12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Ryan
T he late afternoon sunlight streams in through the wide windows of Bella’s café, casting a warm golden hue over the tables and chairs. The scent of freshly baked muffins and coffee lingers in the air, creating a soothing, pleasant aroma. It’s peaceful here, a world far removed from the chaos of corporate boardrooms and high-stakes deals. I find myself craving this place and the calm it gives me more and more.
Bella stands behind the counter, a faint smear of flour on her cheek as she boxes up an order for a customer. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she has that determined look—the one that tells me she can handle anything life throws at her. I can’t help but crack a smile. She’s come such a long way from the woman who used to look frazzled every time I walked into her café.
“Stop staring,” Bella says without looking up, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “I can’t help it. It’s not my fault. You’re mesmerizing when you’re in your element.”
She rolls her eyes, but the faint blush creeping up her neck doesn’t escape my notice. “You’ve certainly got a way with words, Mr. Blackwood. But if you’re trying to charm your way into a free coffee, it’s not going to work.”
I smirk. “Who said I needed free coffee? I’d gladly pay for the privilege of being here.”
Bella shakes her head, but there’s a softness in her expression now that wasn’t there before. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re one stubborn woman,” I shoot back, standing to approach the counter. “But that’s what makes you…you.”
She glances up, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the world outside fades away. I feel it then—that magnetic pull, the one I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. It’s dangerous, intoxicating, enthralling…and it’s getting harder to resist.
“So,” I say, breaking the moment before it turns into something I’m not ready for, “what’s on the menu today? Anything you recommend?”
Bella tilts her head, pretending to think. “Well, I just baked a fresh batch of cranberry-orange scones. You should try them. They’re pretty good.”
“Pretty good?” I raise an eyebrow. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.”
She laughs gently, and the sound warms something deep inside me. “They’re amazing, actually. So, will you try them out?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I reply, pulling out my wallet. “I’ll take two, please.”
Bella starts boxing up the scones, and I watch her, my mind drifting back to everything she’s shared about her life. She carries so many burdens and disappointments, and yet she faces each day with strength and grace. It’s inspiring, and it stirs something in me—a longing to open up in a way I haven’t done in years.
Clearing my throat, I hesitate before speaking. “You know, I envy you sometimes.”
Bella looks up, surprised. “Envy me? For what?”
“For this.” I gesture around the café. “For the life you’ve built here. It’s…real. Honest. And I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”
Her brow furrows as she sets the box of scones on the counter. “What do you mean?”
I hesitate, but the look in her eyes encourages me to continue. “Growing up, everything in my family was about keeping up appearances: success, power, wealth. My father drilled it into us from the moment we could walk. There wasn’t room for…for anything else. Not love, and certainly not vulnerability.”
Bella leans against the counter, her brow furrowed with concern. She doesn’t say anything, but the way she tilts her head and keeps her eyes locked on mine encourages me to keep going.
“I remember once,” I begin, my voice tinged with a bitter laugh, “I came home from school with a ninety-eight percent on a math test. I don’t know—I must’ve been ten or eleven. I was proud of it—proud enough to show it off the second my dad walked through the door. Do you know what he said to me?”
Bella slowly shakes her head, her lips parting as if she already dreads the answer.
“‘Where’s the other two percent?’” I say, my jaw tightening at the memory. “That’s all he cared about. Not the effort, not the fact that I outscored everyone in the class—just the two points I missed.”
Bella’s expression darkens, her hands pausing in their movement across the counter. “That’s…awful, Ryan. That’s just so unfair.”
“Fairness isn’t part of the equation,” I say with a shrug. “It was never about being a kid or enjoying life. It was about being the best, always striving for perfection. And if I wasn’t perfect, I was a disappointment. Plain and simple.”
Bella’s gaze softens, her voice gentle. “That’s a lot of pressure for a child.”
“It isn’t just me,” I add, leaning against the counter as if the weight of the conversation is something I need support to carry. “It’s Caleb, too. He bears the brunt of that pressure, being the oldest. Dad expected him to lead by example and pave the way for me. And when Caleb…fell short, it was like the entire family fell apart.”
She tilts her head slightly, her curiosity evident. “Fell short, how?”
I hesitate, not wanting to expose too much of my brother’s mistakes, but knowing it’s an integral part of the story. “He didn’t want to follow the path Dad laid out for him. Caleb wants to be…free, I guess. To live life on his terms. And when he rebelled, Dad wrote him off entirely. He became the black sheep of the family, the cautionary tale. It’s brutal.”
Bella’s fingers trace the edge of the counter, her voice soft but steady. “And did you ever rebel?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I did the opposite. I worked harder. Studied more. I became the perfect son—everything Caleb isn’t. But it came at a cost.”
“What cost?” she asks gently, her eyes searching mine.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “I lost myself, Bella. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being Ryan and became this version of myself that my father would approve of: the successful businessman, the hard-nosed negotiator, the guy who always has it together. But it’s all surface-level. Underneath, I—” I pause, the words catching in my throat. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I’m just a lost soul.”
Bella reaches across the counter, her hand brushing mine. The touch is light and tentative, but it steadies me in a way I can’t explain. “You’re more than that, Ryan,” she says firmly. “I’ve seen it myself in the way you are with Alice and how you’re stepping up for Luke. That’s not someone who’s lost. That’s someone who cares deeply.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I find myself looking down at our hands, at the connection that feels as natural as breathing. “It’s so easy to care about them,” I admit. “They’re kids. They’re innocent. They deserve better than what I had.”
“And what about you?” Bella asks, her voice softer now. “Don’t you deserve better, too?”
The question lingers in the air, heavy and unanswerable. I don’t know how to respond, so I lean into the honesty that’s carried me this far. “I’m trying to figure that out. But it’s hard to let go of the past when it’s all I’ve ever known.”
Bella nods, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve carried so much for so long, Ryan. Maybe it’s time to set some of it aside.”
I look at her then—really look at her. She isn’t just offering advice; she’s offering understanding and compassion—things I haven’t allowed myself to accept in years. “You make it sound so simple,” I say with a small, humorless laugh.
“It’s not simple,” she admits. “It’s terrifying. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
Her words hang between us, and I feel something shift. It isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about her, too. About the way she’s quietly supported me without judgment, about the strength she’s shown through her own life. Bella is more than a confidante; she’s someone who makes me want to be better.
“You know,” I say after a moment, my voice lighter now, “I didn’t expect this when I came back to Cedar Ridge.”
“What? A chance to unload your emotional baggage onto an unsuspecting café owner?” she teases, a small smile breaking through her seriousness.
I chuckle, grateful for the reprieve. “Something like that. But seriously, Bella, thank you. For listening.”
Her cheeks flush slightly and she looks down, embarrassed. “You don’t have to thank me, Ryan. That’s what friends do.”
Friends . The word feels strange, maybe even inappropriate for what’s building between us. But I don’t push it. Not yet. Instead, I give her hand a gentle squeeze and let myself appreciate the moment—something I haven’t done in far too long.
“My past is heavy,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “And it shaped me in ways I didn’t even realize until much later in life. I built walls to keep people at a distance…just like you have. So I understand that it feels easier that way…safer.”
She nods, her eyes never leaving mine. “But it doesn’t have to be that way forever.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You sound like my therapist.”
“Maybe I missed my calling,” she teases, though her smile fades quickly. “Seriously, Ryan. You’ve been through a lot, but that doesn’t mean you’re stuck. You’re allowed to let people in.”
“I’m trying,” I say, and I mean it. “But it’s not easy.”
“I know,” she says softly. “But you’re not alone anymore.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I find myself leaning closer, drawn to the warmth and understanding in her eyes. For a brief moment, it feels like everything else fades away—the café, the world outside, the weight of my past. It’s just me and Bella, and the space between us feels impossibly small.
I reach out, my hand brushing hers on the counter. “Bella, I—”
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the moment, and I curse under my breath as I pull it out of my pocket. The screen flashes with a familiar number, and I sigh. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
Bella steps back, giving me space. “Go ahead.”
When I get back after the call, I can’t help but notice that she’s back to her usual cagey self. I try my best to explain the moment we had before the call came in.
“It’s okay,” she interrupts, glancing up. “You don’t have to explain.”
“But I want to,” I say firmly. “That moment—it wasn’t nothing. At least, not for me.”
She freezes, her eyes searching mine. “Ryan, we agreed this was fake. Just a business arrangement.”
“I know what we said,” I reply, stepping closer. “But things have changed…haven’t they?”
Her silence speaks volumes, and I feel a flicker of hope. “Bella, I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not with you.”
She lets out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the rag she’s holding. “This is dangerous, Ryan. If we let our hearts get involved, there’s no going back.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” I say quietly.
She looks at me, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and longing. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” I say, gently taking her hand. “Just…think about it. About us.”