“I’m—I’m working on it,” he finally mutters, voice strained. “I’ll tell you. I want to. I just…don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“You won’t,” I say, but my voice isn’t steady enough to convince either of us.
He looks at me, then really looks at me, and something breaks in his eyes.
Fear.
Hope.
A weight he’s been carrying alone for far too long.
“Let me give you a good day first,” he murmurs.
“And tonight…I’ll tell you everything.”
I nod, even though my heart is rioting against my ribs.
Peter parks out front and steps out quickly, opening the door for me, then for Dane. “I’ll stay outside, sir,” he says respectfully.
“Thank you, Peter,” Dane replies, back in that voice again, the one that fits him like an expensive suit. Inside, the café is all soft country charm, sunlight pouring through big windows, teal walls warmed with reds and creams, dried flowers hanging like suspended memories. It smells like cinnamon and butter. I grin, overwhelmed in the nicest possible way. Dane picks a table in the window, sunlight hitting his profile like he’s carved fromsomething holy. I excuse myself to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. When I come out, I pass the counter, and something pulls at me. Kindness. Habit. A need to look after people who look after others.
“Can I please get a long black and a blueberry muffin?” I ask the barista. “For takeaway.” They hand it over, and I take it back outside.
Peter looks shocked when I hand him the bag and the cup. “For me?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say softly. “Thank you for driving us.”
He tries not to smile too big but fails. “Thank you, Miss Penn. That’s very thoughtful.”
I nod and go back inside. Dane is watching me like he’s trying not to fall in love but failing miserably. His eyes trace me, linger, soften, devour.
“What?” I ask, sliding into my seat.
“You,” he says simply. Like it’s a whole sentence.
A whole worship song. But the questions crowd my tongue. “Dane… Mr Stark? A driver? You’re sweating like you ran a marathon. What aren’t you telling me?”
He rubs his thumb along his jaw, eyes dropping to the table. “I’m going to tell you,” he says quietly. “I swear. Just… give me today. Please.”
Something in me wants to argue. Push. Demand. But something deeper…trusts him. So, I nod.
The bell over the café door jingles, and I turn instinctively. My stomach implodes. Blake. He stands frozen in the entryway, eyes locked on me and Dane seated together in the sun, hands inches apart, our energy unmistakable—even from a distance. His face cracks open. Not in anger. Not in rage. But in a way that looks like heartbreak made of knives. He knows. He knows I’m Pandora. He knows I’ve been slipping further away than he ever realized. He knows this is his fault every push, every silence, every way he carved pieces out of me. And still…He looks gutted. Like he’s the one drowning. He turns away sharply, jaw clenched, shame and jealousy and loss trailing behind him like smoke. I exhale shakily.
Dane’s hand slides over mine under the table. Warm. Sure. Gentle in a way that feels like oxygen.
“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes on me, not Blake. “You’re here with me. Okay?”
I nod, throat burning. Because for the first time in years…I feel chosen. Not controlled. Not possessed. Not tolerated. Chosen. And it terrifies me. And it thrills me. And I’m not running this time.
Blake watched from a distance, his heart pounding with jealousy. She was with a new guy, laughing and running her fingers through her hair in that mesmerizing way that always drove Blake wild. He saw Dane’s eyes follow each movement of her fingers through her long curls, knowing it had the same effect on him.
As he observed them, a mix of emotions surged through him. It used to be him the one making her smile, the one she looked at with those bright, captivating eyes. The sight of her with someone else ignited a fierce jealousy within him. But why? He was the one who was bored, he was the one to leave. Call it quits. His mates all pushing him into it and online to date new women younger women. She used to be his world, now she’s orbiting around a different set of eyes. It hurt more than he ever thought it would. He honestly believed she would chase him forever. Like she always had right from the start.
He was frozen across the street and all he could do was watch as this new guy who really looked like someone from their past, their childhood. He tried to think back through the folders stored away in his mind for a reason why he was so familiar to him.
Penn
Then the bell over the café door jingles. I don’t know why I look. Instinct. Ghost-memory. Some old part of me still wired to a name I keep trying to purge. Blake. My breath catches so violently it hurts. He stands in the doorway like he’s been struck. Eyes locked on me. And Dane. Together. Hands almost touching on the table. Bodies angled toward each other like gravity has chosen sides. Blake’s face fractures in slow motion. Not rage. Not shock. Heartbreak. Sharp, jagged heartbreak, the kind made of knives and regret and too-late realizations. Every vein in his neck pulses like the moment is physically ripping through him. He knows. He knows I’ve been slipping. He knows I’m Pandora.
