Chapter 34
chapter thirty four
the worlds smallest man
“Ithink the most shocking part of that story was that Marcus has never seen The Hunger Games before.”
I laughed so hard that I nearly stumbled backward into the stack of cold coffee cups.
It was nice laughing again. I could do it without feeling guilty that I should be getting over what happened.
But part of getting over things was getting on with normal life, and my life before everything was full of laughter.
So I laughed, loud enough that I’m sure the entirety of Flo’s heard. But I didn’t care.
“It’s mad, right? Who in our generation didn’t watch them as they were coming out?”
Rory snorted, tapping out the old coffee grounds as her espresso poured.
“Maybe that’s because your ancient boyfriend isn’t from our generation.”
I rolled my eyes, wiping down the counters. “Okay, one: he’s twenty-seven, calm down. And two, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“After what you've just told me he’s as good as!” She beamed. “Wild sex aside, you’ve been by his side since we came back from London.”
There was no point trying to hide the blush that had invaded my cheeks. “Because that’s the arrangement. To be by my side.”
“Yeah, and which of you hated that arrangement a few months ago?” She poured her coffee over her iced milk, no doubt swimming in vanilla syrup.
I shrugged as nonchalantly as I could because I knew she was right. “Things change. I no longer despise his company. Just like how you love Finn now. And how Goldie doesn’t think Tristan’s an arsehole.” I turned to her. “People change.”
Perching on the counter, she took a sip of her coffee, her eyes narrowed on me. “Alright then, if things have changed, can I tell you how into this I am?”
I rolled my eyes even though I was too. “No, seriously, I’m so happy for you. Just the way he looks at you is enough to know that he's borderline in love with you.”
If nothing had happened between me and Marcus over the past few months, other than scowling contests, then I would have told her she was crazy. But knowing what I did, knowing what I saw, and felt and heard him confess back in London… I simply couldn’t.
I blinked to find Rory’s eyes on me. “You aren’t going to say I’m wrong?”
My cheeks heated instantly. “No… because… ugh, I don’t know. I think he… maybe, might?”
Her reaction was everything. It was the reaction kids have when they walk into the living room on Christmas morning. She placed her coffee down and bounded over to me, her hands on my shoulders, shaking me like a ragdoll. “Really?”
I scrunched up my face. “I just get this feeling, you know? Like, I can feel him watching me when I’m talking, and not just like he’s listening—it’s more like… like I’m the only thing he wants to listen to. Like he could listen to me for hours.”
Her eyes were globes. “And please tell me you feel the same.”
I didn’t need to tell her; my face said it for me.
Rory squealed loud enough to draw stares, but I couldn’t have cared less. In fact, with the way I was feeling, I would have stood on the counters and declared to all twenty people in here that I liked someone, and they potentially liked me back.
But I loved my job. More than my other one anyway.
Which reminded me.
When Rory let me go, our conversation fading back and forth as we served, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, remembering the emails I hadn’t replied to from Louellen.
She must have known I was avoiding her, seeing as though I’d bailed on all the events she had me scheduled to attend since coming back from London.
Something had changed since then. What that was, I hadn’t quite pinned down.
But I just couldn’t work myself up to go to any more.
It was the same with my socials. Ever since going back to classes, and finding my feet with my art, it had been made abundantly clear that I hated anything and everything to do with that life.
I wanted quiet happiness, not the kind that people made up and declared on social media for the world to compare themselves to. I didn’t want to show it off to anyone who wasn’t a part of it.
And as for paying for Mum’s care? Well, I knew it was cocky of me, but if I threw myself into my art, truly dedicated my time to it, I could sell it. Or try to. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
For now, the bottom line was that I didn’t want to be the internet’s IT girl. I just wanted to be regular, normal, unapologetic Cora Holland.
Knowing this wasn’t new, but the idea of accepting it was, and that was all I’d ever wanted.
The rest of the closing shift went as smoothly as it could go.
The rain that was forecast hit around seven, meaning people took shelter whilst it died down, and with that we managed to sell the last of the day’s bakes.
That sweet English man who’d come in a few months back, Arthur, came back in and chatted for a while too.
Now we were waiting for the last few tables to finish so we could close down for the night. The café had that hushed, restless feel it always did before closing—chairs scraping, cups clinking, conversations dwindling. But it was so real and grounding that I'd grown to love it.
I crouched beneath the counter, counting the last of the pastry boxes, the cardboard edges dry beneath my fingertips. Something in my gut shifted—like a string being pulled taut for no reason at all. I told myself it was nothing, just end-of-shift fatigue.
With Rory in the back, sorting the floats, I murmured the number under my breath and rose from my knees.
The bell above the door chimed.
My head snapped up. The sound was ordinary, but it landed like a warning.
“Hey guys, we’re closing soon so it’s slim pickings on the bakes, but I’m sure—”
“Hi, Cora.”
That voice hadn’t changed. Not one bit. And I didn’t know why that was what I was focusing on and not the fact he was standing there, but I was. He looked the same too. A little more rugged than when I saw him outside his address a few months back, but it was still him.
Jamie.
Although beside him was Sofia, his wife. I’d only met her once or twice, but her eyes were this gorgeous golden-green fusion that was hard to forget. Even harder with the way she was looking at me like a bird with a broken wing.
In the moments where I was trying to work out if I was hallucinating, I think I forgot to breathe. My heart slowed, as did time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I froze. My heels dug into the tiles, chest burning with something I could only describe as the worst fear I’d felt in my life.
Sofia shuffled beside her husband, her arm linked with his. “We’re sorry for dropping by like this.” Her eyes lifted to Jamie, then fell back to me. “We were hoping to talk.”
Before I could let the words settle in my head, Jamie spoke.
“Is now a good time?”
I looked around, my breath catching, suddenly feeling dizzy, like the world had stopped turning and decided to spin in reverse.
And as I realised that this was real, that I hadn’t fallen asleep doing stock take, my mind cleared—clearing enough that I realised what had overcome me wasn’t fear, but anger.
My brows tugged together as I balled my fists. “Is now a good time? Is that a joke?”
“Cora.” He sighed.
“No, seriously. Am I being set up right now?” I shook my head, eyeing both of them. “Is this real?”
Both of their heads sank, but it was Sofia who spoke this time. “I know, honey. I know you’re angry. And we just wanted to talk. About what happened.”
I blew a humourless laugh out of my nose, pretending like my hands weren’t trembling.
“Oh, you just wanted to talk about what happened? Oh, sure!” My smile was laced with sarcasm, but it was my voice that betrayed me.
“Let’s just have one nice, lengthy discussion about your husband assaulting me…
What is it?” I counted with my fingers. “Ten months after it happened.”
My hands flailed before me, my mind reeling. "Oh, and let's just conveniently forget the restraining order too hey? Because you want to talk now."
Like a tsunami wave that hit without the warning alarms, everything I’d held back, everything I’d suppressed and ignored was drowning me, choking me. And the only way I was going to save myself, breathe again, was letting it out.
“Are you both that stupid that you thought you could come in here and pretend like nothing has changed. Like this was all some big mistake? A fucking misunderstanding?”
Jamie shuffled, eyes looking everywhere but at me.
I couldn't keep my mouth shut. "But if you want to talk, let's talk.
" My throat burned as my stare chained itself to him. "Let's talk about how it took me four months to not cry like a baby every time I heard your name? Huh? Did you know that?” He didn’t move. But my mouth wouldn’t stop, even though it hurt to breathe.
“Let's talk about how I was wailing every time I thought about you. How I stayed home, for months, not talking to my friends, not doing the one thing that made me feel normal, all because of you!”
I was practically screaming at him, but that was the least he was due. This man deserved prison, but judging by the beautiful woman at his side and the rings still on both of their fingers, he was never going to serve his time.
My hands flailed by my side, head shaking as I looked deep into his eyes, letting him watch the tears start to fall from mine. “Why did you do it?” I pulled my hands to my chest. “Why me?”
Jamie blinked, but he still wouldn't look at me.
I shook my head, teeth gritted. “You can’t even say it, can you?”
I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know, but just watching him avoid that question like he’d be slaughtered if he answered made my chest sink.
Even now, he was slipping through the bars he should have been jailed behind.
I couldn’t tell whether it was shame or ignorance driving him, or perhaps both.
Anything to avoid the truth, I supposed.