Chapter 10 Axel
Axel
I’m squinting at the spreadsheet on my screen, the quarterly projections for the brewery blending into a gray haze.
My third cup of coffee, now lukewarm, perches forlorn beside the keyboard.
I’ve been camped at this desk since seven, faking focus on margins and forecasts, but everything keeps snapping back to last night.
To Sadie. I can still feel her weight in my arms, the way she fit so small against my chest, like she could slip through my fingers.
Her body had trembled with those raw, guttural sobs, like she’d been holding it together so long it just shattered.
My hands still remember her. I wanted to tuck her under my chin, shield her from everything, but some part of me wanted to sink my hands into her hair and make her forget every single thing but me.
My jaw clenches. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, not after the way she sobbed, but I can’t stop.
My body sure as hell doesn’t care what’s appropriate.
“Hey, Earth to Axel.”
Decker’s leaning in my doorway, arms crossed, half-amused.
I blink and force my shoulders down. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been talking to the wall for like thirty seconds.” He nods at my screen. “Marketing sent the summer IPA label mock-ups. They want your stamp by noon.”
“Right, labels.” I shuffle through vendor contracts until I unearth the designs. “I was just focused on the numbers.”
“Sure you were,” he says, sliding into the chair opposite me. “You’ve stared at that spreadsheet for an hour. Something’s off.”
I tap a pretend study face. “Quarterly projections are riveting.”
He cranes forward. “This about a certain café owner?”
My collar suddenly feels way too tight.
“No idea.”
“Then explain checking your phone seventeen times in the last hour.”
My phone sits screen up, blank. I lift it anyway. “Vendor ping.” I flip through the designs. “I like the blue one.”
“Vendor ping from Pike’s Perk?” Decker raises an eyebrow.
I glare. “Got any actual work? Brew some beer.”
He laughs. “This is better. Spill. What happened last night? You’ve been off since you showed up.”
“Nothing. Open mic, played guitar, people clapped. End of story.”
His teasing grin fades. “Seriously, Ax. You’re weird today.”
I sigh and set the designs aside. “She was upset. I don’t know why. But she looked… scared. Like something really freaked her out.”
“Of what?”
I rub my jaw. “She wouldn’t say. But it wasn’t just sadness, there was fear.”
“And you feel responsible because…?”
“I don’t,” I blurt, then swallow. “I’m just… concerned. As a friend. Or whatever we are.”
Decker studies me. “A friend,” he echoes, unconvinced.
“Yeah, friend,” I insist, turning back to the screen.
He leans back. “So what do you plan to do?”
“Nothing.” I scroll aimlessly. “Not my place.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
I shoot him a look. “This is different.”
“It just is?” he asks. “Come on, man.”
I press my palm to my forehead. “She’s got a kid, a business, complicated. Last thing she needs is me barging in.”
Decker nods slowly. “Wow. You really like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No need.” He stands. “By the way, Pike’s Perk is handling the board meeting catering. You wanted to double-check delivery?”
I seize the lifeline. “Right. I should swing by, make sure everything’s set.”
“Good call.” He smirks and heads out. “Very responsible of you.”
“Shut up,” I mutter after the click of the door.
I stare at my phone again, thumb hovering. She probably needs space, but what if she needs help? What if I’m the only one she’d call?
Before I can overthink it, I grab my keys and slip out the door. “Tell Trent I’m checking on the catering,” I call over Decker’s shoulder. His casual “Uh-huh” trails me down the hall.
Twenty minutes later I'm at Pike's Perk, adrenaline buzzing through my veins as I weave past the last of the morning crowd, laptop warriors and retirees nursing lattes. Sadie’s at the register, head bent over receipts, oblivious to me.
When she finally looks up, there’s that flicker of recognition, her eyes widening for a heartbeat before her professional mask slides back into place. But I see the weariness lurking beneath, like a wound she’s barely patched.
“Morning,” I say, voice light. “Thought I’d swing by to confirm the catering details for next week.”
She nods and reaches under the counter for a folder. Her movements are precise but shaky; I notice the tremor in her hands when she pulls out the order confirmation.
“Everything’s set for Thursday at eight,” she says, sliding the paper toward me. “Just need your signature here.”
I take the pen and let my fingers brush hers. Then, almost imperceptibly, I catch her hand and hold it for a single extra second. Sadie freezes. Her shoulders lock, a tiny tremor running through her fingers.
“Hey,” I whisper so only she can hear, “are you okay?”
Her gaze lifts, startled. She glances around the café, walls tensing back into place. “I’m fine,” she says, voice tight. “Just… tired.”
I keep looking at her, softly, insistently, until she looks back. She swallows, then nods once.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice low, “for last night.”
I release her hand. “Anytime.” I sign the form, aware of how she watches my handwriting, how she shifts closer even as her eyes flick away.
“I should probably have your number,” I say, casual. “In case the order changes… or for the next open mic night.”
She hesitates, guard and longing warring in her eyes. After a moment, she nods. “Okay.”
I hand her my phone, unlocked to a blank contact.
Her fingers brush mine as she takes it, and I feel the spark.
She keys in her number, slow on purpose.
Her fingertips graze my palm as she hands the phone back, and I catch her wrist for a second, thumb pressing into her pulse.
I could pull her closer, see how she tastes, but I settle for letting her feel the heat in my stare. Sooner or later, that wall will crack.
“I should get back to work,” she says, nodding toward the espresso machine.
“Of course.” I tuck the phone away, smiling. “See you Thursday, Sadie.”
I don’t look back as I walk out, but I can feel her gaze on me, warm and searching. Outside in the parking lot, I check my phone. Her name stares back at me.
It’s a start. A small crack letting light in.
I'm still grinning like an idiot when I reach my truck, and I can't help glancing down at my phone one more time to see her name and number saved there. Sadie Calloway. Seven digits that suddenly feel more important than any business deal I've ever closed.
"Get it together," I mutter to myself, but the smile won't leave my face.
I slide into the driver's seat, tossing my keys onto the passenger seat.
Her contact information glows on my screen, and I trace my thumb over her name.
Something shifted between us in there, I felt it.
The way she let me hold her hand for those few seconds, the unguarded moment when she thanked me for last night.
It wasn't much, but from Sadie, it feels monumental.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me. A text message.
Sadie: I'm not ok
The world drops out from under me. Three simple words that slam into my chest like a physical blow. I look up instantly, my eyes finding the café window.
She's standing there watching me, one hand pressed against the glass. Even from here, I can see it, the crack in her careful armor, the raw fear in her eyes. She's letting me see it, deliberately showing me what she's been hiding.
Her eyes are wide, pleading, and fuck if that doesn’t twist something primal in my chest. Every part of me wants to kick down the door, drag her out of there, protect her from whatever’s closing in.
But she’s trusting me not to make a scene.
I can’t blow this. I force my hand off the door, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
She wants help. She picked me. That’s all I need to know.
Before I can second-guess myself, I type a response.
Me: I'm coming back tonight. After close. We'll talk.
I watch the window, waiting for some acknowledgment.
She reads the message, I can tell by the way her shoulders shift slightly.
For a heartbeat, her eyes close, relief or fear, I can't tell which.
Then she turns away, back to the counter, back to work.
In seconds, she's moving with that same efficient precision I've come to recognize, the fortress rebuilding in real time.
But she texted me. She reached out.
I start the truck, my jaw tight as I pull out of the parking space.
This isn't about coffee or casual flirting anymore.
This is something else entirely, something real and urgent and maybe dangerous.
The dark sedan, the fear in her eyes when she checks her phone, the way she guards her daughter like someone who knows exactly how fragile safety can be.
As I drive away, my mind is already racing ahead to tonight. I'll bring food, something simple, nothing that feels like pressure. I'll listen more than I talk. I'll be whatever she needs me to be, whether that's a shoulder to cry on or someone to help her face whatever's coming.
Because something is coming. I can feel it in my bones.
I check the time. Eight hours until Pike's Perk closes. Eight hours to figure out how to be the kind of man who deserves the trust Sadie Calloway just placed in me.