A warning bell rings in my chest. “Hear what?”
Her smile widens. “Callum and I are talking again.”
The words land like a slap. My breath stutters before I can stop it. I force my face to stay neutral, even as something inside me fractures. “That’s… great,” I manage. “For you.”
Her eyes light up. “Isn’t it?”
I turn back to the shelf, pretending to straighten something that doesn’t need it. “You should leave.”
“I will,” she says easily. “After all, I’ve got places to be. He invited me to the weekend game. Family and friends box.”
My hands still but I don’t turn around. I don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing whatever flickers across my face. “That’s nice,” I say carefully. “Enjoy it.”
She hums, stepping closer until I can feel her presence at my back. “He always did hate disappointing people. I suppose old habits die hard.”
Something hot and painful coils in my chest and I grip the edge of the counter, grounding myself. “You’re lying,” I murmur.
She chuckles. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I reply, finally facing her. “Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Callum doesn’t invite people out of guilt.”
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second. Then it’s back, sharper than before. “Believe what you want, Rose. But if I were you, I wouldn’t pin my hopes on being the exception. Men like him don’t change. They just get better at justifying themselves.”
“I’m done with this conversation,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Please leave.”
She holds my gaze for a long moment, searching for something; weakness, maybe. When she doesn’t find it, she shrugs.
“Suit yourself,” she says lightly. “I just thought you deserved to know where you stand.”
She turns and walks away, the bell chiming as the door closes behind her and the shop suddenly feels too quiet.
My knees threaten to buckle, and I lean against the counter, breathing through the sudden rush of emotion that she’s stirred in me. Anger, hurt, humiliation, doubt. It all tangles together until I can’t tell where one ends and another begins. I’m almost certain she lied. But doubt is insidious. It doesn’t need proof. It just needs a crack.
I close my eyes briefly, pressing my palm flat against the cool surface of the counter. I remind myself of what I know. Of what Callum said and what he didn’t say. Of the fact that he hasn’t reached out publicly since they released the statement, hasn’t tried to rewrite the narrative in his favour, hasn’t done anything that suggests he’s running back to comfort and familiarity.
Still, the seed is there now, and as much as I hate her for planting it, I hate myself more for feeling it take root. I straighten slowly, smoothing my apron, forcing my breathing back into something that resembles normal. I don’t have the luxury of falling apart here. Not now. Not over her.
As the next customer walks in, I paste on a polite smile and step forward to help them, my heart heavy but my resolve hardening. Whatever happens next, whatever truths come out, or choices are made, I refuse to let Talia be the one who breaks me.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
ROSE
Ididn’t cry when Talia left the shop. That’s the first thing I notice.
My hands are shaking, yes. My chest feels like it’s been scraped hollow with something blunt and cruel. But the tears don’t come. Not while I’m still behind the counter, still wearing my name badge, still surrounded by neatly stacked notebooks and postcards and the faint smell of coffee drifting in from next door.
She walked out with her lie hanging in the air like smoke, sweet and poisonous, and something inside me hardened instead of breaking.
I finish my shift on autopilot. I smile at customers. I sayhave a nice daylike my world hasn’t just tilted again. By the time I lock up and turn the sign toclosed, my jaw aches from how tightly I’ve been holding it.
Outside, the evening air is sharp and cold. I breathe it in too fast, like I’m surfacing after being underwater, and that’s when it hits me. The anger. Not the wild, flailing kind. Not panic. Not despair. Something cleaner. Sharper. She doesn’t get to do this to me again.
I don’t go home. I walk. Past the rink, past the familiar streets that feel too close to Callum by association alone. My phone buzzes in my pocket, it’s probably Clara, checking in like she’s been doing every night, but I don’t answer yet. I need toburn this off first, need to feel my feet hit the pavement, need to remind myself that I exist outside of him and her and the wreckage between us.
By the time I reach Clara’s flat, my hands are steadier and my spine feels straighter. She takes one look at my face when she opens the door and pulls me inside without a word. I break then. Just a little. Not sobbing. Not collapsing. Just pressing my forehead into her shoulder and breathing hard while she holds me like she knows exactly how close I am to coming undone and won’t let it happen.
“She came into the shop,” I say eventually, my voice muffled. “Talia.”
