of this threshold.” He pauses, tilting his head. “You know, Caspian said you were hot, but he didn’t mention you were lumberjack, outdoorsy, let-me-fuck-you-against-a-tree hot. Which is really inconsiderate of him because now I have to resist the urge to forgive you just based on those eyes alone.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “The universe is truly testing me today.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to peer past him into the house. “Is Caspian here?” My heart’s racing.
Marcus shakes his head. “He’s at the coffee shop, and then he’s heading straight to the festival. I’m just grabbing some things for him.”
“Wait,” I say as he starts to close the door. “Please.”
I rush back to my house, heading straight for the freezer where I keep several portions of the soup I make that Caspian loves so much. I grab a container and hurry back.
“Here.” I thrust the container at Marcus. “It’s the soup he likes. He should eat something between closing the shop and working at the festival.”
Marcus takes the container, looking at me with renewed interest. “And where’s my soup?” Marcus asks with a dramatic pout. “I am the best friend who flew across the country to provide emotional support, after all.”
“There’s enough for two there. But if you like it, I’ll make you your own batch,” I reply, managing a small smile despite everything.
Marcus grins. “You know, you’re making it really hard for me to maintain my protective best friend stance here.” He starts walking toward Caspian’s car, then turns back. “He’s hurting, but he’s not unreachable. Just…give him time.”
I watch him drive away, feeling simultaneously better and worse. Better knowing Caspian has such a good friend looking out for him, worse knowing how much pain I’ve caused.
Later at the festival, I can’t help but watch Caspian from afar. He’s operating the Special Blend booth, serving hot chocolate and coffee to a steady stream of customers. Even from a distance, I can see the shadows under his eyes, the slight droop to his shoulders when he thinks no one’s watching.
When the crowd finally thins out and the festival’s winding down, I make my way over to his booth. He looks up as I approach, and my heart clenches at the sadness in his eyes.
“Thank you for the soup,” he says softly.
“Caspian, I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “What can I do to make this right?”
He wraps his arms around himself, looking small despite his usual vibrant presence. “I don’t know.”
“Maybe…” I hesitate, then press on. “I know I messed up by springing this all on you, but…have you thought about talking to Tate and Tristan?”
