“Come on,” he said quietly.
His hand grazed the small of her back—not steering, not leading. Just… there.
They crossed together, silent, slipping through the thin stream of traffic. The buzz of the café’s neon sign hummed overhead. Inside, the scent of espresso drifted out, curling through the cold like comfort.
Arden breathed in deep, letting it settle somewhere beneath her ribs.
She didn’t know what came next.
She didn’t know how to silence the voice whispering that none of this could last.
But tonight, Gideon stood beside her.
And for now?
That was enough.
?
The café was warm. Quiet. The kind of place where people whispered truths over chipped porcelain mugs and left parts of themselves behind in the grain of old wood.
Gideon sat across from her, fingers loose around a coffee cup gone cold. Steam curled between them, a barrier neither fully wanted to break.
The overhead light caught her cheekbones, softening her edges in gold.
But he knew better.
She wasn’t made of gold.
She was fire.
Always had been.
And tonight, he’d watched Evelyn try to smother it.
Watched Arden stand her ground while his mother sliced at her with words polished to a sheen. The only reason he hadn’t stepped in, hadn’t dragged Evelyn out by the throat, was because he knew; Arden wouldn’t have wanted him to.
She hadn’t needed saving.
But God, it had gutted him.
Because she shouldn’t have had to fight at all.
Not against Evelyn.
Not against anyone.
And not alone.
Across the table,Arden exhaled, quiet but weighted.
Her fingers tapped the rim of her cup in an uneven rhythm he recognized, restless and guarded.
Carrying Evelyn’s poison.
The weight of never being enough.
The ghost of a world that never invited her in.
