Chapter 17
Marie
M y hand hit cold sheets. The kind of cold that made my stomach sink before I even opened my eyes. I reached again, slower this time, fingers brushing over the emptiness where Dwight should’ve been. Nothing. Just a hollow space and the faint scent of his cologne still clinging to his pillow.
"Dammit," I whispered into the quiet. My voice cracked.
I sat up, knees pulled to my chest, staring at the messy pile of his clothes on the chair in the corner. His last words before he left played on a loop in my head, but they were slippery now, blurry at the edges like a dream I couldn’t quite hold onto. Something about needing time, needing clarity. He’d promised to call when he knew more. That was three days ago. Three days of silence.
It felt like three years.
The knot in my stomach tightened, twisting hard enough to make me wince. I swung my legs off the bed and pushed myself up, feet hitting the cool wood floor. No point sitting here like some lovesick fool.
The mirror by the dresser caught my eye as I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt. My hair was wild, curls sticking up in every direction. I didn’t bother taming it. Not today. I yanked a ponytail holder from the drawer and swept it back, not caring about the stray pieces that fought loose.
By the time I got to The Daily Grind, the sun was barely creeping up over Small Falls. The bell above the door jingled as I let myself in, locking it behind me.
I flipped on the lights, the hum of the machines filling the air. Normally, the smell of ground beans worked its magic, settling something deep inside me. But not today. Today, it just made my chest tighter.
"Alright, Marie," I muttered, pulling an apron off the hook. "Focus. Keep moving."
The first customer came in not long after I unlocked the front door. A regular—Mr. Parker—his flannel shirt buttoned wrong, glasses fogged up from the chill outside.
"Morning, Marie," he said, rubbing his hands together. "You’re here early."
"Couldn’t sleep," I said, forcing a smile. My voice wobbled, and I cleared my throat to steady it. "The usual?"
"Yep. Make it extra hot. It’s colder than a witch’s—"
"Got it," I cut him off before he could finish. I turned to the machine, grateful for the excuse to keep my back to him.
It went like that for the next hour. Customers drifting in, small talk, orders scribbled on cups. I smiled, nodded, laughed at dumb jokes. Tried to sound normal. But every now and then, my voice gave me away. A crack here, a pause there. Enough for Sam to notice.
"Hey, boss lady," he said during a lull, leaning against the counter. "You good? You seem . . .off."
"Just tired," I lied. "Didn’t sleep much."
"Uh-huh," he said, his eyebrows lifting like he didn’t believe me. But he didn’t press.
"Could you wipe down the tables?" I asked, pointing toward the front.
"On it." He grabbed a rag, shooting me one last look before heading off.
I followed his movement, watching him bend to scrub a coffee ring off a table. My gaze drifted past him to the window, where mist clung to the glass. Somewhere out there, Dwight was dealing with . . . whatever the hell he needed clarity on. And I was here, holding everything together with duct tape and forced smiles.
My Daddy. Struggling.
"Just one more thing, Marie," he’d said, before leaving. His jaw was set hard, like granite. "I need to do this to protect us. To protect you . Our future."
"Protect me from what?" I’d snapped back. The words still echoed in my chest, sharp as glass. He hadn’t answered—not really. Just kissed my forehead, murmured something about trust, and left. Now all I could picture was him under those stage lights again, a guitar slung low, his voice rough and raw like the Dwight I barely knew anymore.
The rag slipped from my hand, falling limp onto the table. I pressed my palms flat against the wood, staring down at the faint scratches and coffee stains that no amount of scrubbing ever fixed. What if the bakery wasn’t enough for him? What if I wasn’t enough?
"Marie?" It was Lucy. She stood by the counter, her dark curls piled high and an oversized cardigan swallowing her frame. I hadn’t even seen her come in. Her brow furrowed. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah." My throat tightened.
She didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the counter and watched me with that big-sister look she did so well.
"Go on," she finally said, crossing her arms. "What’s going on?"
I laughed, though it came out shaky. "What isn’t going on?" My hands trembled as I rubbed them over my face. "Dwight might lose the bakery, Luce. There’s some lawsuit hanging over his head, and now his old manager is demanding some final tour. Like . . . what even is that? A retirement tour? A farewell-to-being-a-decent-human tour?”
"Wait, what?" She straightened, her face softening. "I’m sorry love. Tell me about it."
So I did. The words spilled out in a rush, faster than I could keep track of. How Dwight had paced our tiny kitchen, phone buzzing every five minutes. How he’d promised me it was temporary—"just a bump"—and then left without giving me anything real to hold onto. How the thought of losing him, losing us , made my stomach churn.
When I finished, Lucy stepped closer, pulling me into a hug. Her arms squeezed tight, grounding me just enough to keep the tears from spilling over completely.
"Listen," she said, her voice low but firm. "You know Dwight. He came back here, to a place where he was about as unpopular you can be, and he turned it all around. Everyone in Small Falls loves him now. If there’s anyone stubborn enough to get through this, it’s him. And he’s got you. Hell, he’s got the whole damn town if he needs it."
"Yeah, well, maybe he doesn’t want the town," I muttered into her shoulder. "Maybe he misses the band—or the spotlight or whatever. Maybe he regrets—"
"Stop," she cut me off, pulling back to look me square in the eye. "Don’t go there, okay? He left that life for a reason. And if he’s serious about protecting you two—which he sure seems to be—he’ll figure it out. You just have to give him room to work through it."
"He might want more room than I can give him.”
"Hey," she added, nudging me lightly. "If he needs help, Marcus knows people. Or the rest of us could pitch in somehow. You’re not alone in this, Marie. Remember that."
"Thanks." My voice cracked, but I meant it. We stayed there a moment longer, the hum of the shop muffled like it belonged to a different world. Then Lucy gave me one last squeeze before slipping out the door, leaving me alone among the coffee beans and my spiraling thoughts.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand, hoping it didn’t smear my makeup too much. Lucy’s hug had helped, but barely. The knot in my chest hadn’t loosened—it just sat there, hard and unmoving, like a stone lodged under my ribs. I squared my shoulders as I pushed through the storeroom door and headed back to the counter.
***
By lunchtime, the morning rush had slowed, leaving me with just enough time to hide in the back office. My phone burned like a live wire in my pocket. I pulled it out, staring at Dwight’s name on the screen. My thumb hovered over the call button. Just press it, Marie. It’s not that hard.
I pressed it. The dial tone rang loud in my ear. Once. Twice. Three times. By the fourth, my stomach had twisted itself into an ugly knot.
"Hey, this is Dwight. Leave a message." His voice, low and rough, crackled through the receiver. Then the beep.
"Hey," I started, then stopped. My tongue felt thick, clumsy. What the hell was I even supposed to say? "Just . . . checking in. You know. Our daily check-ins?” I tried to laugh, to sound light- hearted. “I’ll have to spank you if you don’t call back, Daddy. Hope you’re okay." Pause. "Miss you." Another pause. "Okay, bye."
I ended the call and flopped back against the chair, dropping the phone on the desk like it had betrayed me. My eyes stung, but I blinked fast, refusing to let the tears win.
A hollow ache spread through my chest, heavy and suffocating. Did he regret leaving? Was he sitting somewhere, guitar in hand, remembering why he’d loved that life so much?
"Don’t go there," I whispered to myself, squeezing my eyes shut. But the thought lingered, sharp and bitter, long after I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and got up to face the rest of the day.
***
By the time I locked the doors to The Daily Grind, exhaustion had seeped into every muscle. My feet dragged along the sidewalk, but instead of heading straight home, I found myself turning onto Dwight's street.
The darkened windows of his bakery loomed ahead, stark and empty. My chest tightened as I approached, my breath hitching when I stopped in front of the glass door.
"God, I miss you," I whispered, my voice swallowed by the silence.
I pressed my hand to the cool glass, peering inside. The shadows stretched long and deep, erasing any trace of the life that once filled the space. My mind painted over the void—Dwight at the counter, covered in flour, laughing as he handed me a warm slice of whatever new creation he’d dreamed up. Me perched on the edge, legs swinging, stealing another bite before he could stop me.
I wish he was back. I wish he’d never gone.
Back at my place, I turned the key in the lock, my hand trembling just enough to make it stick. Typical. The door finally gave way with a creak, and I stepped into the dim quiet of home.
Dropping my bag onto the counter, I pulled out my phone before I even kicked off my shoes. Muscle memory took over as I swiped to our messages. There they were—rows of bubbles filled with his words, little pieces of him left behind.
"Look at this beauty," one message read, attached to a photo of a golden-brown croissant, steam still curling above it. Another was a selfie: flour smudged on his cheek, green eyes daring me to laugh at him like he knew I would. And then there were the ones I shouldn’t be reading now, not when I already felt like crumpling.
"Can’t stop thinking about you today. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger, you know that?"
"Marie, you’re my favorite taste tester. Hands down."
"God, you look good in that sundress.”
The lump in my throat swelled as I scrolled back further. Silly quips, half-finished thoughts, ridiculous memes we’d sent each other late at night. They all stabbed at the hollow spot in my chest where he belonged.
"Where are you, Dwight?" I whispered, my thumb hovering over his name. I hit call before I could think better of it. Straight to voicemail, again. My stomach twisted as I hung up.
My gaze drifted to the couch, where Secret Cat sat propped against the cushions, her plush gray fur catching the dim light. I reached for her without thinking, wrapping my arms around her soft body and squeezing tight. The familiar comfort was bittersweet. Normally, Dwight would’ve been here by now, teasing me about cuddling a stuffed animal instead of him. His low chuckle would rumble in my ear, and everything would feel okay again.
Not tonight.
I sank onto the couch and tucked my knees to my chest, hugging Secret Cat closer. “It’s just us, buddy,” I murmured, pressing my cheek against his fabric fur. It felt silly—childish—but the weight in my chest eased a little. Just a little.
I grabbed my coloring book from the coffee table, flipping it open to a blank unicorn page. The black-and-white lines swirled cheerfully across the paper, begging for color. I picked up a crayon and poised it over the page, ready to start filling it in. Pink for the mane? Or maybe blue?
But the crayon hovered, unmoving. My hand shook, and the colors blurred together in my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture it finished. Couldn’t picture anything besides the emptiness swallowing the house whole.
"Forget it," I muttered, slamming the book shut. The sound echoed too loudly in the stillness. I tossed the crayon onto the table and buried my face in Secret Cat’s fur, breathing him in like he could somehow anchor me.
Little space felt out of reach, like I was trying to grasp smoke. I bit my lip hard enough to sting, willing myself not to cry. Crying wouldn’t fix anything.
The lamp beside me cast long shadows across the room, stretching toward the corners where darkness pooled. I stayed curled up, staring at those shadows and wishing the silence would break.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the cushion beside me. My heart nearly shot out of my chest. I snatched it up, thumb fumbling as I swiped the screen.
"Unknown Caller."
"Dammit," I hissed, slamming the phone back down. The sound made Secret Cat twitch where she was curled against my leg. My pulse pounded in my ears, louder than the silence swallowing the house whole.
I stared at the blank text thread with Dwight’s name at the top. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking, but I forced myself to type: " I love you. I’m here. Please don’t shut me out. "
I hesitated, thumb hovering above “Send.” What if he thought I was being too clingy? Too needy? But what else could I say? Every word felt like a risk, like I might push him further away if I wasn’t careful.
"Just send it," I muttered under my breath. My thumb pressed down before I could second-guess. The message flew out into the void, leaving only the mocking emptiness of no response. No dots. No reply.
I tossed the phone onto the coffee table and buried my face in my hands. My skin felt hot, prickly, like I was crawling out of it. The weight pressing on my chest was unbearable, and for the first time all day, I let a single tear slip free. Just one. Any more than that would make it real.
The couch creaked as I slumped sideways, curling back into my corner. Secret Cat shifted to accommodate me, his little body warm against my side. I closed my eyes, willing sleep to come, knowing it wouldn’t.
And then—just as my mind started to drift—the front door lock rattled.
I jolted upright. My heart shot into my throat, choking me. Fear flared first, sharp and cold. Then hope surged right after, hotter than anything.
"Marie, calm down," I whispered to myself, clutching the edge of the couch. But I couldn’t calm down. Not when the door creaked open, and there he was.
Dwight.
"Jesus," I choked out, stumbling to my feet. "Dwight!"
He stepped inside, shoulders sagging, his frame filling the doorway like he belonged there. His dark hair was mussed like he’d been dragging his hands through it, and the faint silver at his temples caught the dim light. His green eyes found me, tired but steady, and the sight of him knocked the air clean out of my lungs.
"Hey, baby," he said, voice rough and low. That was all I needed.
I launched myself at him, arms wrapping tight around his neck. He caught me easily, pulling me flush against him. His grip was fierce, desperate, like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. His face buried into my hair, and I felt his breath catch, shaky and uneven.
"God, I missed you," I whispered, my own voice breaking. “I thought you were never coming back!”
“And miss our daily check-in? I didn’t want to get a spanking, baby girl.”
I laughed. It was the best feeling in the world.
“I think I should spank you anyway, Daddy.”
"I probably deserve it.” He grinned, “Marie," he said, my name thick on his tongue. "Everything’s gonna be okay. I swear."
"How?" I pulled back just enough to look at him, tears spilling freely now. "How can it—"
"Marcus had a friend. A lawyer," he interrupted, his hands sliding down to hold my waist, grounding us both. "I’ve been spending the last few days going over the contract with a fine tooth comb. And we found something. Turns out—legally—all I gotta do is one show. So I’m gonna do it.”
“You are?”
“Mmhmm. But I’m gonna do it acoustic. Right here, in the bakery."
I blinked at him, trying to process. "Wait, what?"
"The guys in the band, I spoke to them all individually after our meeting. They’re sick of the manager’s shit too. They want this done as much as I do. We’re doing it here, Marie. In Small Falls. No lawsuit, no tour. Just one show."
Relief hit me hard and fast, making my knees weak. I clung to him tighter, burying my face in his chest as a sob broke loose. He cupped the back of my head, his hand warm and steady, and murmured, "I’m home, baby. I’m not leaving again."
"Promise me," I said, my voice muffled against his shirt.
"Promise." His lips brushed the top of my head, his touch soft even as his arms stayed firm around me.
For the first time in days, the suffocating weight in my chest lifted. Dwight was here. And somehow, we were going to make it through this together.