Axel: I'm coming back tonight. After close. We'll talk.
Something shifts in my chest, a tangle of dread and relief so intense it makes me dizzy. I stare at the screen, unable to look away from those words. He's coming back. Tonight.
"Sadie?" Rowan's voice sounds far away.
I slide the phone back into my pocket before she can see it. "It's fine," I say automatically. "Just… work stuff."
She doesn't believe me, I can tell by the way her mouth tightens at the corners, but a customer approaches the register, saving me from further interrogation.
"I'll handle this," Rowan says, giving me one last searching look. "But we're not done."
I nod and retreat to the back, where the kitchen's fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Leaning against the cool metal prep table, I pull out my phone again and stare at his message.
After close. We'll talk.
My fingers go slack on the phone, and I have to set it on the counter before I drop it.
I haven't told anyone about the court papers. About Elliot. About what's waiting for me in that envelope. I've barely admitted it to myself.
And now I've cracked open the door to someone who might actually walk through it.
The afternoon passes in a blur of orders and customers. I move on autopilot, my mind elsewhere. As closing time approaches, the café empties out until only a few stragglers remain, hunched over laptops in the corners. The sky outside darkens, streetlights casting long shadows across the floor.
Finn leaves at seven, followed by Saul. Rowan lingers, watching me with concern.
"I can stay," she offers, untying her apron. "Help you close up."
"No need," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I've got it. Go home."
She hesitates. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," I lie. "Just tired. It's been a long day."
After another moment of hesitation, she nods. "Okay. But call if you need anything. Anything at all."
"I will," I promise, knowing I won't.
The door closes behind her with a soft jingle. I lock it, one, two, three clicks, and lean my forehead against the cool glass. The café is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional tick of the heating system. Outside, the street is empty, pools of yellow light illuminating vacant sidewalks.
I move through my closing routine mechanically. Wipe down tables. Count the register. Check the stock for tomorrow. My hands won't stop trembling, no matter how tightly I clench them.
At 8:15, my phone buzzes again.
Axel: Outside when you're ready.
I look up sharply. Through the window, I can see his truck parked across the street, headlights off. He's waiting, patient and still, giving me space to decide.
I stand frozen behind the counter, my fingers locked so tight around the dish towel that the worn cotton bites into my skin.
I could text back, tell him I've changed my mind. Tell him I'm fine after all. Tell him to go away and never come back.
Instead, I find myself moving toward the door, keys in hand. I can't avoid this anymore. Whatever happens next, I have to face it, face him.
My fingers close around the deadbolt. It's time.
I unlock the door with trembling hands. Axel steps in, a brown paper bag tucked under one arm. In the dim café light, his face is all shadows and gentle angles. He doesn't rush toward me or demand answers; he just waits as I relock the door behind him.
"Hey," he says softly.
