19. Beth
Chapter 19
Beth
T he café hummed with warmth and laughter as the holiday decorations twinkled around the room. I looked over the bustling scene, proud of how the place had come together. Strings of lights, pine garlands, and the scent of spiced cider filled the air. Ellie had outdone herself with the playlist, a perfect mix of classic carols and upbeat tunes that kept everyone’s spirits high.
"Beth, you’ve outdone yourself," Ellie said, balancing a tray of gingerbread cookies. "Everyone’s having a blast."
I smiled, trying to ignore the empty seat near the corner window where Daryl was supposed to sit. "Thanks, Ellie. You really nailed the music tonight."
The place was packed. Friends and families gathered around tables, sharing stories and laughter. The holiday drinks were a hit; peppermint mochas and eggnog lattes flew from the counter as fast as we could make them. I circulated through the crowd, chatting with friends.
"These cookies are amazing!" someone exclaimed as they took a bite.
I laughed. "Glad you like them! Just a little something special for tonight."
Every so often, my gaze drifted to that empty seat by the window. I’d hoped Daryl would show up, even though he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in Christmas festivities. I’d seen a flicker of something when he heard me sing—curiosity maybe—but apparently not enough to lure him out tonight.
"Beth!" Mrs. Haversham waved me over to her table, where her grandkids were eagerly devouring their holiday treats.
I joined them with a grin. "How are you all enjoying everything?"
"Oh, it’s wonderful! We look forward to this every year," she said, her eyes twinkling as much as the lights.
"I’m so glad you’re here," I said genuinely.
The evening continued beautifully despite that empty chair nagging at my heart. I laughed with old friends and made new ones, shared stories about past Christmases, and even led an impromptu sing-along when Jingle Bells came on.
But each time someone entered through that door, my heart did a little leap—and fell just as quickly when it wasn’t Daryl.
"Beth," Ellie caught my arm during a lull. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said quickly. "Just busy."
She gave me a knowing look but didn’t push it. "Well, just let me know if you want me to kick his ass. I don't mind forgoing the nice list."
I chuckled, but my heart wasn't in it.
As the night wound down and guests began to trickle out into the cold winter night, I took one last look at that empty seat. Daryl hadn’t shown up.
With a deep breath, I turned back to help clean up. It had been a wonderful evening filled with joy and community spirit—everything I loved about Christmas—but there was no denying it stung just a little that he hadn’t been part of it.
As the last guests left the café, I felt a tug of disappointment. Daryl hadn’t come. Despite everything, I still wanted to reach out to him. Maybe tonight wasn’t his scene, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t share a bit of it with him.
I packed some leftover cookies, a slice of pie, and a cup of hot cocoa into a styrofoam container. Ellie watched me with raised eyebrows but didn’t comment. She knew me well enough to understand when my mind was set on something.
“Need help cleaning up?” she asked, already wiping down the counter.
“I’ve got it,” I said, smiling gratefully. “You’ve done enough tonight. Thanks for everything.”
After Ellie left, I finished tidying up, locked the doors, and headed to my car. The night air was crisp and cold, making my breath fog in front of me. I climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine sputtered but didn’t start.
“Come on,” I muttered under my breath.
I tried again, pumping the gas pedal a few times until finally, the car roared to life. It seemed like even my old clunker was reluctant tonight.
The drive to Daryl’s place was quiet, snow crunching under the tires as I navigated through town. When I pulled up to his house, my heart sank a bit at the sight of his door—no wreath hung there like on everyone else's doors in town. But I pushed aside any assumptions; maybe he just wasn’t into decorations.
I got out of the car, grabbing the food container from the passenger seat. The cold bit at my fingers as I walked up his driveway and stood at his door. For a moment, I hesitated. What if he slammed the door in my face? What if he wasn’t home?
But then I remembered his quiet demeanor in the garage and that fleeting look of curiosity when he heard me sing. Taking a deep breath, I knocked on his door.
I waited in silence, listening for any sign of movement inside.
I waited in silence, the cold air biting at my fingers. Just when I thought he might not answer, I heard movement inside. Footsteps approached the door, heavy and hesitant. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open.
Daryl stood there, his usually composed face marred with exhaustion and anger. He wore nice clothes—clearly, he’d tried to clean up—but they were torn. Blood smeared across a couple of cuts on his face and knuckles.
"Daryl, what?—"
"What do you want?" His voice came out gruff, harsher than I’d ever heard it.
I snapped my gaze to him, taken aback by the hostility. He'd never snapped at me before. Clearly, something had happened.
"I wanted to bring you some food," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "You never came to the party, and?—"
"I don't want your shit," he interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. "I don’t need any of it. Not the cookies or the wreath or the breakfast. Not your goddamn party or fucking open mic night or baking competitions. Fuck!"
"You weren’t complaining when your tongue was down my throat," I snapped back before I could stop myself.
He glared at me, eyes cold as ice. "That was a mistake," he spat out. "A moment of weakness with some desperate café owner who can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business."
I froze. His words cut deep, each one like a dagger twisting in my chest. But I refused to break down in front of him. I wouldn’t cry.
“Fine,” I said quietly, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “I’ll leave you alone then.”
"Good," he growled. "I never asked for your goddamn attention. Or your fucking pity."
"Pity?" I echoed, my voice trembling slightly.
"You think I'm some kind of stupid, Morrison?" His southern drawl thickened, the anger palpable. "You look in the mirror? You're… fuck, and I'm… What the hell you thinking of, being with me? You fucking blind?"
I looked him square in the eyes, not backing down. "I think you're beautiful, Daryl Walker."
He jerked back like I'd slapped him. His face twisted in confusion and pain.
"I don't know what happened or what your problem is," I continued, placing the food next to the doorway. "But I know I like you." I chuckled softly, a bitter sound in the cold night air. "In fact, I actually could have… You know, it doesn't matter."
"Why?" he demanded, his voice a mix of desperation and frustration.
"Because you're a good man, Daryl," I said firmly. "And I don't know why you can't see it, but I do. And you… you deserve everything good life has to offer."
He sucked in a breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. It was like he wanted to believe me but couldn't bring himself to hope.
The silence between us stretched out, heavy and thick. The cold bit at my skin, but I stood my ground. For a moment, just a brief flicker of time, something softened in his eyes.
But then it was gone.
"You don't know a damn thing about me," he snapped, eyes narrowing. "You think bringing me cookies and inviting me to your little Christmas party is gonna fix anything? You think you can just waltz into my life and make everything better?"
"That's not what I'm trying to do," I protested, my voice steady despite the storm brewing in his eyes. "I just wanted to share some joy with you."
"Joy?" He let out a bitter laugh. "You think I need joy? What I need is for people to stop sticking their noses where they don't belong. I don’t need your goddamn sympathy."
"It's not sympathy," I argued, frustration bubbling up inside me. "It's just kindness, Daryl."
"I don’t want your kindness!" His voice rose, echoing in the cold night air. "I don’t need anyone’s help or pity or whatever the hell it is you're offering."
"Why are you so afraid of letting someone care about you?" I shot back, my own temper flaring now. "What’s so wrong with accepting that maybe someone wants to be there for you?"
"Because people like you always leave!" he shouted, fists clenched at his sides. "They leave or they die or they betray you! Fuck, I'd rather be alone then deal with all of that."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. "Not everyone leaves, Daryl," I said softly, my voice trembling slightly.
He shook his head, eyes full of anger and pain. "You don't know what you're talking about. You have no idea what it's like to lose everything and everyone that matters."
"I've had my own losses," I said quietly. "Maybe not the same as yours, but that doesn't mean I don’t understand pain."
"Just go home, Beth," he said wearily, his anger seeming to drain away suddenly. He looked tired—bone-tired—and it tugged at something deep inside me. "Stay away from me."
"I’m not leaving until you understand that you’re worth caring about," I insisted.
"Why can’t you just listen?" His voice cracked slightly as he glared at me.
“Because someone needs to show you that you're wrong,” I said softly.
For a moment, we stood there in silence, the weight of our words hanging between us.
"You're delusional, Beth," Daryl spat, his voice sharp and cutting. "You think you can fix everything with your goddamn cookies and smiles? You’re just a naive girl who can’t see the real world for what it is."
His words cut through me like a knife. I felt the sting of tears misting my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I sucked in a breath, trying to steady myself.
"Get outta here," he growled, his eyes cold and unforgiving. "I don't want you here or your stupid Christmas decorations or any of it. And don't fucking come back."
The finality in his voice hit me like a sledgehammer. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak.
"Don't worry," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."
I turned on my heel and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.
He stepped back into the house without another word and shut the door.
I stood there for a moment, the cold night air biting at my skin, feeling utterly defeated. I knew I needed to show Daryl that I wouldn't run easily, that I wasn't like everyone else who had left him.
But I couldn't force him to accept me, not anymore. Part of this was on him.
My heart ached with the realization that I had no idea what to do next. A single tear slid down my cheek, warm against the chill.
Without another word, I turned and walked back to my car, leaving the container of food by his door as a silent offering.
As something.
I ignored the heaviness in my chest. I ignored the ache in my heart or the quiver of my jaw.
I slid into my car, turned the keys… only to find that the car wouldn't start.