Chapter 3
Cavil
The cold bit through my coat as I stood outside The Book Nook, breath fogging in the sharp air. I hadn’t been inside since it changed hands, but the bell above the door still jingled the same—bright, familiar. Almost like it remembered me.
I stepped in, envelope in hand, ready to introduce myself to the new owner. Secure the group a place to land. I figured it’d be simple. Straightforward.
It wasn’t.
The second I crossed the threshold, I stopped cold.
Callie stood behind the counter. She looked cornered—shoulders stiff, hands braced behind her, like she was anchoring herself to the wood. And Leo… Leo was too close. Arms crossed, jaw locked, the air charged.
Everything in the room pulsed with tension. Unspoken things. Unfinished things. I could feel it before a single word was said.
“Come on, Cal,” Leo muttered, voice tight. “You know I didn’t mean it. I was angry. It just happened.”
My throat clenched. I cleared it deliberately, slicing through the silence like a blade.
Leo spun toward the sound. His posture shifted instantly—arms falling to his sides, mouth twitching into something that looked like a smile but didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well, look who it is,” he said, voice forced light. Performative. I’d seen that act before—hell, I’d taught it to him.
Callie didn’t move. Barely breathed. Her gaze flicked between us, quick and restless, like she was trapped in a storm she didn’t know how to step out of.
I looked at her. Really looked. She had that sharp kind of presence—still and striking all at once. Reminded me of Scandinavian princesses from one of those old paperbacks—tough as iron, but you could tell she’d bled for it. Her eyes—blue and too honest—held something fragile wrapped in steel.
“Didn’t realize this place was open yet,” I said. My voice came out even, but there was weight behind it. I didn’t have to raise it. I never did.
“Just getting started,” she said softly. Still quiet, but this time… rooted. Like she meant it.
I didn’t look at Leo. No need. My focus stayed on Callie—the way her hands stayed tense even after she spoke. The way her jaw clenched like she was trying to swallow something too bitter to name.
“Everything all right here?” I asked, slow and direct.
She glanced at Leo, then back to me. Her shoulders eased—barely noticeable, but I caught it. Like maybe the room had stopped spinning. Like maybe she wasn’t standing alone anymore.
“It’s fine,” she said. Too quick. Too polished. Like she’d rehearsed it in her head five different ways before I walked in.
I didn’t believe it.
But I nodded anyway.
For now.
The way Leo shifted on his feet—shoulders tight, jaw ticking—told me everything I needed to know. We had too much history for me to miss it. He was unraveling. Just like old times.
“Looks anything but fine,” I said lightly, but the edge wasn’t accidental.
Leo scoffed. His irritation flickered behind his eyes like a warning flare. He shifted again, weight bouncing between feet like he couldn’t find solid ground.
“Can we not do this right now?” he snapped, voice sharpening. “I came here to talk.”
“Then talk,” Callie said, her tone cool but frayed around the edges. Like a cable stretched too far.
Leo opened his mouth. Closed it. The silence that followed felt thick—static in the air before a storm. He glanced at me, probably hoping I’d throw him a rope.
I didn’t.
Instead, I walked farther into the shop. Quiet, steady. I set the envelope down on the counter between them—not forceful, just enough to draw a line. A buffer. Maybe even a shield.
“I’m here about reserving space,” I said, voice firm. “For my group.”
It was a lifeline. Not for Leo. For her.
Callie looked at me—really looked. Her gaze flicked to the envelope, then back to my face. I saw it in her eyes: calculation, curiosity, something like relief creeping back in around the corners.
She nodded once, slow. “Of course.”
Her voice had steadied again. Practical. Professional. But I didn’t miss the flicker beneath it—the way she leaned into this shift, needing the structure it gave her.
“What kind of group?” she asked, softer now. Her eyes darted once more toward Leo, whose posture still screamed tension.
“Veterans,” I said simply. “We meet once a week. Some old friends. Thought this might be a good place for it.”
A pause settled. Comfortable this time.
My eyes swept the room—the shelves, the air still scented faintly of pine and dust and something like memory.
I could picture it already: chairs in a circle, coffee on the counter, quiet talk among men who didn’t say much but meant every word.
This place had always held space for that kind of quiet.
And tucked in the background of those memories—Callie. Not always center stage, but always there. Light in the corners. A kid who saw more than she let on.
She nodded again, slower this time. Like she could see it too.
“Oh, right. Mrs. Tilby told me,” she said finally. "I’d love to help however I can."
Her words were threaded with sincerity—warm and certain, even as her eyes flicked once more to Leo. Like she was trying to fit a puzzle piece back into the wrong corner, hoping maybe it had changed shape over time.
We both knew it hadn’t.
But we were here now. Standing on ground neither of us expected to revisit. Still, something in her expression told me maybe… maybe she was ready to claim it for herself this time.
And if I could help with that—even just by holding space—I would.
I felt the shift the second Leo’s eyes darkened.
He stepped forward, jaw tight, movements sharp with that brand of entitlement he’d never bothered to outgrow.
“Dinner tonight, Cal,” he said, voice cutting like he had a right to her time. “We need to talk about this.”
“She’s busy,” I said, voice even. “Our first group meeting’s tonight. She’s walking the space with us. Needs to be there.”
Leo’s scowl deepened. Arms crossed tighter. “Then I’ll come too,” he said, jaw set like it was some kind of test. Like he could muscle through anything he didn’t like.
“Can’t,” I replied. Flat. Firm. “The meetings are for vets. Confidential. You would know if you enlisted, but you chose not to."
Leo bristled. “I went to university,” he snapped, voice rising. “That’s a duty too.”
“It’s not the same,” I said, eyes locked on his. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t give an inch.
Callie stood behind the counter, still and watchful, caught between the two of us like a thread tugged in opposite directions.
Above, a flicker of movement. The cat perched on a high shelf, tail flicking slow, watching us with lazy disdain. Smart enough to stay out of it.
Leo stepped closer, chest squared, like size could win arguments.
“You think you get to decide what merits as duty?” he asked, voice low but charged.
“You've been gone for years, living in some small American town.
When was the last time you went home to see Mum and Dad, hmm? That's what I thought."
“Dad made it very clear what he expected from me," I said. "I'm respecting his wishes."
“Whatever you say to sleep at night, Cav,” he muttered, laugh sharp and humorless. “Mum asks about you even now. Maybe go for her, hmm?"
Callie shifted behind the counter. Uncomfortable. Like she was bracing for impact. Like she’d seen this version of him before.
The animal let out a bored meow from above, tail twitching once, like even he was over the drama.
Same, cat.
Same.
Leo shot Callie one last glance, frustration etched on his face. “This isn’t over,” he said, voice tight as he turned on his heel and walked out, the bell jingling behind him.
I glanced at Callie—she stood behind the counter, shoulders tense, eyes still following Leo’s retreating figure.
The soft strains of Christmas music filled the space, a stark contrast to the tension that had just unfolded. “What a lovely tune for a holiday reunion,” I muttered under my breath.
Callie looked at me then, brows furrowed. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, her tone low but edged with something deeper. “I was handling myself.”
“Sure you were,” I replied, letting a smirk slip onto my face. “He looked like he was about to offer you a complimentary holiday ham or something.”
She shot me a look that could slice through glass.
“I don’t understand you,” she admitted, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You barely said anything to me when I was with your brother, and now that we’re not…
” Her voice trailed off for a moment as she collected her thoughts.
“You make these comments and decisions—why?”
“You don’t need to understand me.” I shrugged casually, though the truth felt heavier than it should’ve. “I’m just here for the space.”
“Right,” she replied, voice clipped as if trying to regain some control in this mess.
“What time shall I tell everyone?” I asked, shifting gears as the silence stretched between us like an elastic band ready to snap.
“Five thirty.” She exhaled slowly, letting her arms drop back to her sides. “I know I told him… But we’re not opening for a week. I have stock coming in, but it should quiet down around then. That way, you can have your privacy.”
“Got it.” I nodded once.
More silence fell between us—thick and uncomfortable as the music played softly in the background. Each note seemed to hang in the air longer than necessary.
Finally, Callie broke first. She shifted slightly on her feet but didn’t meet my gaze directly.
Her expression softened just enough for me to catch glimpses of something vulnerable behind those steady blue eyes.
Her eyes finally flicked to mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.
There was a storm behind her expression—hurt, pride, maybe a little guilt—and I didn’t flinch from it. Just let her look.
“I’m not some damsel in distress, Cavil,” she said, the edge returning to her voice like armor clicking back into place. “I’ve been fine without either of you for a long time.”
“I never said you weren’t.” My voice stayed even. “But sometimes fine still looks like hell.”
That hit her. Not hard—but she blinked like it grazed something real. She turned away, fiddling with a stack of bookmarks near the register, pretending to straighten them. Her silence was louder than any response.
“I didn’t mean to make things harder,” I offered, softer now.
She let out a quiet laugh—dry and brittle. “You didn’t make them harder. They were already hard. You just… showed up in the middle of it.”
Fair enough.
I moved to the front table, hands in my coat pockets, letting my gaze sweep over the tree she’d set up—its lights still blinking steadily, oblivious to the mess in the room. “Nice display,” I said after a beat, trying for something normal.
Her lips twitched. “Thanks. It’s crooked.”
I tilted my head. “A little. But I figure crooked fits the vibe.”
This time, the smile came—small, reluctant, but real. “You always were the worst at compliments.”
“Didn’t realize that’s what that was.”
“You’re not very good at those either.”
Silence settled again, but it was… lighter now. The tension still lived in the corners, like ghosts that didn’t quite want to leave, but at least it wasn’t sitting between us like a wall anymore.
I tapped the envelope I’d set on the counter earlier. “We’ll be here at five thirty. Should be done before seven.”
“Okay.”
I turned to go but hesitated at the door. “You can say no, you know. If it’s too much. The group, I mean.”
She shook her head slowly. “It’s not too much. It’s good, actually. For the town. For you guys.” She looked at me then, something unreadable in her gaze. “I want this place to mean something again.”
I nodded once.
And then I left—because I knew if I stayed a second longer, I might say something I couldn’t take back.