Laughter rings out from table five. Someone’s singing along to the jukebox at the bar—badly—and the kitchen bell dings like it’s personally trying to break my last nerve.
But none of it touches me.
Not really.
I should be feeling good. Business is booming. Staff’s in a rhythm. And yet I’m walking around this place like I’m missing a limb.
Faith’s apron is still hanging on the hook in the back. The one she always knotted twice like she didn’t trust it to hold. Her handwriting’s all over last week’s specials board—Blueberry bourbon smash (Faith’s fave)—and it guts me every time I walk past it.
I forgot how loud this place gets on Fridays from our drink specials, but now it just sounds...empty.
“Yo,” Ty says, sidling up beside me with a bar rag slung over his shoulder. “You’re gonna stare a hole through that wall or you gonna pour some drinks?”
I grunt. “Just thinking.”
“About Faith?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
I don’t say anything. Because yeah. Obviously.
He leans on the counter. “Daphne said she’s safe. Said she left a note. Said she needed space. So you gonna let her breathe, or are you gonna keep acting like a ghost in your own damn restaurant?”
“I gave her space,” I mutter, jaw tight. “I’ve been giving her space. What else am I supposed to do?”
Ty shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe stop pretending like this is just some summer fling? I know you. And you’re not fooling anybody, man. You’ve been so nervous about everything with this girl. Because youlikeher man. More than that.”
I clench my jaw, scanning the room—this place I built from nothing.
I catch sight of a couple sitting where she and I used to sit after her shifts. The booth in the back. Her laugh echoing in my head like it never left.
I grab a dish towel and wipe down the bar—aggressively. “She made it pretty clear. She doesn’t trust me. Can’t blame her.”
Ty exhales. “No, but you could try winning her back.”
I finally stop. Look at him.
“I’ve been thinking about it all week. Every second,” I admit. “I want to tell her everything. Not just that I love her. That she makes me want to be the guy she thinks I’m not. I just...I don’t know how.”
Ty claps me on the shoulder. “Start with one thing: don’t let her think she’s the only one scared.”
I nod, eyes drifting toward the door like maybe—just maybe—she’ll walk through it.
She doesn’t.
* * *
Saturday morning.
I’m sitting on the back porch with a mug of coffee, watching the steam rise and disappear. The sky’s soft, overcast. Still. The kind of morning that should feel peaceful.
It doesn’t.
Instead, I keep replaying every damn second of that last day at the lake. Every laugh. Every kiss. Every moan. And then that look on Faith’s face before she left.
Gone.
No explanation. Just...gone.
I tell myself I’m overreacting. That it was casual. That she never promised me anything. But the coffee’s bitter, and I can’t swallow down the pit sitting in my throat.
