I wipe my face on my sleeve and swallow. “I don’t usually… break down.”
“No need to explain,” he says, stepping back and picking up the rag.
I manage a small nod. “Thanks.”
He gives me one last look, no pity, just kindness, then returns to straightening tables. “Let’s finish up. Then I’ll head out.”
I nod as Axel and I finish stacking chairs. He drops the rag and stretches. “All set?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I murmur, voice raw. “Thanks for… everything.”
He offers a soft, genuine smile. “Anytime, Sadie.”
After he’s gone, I lock the door, three solid clicks of the deadbolt. My hands tremble, but my mind drifts back to his arms, the steady press of his chest against mine. It’s been years since someone held me without asking for anything in return.
The stairs to my apartment feel endless. At the landing, I fumble with my keys, turn, pause, and turn again. The third click rattles hollowly in the silent hall.
Inside, Rowan stirs on the couch. “Hey,” she mumbles.
“Good turnout,” I say.
She eyes my cheeks. “Crying?”
“Just tired. Poppy?”
“Fast asleep since eight.”
Once she leaves, I triple-lock the door. Nothing feels secure.
In Poppy’s room, her star nightlight dances across her peaceful face. Normally, this steadies me. Tonight, all I see is Axel’s warmth, his hand smoothing my back, the quiet promise of safety. I had pressed my face into his shirt and wept like a child. What must he think of me now?
My phone buzzes. Oregon area code. My stomach free-falls, knees going watery beneath me. I open the message.
Unknown Number: Final notice before court action. Please respond regarding case #OR-7734-C. Failure to appear will result in default judgment.
I sink onto the couch, phone clutched in my hand. I should call my lawyer, Marianne Winters, but I can’t. Not when I’m still tasting his breath on my skin.
I spot the unopened wine Axel brought. I trace the bottle’s curve as I recall his gentle voice. You deserve to breathe. A single glass could ease the knot in my chest.
But the court notice glows, accusing and cold. Fear surges back, sharp and familiar. Letting my guard down is a risk I can’t take.
I leave the wine and crawl into bed fully dressed, too exhausted to change. My phone and its threat lie unanswered on the nightstand.
As sleep tugs at me, one unsettling truth resurfaces: in Axel’s arms, I felt safe. And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
My alarm screams at four a.m., yanking me from a fitful, sweaty sleep. For a moment I lie there, every muscle screaming, my chest tight and lungs dragging in shallow, uneven breaths with memories of last night, the tremor of his voice, the ache of his arms around me. I close my eyes and press my palms hard against my lids, as if I can squeeze the memory out. God, I’m furious at myself for even wanting him to come back, for longing to see him again. I hate that I hate him for what I want.
No time for this. Not today. Not ever.
I stumble through my morning ritual on autopilot, scalding shower, slip into jeans and a loose tee, hair yanked into a tight ponytail. I toss Poppy’s bag over my shoulder. Everything measured, everything controlled. When I lift my daughter from her crib, her little body heavy with sleep, I hug her closer than usual, burying my face in her downy hair. Her scent is the only thing steady in this spinning world.
“Just us, sweet girl,” I whisper, my cheek pressed to hers. “Always us.”
The drive to Pike’s Perk is silent except for Poppy’s slow, contented breathing in the back. I watch the road through the windshield and scan the rearview mirror so often my neck aches. No dark sedans, no strange cars lurking behind me. Still, part of me half expects to see Axel’s headlights sliding into the parking lot. I’m sick with hope and fury, for wanting it, for fearing it.
My phone is buried in the cupholder. No messages. No missed calls from Oregon. The reprieve doesn’t loosen the knot in my chest. If anything, it tightens around my ribs.
The café is deserted when we pull in. I move through the security check with hypervigilance, windows latched twice, supply closet sealed, behind the counter inspected. Everything’s untouched. Everything’s perfect except me, fraying at the edges.
