Chapter Twenty-One #2
Dax reaches out, stroking her cheek playfully. She licks her lips seductively. Fuck, that man knows what he’s doing. “No, babe, we just need you to give her a little note and not tell her we’re here. Can you do that for us, Carlee?”
She’s completely swept up in Dax’s bullshit wake.
I hand over the note, plus a twenty-dollar bill.
Carlee’s eyes narrow on me. “Her name is Lyric. She comes in most mornings for coffee. Let her have whatever she wants? On me. Then give her the note, but only when she’s about to leave.”
Carlee places her hand over her buxom chest. “This is so romantic,” she gushes.
“Isn’t it, though?” Dax chimes back in the same tone.
He’s such a fucker.
But the asshole gets the job done, so I have to give him credit for that.
“Thank you, Carlee,” I tell her.
Dax winks at her as we turn and walk to the back corner of the store. “That was way easier than I thought it would be.”
I exhale. “You know, one day, Dax… one day, you’re going to find a girl you actually like, and she’ll see you for the master manipulator you are.”
“Well, that’s a shitty thing to say.”
I roll my shoulders. “You have the outer shell of a god, but simply asking could get you the same results.”
His eyes narrow like he’s pondering that thought. “You don’t use your looks to get what you want?”
I shrug. “I’m cocky sometimes, sure, but not to that extent. Being with Lyri showed me what life with one woman is like, and I want that for you, Dax. I want you to settle down and be happy like I was. I want you to fight for one woman like I’m fighting for Lyri now.”
He leans against the wall, completely silent.
Well, this shit suddenly got serious.
The bell on the door dings, and I turn to see Lyric walk in. She’s oblivious to us being here as she strides up to the counter to order her morning coffee.
I can’t hear what she’s saying to Carlee, but I don’t need to. I can read it all in the tension threading through her shoulders, in the way she keeps glancing toward the door like she wants to be anywhere but here. Carlee gives her a small nod and walks off toward the espresso machine.
Dax nudges me as if this is some damn sitcom and we’re about to watch the grand gesture pay off. But my stomach’s twisting into tight knots and my hands are damp with sweat as I exhale, trying to get a grip on myself and the situation.
She trashed the last note without even blinking.
What if she does the same with this one?
What if every move I make just pushes her further away?
Carlee returns with Lyric’s coffee and a muffin. I lean forward, every muscle in my body tensing like I’m about to jump into a fight. Lyric reaches for her purse, but Carlee waves her off with a shake of her head, and then she pulls out the note.
My note.
I stop breathing.
My heart pounds against my ribs like it’s trying to punch its way out. Everything else fades, people, sounds, movement, it all gets swallowed by the static in my head and the sight of Lyric’s hand taking that folded square of paper.
Her face falls. Not dramatically, just enough to look like something inside her has cracked. She glances around the café.
Dax and I both drop low behind our menus like two idiots hiding in plain sight. I catch a glimpse of her eyes scanning the room. She doesn’t spot us, but I swear I feel the moment her chest rises with a sharp inhale, she doesn’t release.
She’s affected. That much is clear.
But is it pain? Anger? Something else?
She nods once to Carlee, almost like a thank you, then takes her order and walks off to the side. I track every movement, how her fingers tremble just slightly, how the crease between her brows deepens as she stares at the note like it’s a ticking bomb.
She opens it, and I unravel. Watching her read it is like holding my breath underwater. Her eyes mist, lips trembling into a straight, hard line like she’s forcing the emotion down. My body tenses all over, jaw locked so tight it aches.
Then she does it a-fucking-gain, crushes the note in her fist like it personally betrayed her, and hurls it into the trash with more strength than I expected. She turns, strides straight out the door, and vanishes into the parking lot without looking back.
The burn in my chest isn’t just disappointment, it’s gut-wrenching devastation. It’s the kind of hollow that settles in deep and doesn’t go away easy. I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched, and worse, I let myself hope this time would be different.
Dax mutters something beside me, but I can’t make out a word. All I can think about is the look on her face, and the weight of everything I still haven’t managed to say.
I failed.
Again.
I clench my jaw, turning to Dax in a semi-panic. “This isn’t working!”
He yanks me out of the booth, making us stand up straight. “Patience, young Padawan. It’s only note two. But c’mon, we gotta keep moving.”
I groan. Now he’s quoting Star Wars as he drags me toward the door.
“Can I get your number?” Carlee calls out.
Dax shrugs. “Duty calls, gorgeous. Another time,” he replies while yanking me out of the store and back to his car. We jump in, in a hurry. Lyric has already left, so she’s ahead of us. We need to hightail it because we have to arrive at our next destination before her.
Dax starts the engine before I even buckle my belt, and I’m thrown back into my seat as he takes off. How we haven’t been pulled over for speeding or dangerous driving is beyond me. But just like Dax always says, he could probably talk his way out of it, even if it was a male cop.
Yeah, he’s full of shit!
Within a couple of minutes, Dax slams on the brakes at Love and Lavender.
We park the car out of sight before we make our way to the front of the store.
I pull out note number three, the weight of it is heavier than the others.
The first two? They were soft touches, testing the waters, seeing if she’d let me close.
But this one, this one’s straight from the heart.
No more circling the truth. I’m done pretending I can play this safe.
As we pull up, I scan the street out of habit, eyes flicking toward her store like it’s sacred ground. I glance around to make sure Rory’s not inside, or Lyric’s not approaching, but the coast is clear.
My fingers hover at the edge of the note. I know what’s written, but I still need to see it again, like maybe it will hit differently when I read it now, knowing everything I’ve already screwed up.
I miss you.
I miss our Netflix nights curled up on the sofa.
I miss Polly trying to steal my popcorn.
Hell, I even miss him cussing me out the second I walk through the door.
I miss you both so much it hurts, Lyri.
But more than that, I love you. xo
My throat tightens as I read it.
This isn’t just a note. It’s a confession.
A last shot at something I should never have taken for granted.
I fold it, my thumb pressing over the crease like it might somehow soften the blow. Then I slip it into place under the ‘Closed’ sign, step back from the door, and walk away before I change my mind.
I take a deep breath as Dax slaps my back, and we walk to the car to wait. It’s like we are just another car parked on the city street, thoroughly blending in, but we have a clear view of her front door.
My leg bounces up and down in anticipation of her arrival and to see if this note, too, will fall by the wayside.
I don’t know if I can continue to handle these rejections.
This letter means more than the others did.
I put more depth and thought into it. I told her I miss them both.
I hope it triggers something inside of her.
Her car pulls into the lot, and I shift in my seat, instinctively dropping low even though the tint on Dax’s windows should keep us hidden.
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, just tracks her like a sniper on a target.
Cool, confident. Like we didn’t just spend a week working on these notes as if they’re blueprints to a better life.
Me? I’m less sure. My gut’s tight and twisting.
Lyric climbs out of the car, her coffee clutched in one hand, muffin dangling from her teeth like she’s already juggling too much.
She’s casual until she isn’t. Her steps slow when she nears the front door.
No looking around this time. No scanning the parking lot.
Just a straight-line approach like she’s already wound up and ready to detonate.
Fuck.
My pulse hammers against my ribs, each beat louder than the last. I swear Dax can probably hear it thumping through the damn upholstery.
She snatches the note. No hesitation. My breath catches, my lungs halfway through a breath, they never finish.
Her shoulders drop, her eyes scan the page.
And for a second, a goddamn split second, something in her changes.
There’s a flicker across her face, a softness that wasn’t there before, then the wildest thing happens.
She presses the note to her chest, eyes closing like she’s holding onto something she thought she lost.
Like I matter.
And just like that, I feel it.
Hope.
Hot, hard, overwhelming.
It crashes into my bloodstream, pushing out every doubt I had.
My hand clenches against the seat, gripping it for dear fucking life.
My leg bounces restlessly, adrenaline demanding an outlet.
Every part of me wants to bolt from this car and close the distance, pull her into my arms, breathe her in, tell her I’m not going anywhere.
But I don’t move.
Because this moment?
She gave me something with it.
Dax lets out a low whistle. “We have a jackpot!”
She slowly slides the note into her pocket, and I feel relief in every inch of my body.
She pocketed the note.
She didn’t toss it.
Didn’t tear it.
She kept it.
And I swear to God, it takes everything in me not to chase after her like a madman.
I shift in my seat, my jaw tight, my heart louder than reason.
I can’t rush this.
I won’t screw this up again.