‘Don’t,’I tell myself. Like that matters.
Knox stands slowly, pushing his chair in with a quiet scrape. He walks toward me, unhurried. Not like he’s afraid I’ll run. Like he already knows I won’t.
By the time he reaches the line, he’s close enough that I register him without looking, the faint scent of woodsmoke and coffee clinging to his jacket, something familiar and grounding that settles low in my chest.
My hands clench at my sides.
“Hey, Star,” he says softly.
The nickname hits me like a punch.
Not because it’s new. Because it isn’t. It’s old enough to have roots.
And I don’t get to have roots with him. Not like this.
Not when I’m still standing in the aftermath of someone else’s wreckage.
I swallow hard. “Hey.”
His eyes search my face like he’s reading what I’m not saying.
“You okay?” he asks.
I almost laugh. Because no I’m not, I’m a walking bruise. I’m carrying a truth that’s turning my insides into acid. But I don’t say that. I do what I always do.
I lie.
“I’m fine,” I say, the words too quick. Too practiced.
Knox’s mouth tightens slightly, like he doesn’t believe me but won’t call me on it in public.
“Coffee?” he asks, nodding toward the counter. “You want me to grab it?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got it.”
Another lie, because I don’t want him doing things for me when he’s already done too much just by existing. It’s the way he offers to take care of me like it’s instinct.
He shifts closer, just enough that his voice can drop. “I haven’t seen much of you since… you know.”
My pulse stutters.
A check-in.
A reminder.
A reckoning.
That’s what this is. Not just coffee, not just a normal morning, but something that carries weight I wasn’t prepared for.
“I’ve been busy,” I say, as I clear my throat.
His gaze holds mine. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t call me out. Doesn’t push.
But the silence between us is loud.
And that’s when it hits me, sharp and unavoidable.
