Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Landry’s breath came in shallow bursts as she stood before the locked doors of City Hall Coffee, the weight of anticipation pressing down on her chest.
The street was quiet, and the glow of streetlamps cast long shadows across the sidewalk. Inside, the café sat in darkness, empty and still, but to Landry, it pulsed with an electric kind of energy, the promise of something waiting just beyond reach.
Her hand hovered near the lock, the key gripped in her fingers, her nerves battling with her resolve.
Vern will be pissed if he finds out I was here.
The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety curling through her. But she couldn’t leave without checking. It had been a week. A week of waiting. A week of uncertainty. A week of hoping.
She’d managed to check for a response in the first few days, but by the weekend, Vern had been at the shop constantly. Today had been no different. As she’d left for the day, he’d called out a casual, “See you tomorrow.”
Which meant he’d be here then, too, and no matter how carefully she timed it, no matter how patient she was, she had no guarantee that she’d get a moment alone to check the letter box.
I need to know.
Her hands trembled as she unlocked the door and slipped inside. The shop smelled of roasted coffee beans and vanilla, scents so familiar they wrapped around her like a second skin. She moved quickly, disarming the alarm with practiced fingers, heart thudding a frantic rhythm.
There was no time to waste.
The letter box loomed in the dim light, its presence almost mocking. The last time she’d reached inside, she had been filled with excitement, anticipation. Tonight, there was something else—a jagged edge of fear. What if there was nothing? What if he had simply decided to stop writing?
Her breath hitched as she pulled open the back door to the box.
An envelope sat there, waiting. The rush of relief nearly knocked her off-balance.
“I knew it,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.
She grabbed the letter, her fingers curling tightly around it as if it might disappear if she let go. The paper felt warm against her skin, like it had been waiting for her, absorbing the longing, the unanswered questions.
A deep ache twisted in her chest. I should read it now.
But she wasn’t safe yet.
The coffee shop felt too open, too vulnerable. At any moment, someone could walk by, glance inside and see her standing there. If the sheriff or one of his deputies was on patrol, it would only take a second for them to stop and ask questions she wasn’t prepared to answer.
She forced herself to move.
With careful, steady hands, she reset the alarm, locked up and slipped back outside into the cool night air.
The streets were still deserted, but the urgency inside her hadn’t faded.
She climbed into her car, set the letter on the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
The drive home stretched endlessly before her. Every red light felt like a cruel joke designed to prolong her agony. The letter sat beside her, teasing her with its presence, each passing second winding the tension in her chest a little tighter.
Still, a warmth spread through her as she imagined what meeting Kindred Spirit would be like. If he was Peter—wonderful. If not, then at least she knew this man understood her in a way no one else ever had.
She pictured them deep in conversation, losing track of time as they talked about books, art and the places they longed to see. Sharing their dreams, the kind most people dismissed as impractical—but he never would.
Kindred Spirit understood her dreams.
When Landry finally reached her apartment, she barely remembered pulling into her parking spot and getting out of the car. She rushed inside, heart hammering, hands shaking as she tossed her bag onto the couch.
She sank onto the sofa, her breath uneven as she unfolded the letter and began to read.
Dear Heart Finally Heard,
Your words moved me deeply, as they always do.
To hear that I played even a small role in helping you take back your life fills me with a sense of quiet joy.
But make no mistake—it was your courage, your strength and your unyielding desire to honor your dreams that brought you to this moment of change.
If my support helped in any way, then I am profoundly grateful to have been part of your journey.
Life’s road is often uncertain, and I find myself navigating similar terrain. I, too, am contemplating changes that feel both daunting and exhilarating. Perhaps that’s the beauty of stepping into the unknown—it’s frightening, yes, but also brimming with the promise of new beginnings.
Your request to meet has been on my mind. I can’t deny the connection that’s grown between us, nor the warmth I feel whenever I read your words. There’s something truly special about what we’ve built here, and I treasure it deeply.
Yet, I feel that the time may not be quite right.
Please know this isn’t because of any lack of care or trust. On the contrary, I care for you more than I ever thought I could care for someone with whom I’ve only ever exchanged words on a page.
I hope we can continue to write, to share our thoughts and dreams and to deepen this friendship that has already brought so much light into my life.
The idea of meeting one day, when the time feels right for us both, remains close to my heart. For now, though, I hope we can continue to walk this path together, even if from a distance.
With admiration and hope,
A Kindred Spirit
By the time she finished reading the letter for the second time, a few stray tears had slipped down her cheeks.
She had told herself that he might not be ready to meet, but deep down, she had expected him to say yes.
A hollow ache settled deep inside her. So, what now?
If they didn’t meet, how would she ever know who he was? How could they ever move forward?
Her fingers clenched around the letter, the words blurring slightly as her vision misted over.
She had taken a risk. She had put herself out there in a way she had never done before. Now, she was left with uncertainty, with an answer she hadn’t been fully prepared to receive.
A part of her understood. His words had been filled with care, with admiration. He hadn’t rejected her—not really. But he hadn’t said yes either.
The weight of that truth settled over her, heavy and unrelenting.
She had taken a step forward, and now she had to figure out what to do with the space between them.
The next morning, Landry braced herself as she stepped into City Hall Coffee, the weight of last night’s disappointment still pressing against her chest. She had told herself she’d be fine, that she could handle whatever his response would be.
And yet, the sting lingered, dull but present, like the ache of a bad tooth.
She almost wished she hadn’t told Mila of her plan to stop by last night after the shop closed.
“Did he write back?” Mila’s voice was low but urgent, her dark eyes flicking toward her as she frothed milk for a cappuccino.
Vern manned the register, the usual morning rush keeping him distracted.
Customers chatted as they waited, the hiss of steaming milk and the clatter of cups filling the air.
They were both busy, hands moving in a well-practiced rhythm, but even as Landry worked, she could feel Mila’s question hanging between them.
She hesitated for only a second. “He did.”
Mila’s head snapped up, her excitement evident even as her work rhythm didn’t change. Her green eyeliner made her eyes look even wider, more intense. “And?”
Landry focused on the drink she was making, her fingers steady as she poured the steamed milk, though her heart beat a little faster. “No.”
Mila stilled for half a second, her enthusiasm faltering. “No?”
“He wants to wait.” Landry forced her voice to stay even, her movements deliberate as she slid the drink across the counter. She would not let herself fall apart over this. Not here. Not now.
A rush of frustration flickered across Mila’s face, but she covered it quickly, adding whipped topping to the drink in her hand with a little more force than necessary. “Why?”
Landry lifted a shoulder, her voice quieter now. “He’s not ready.”
She felt Mila’s gaze on her, assessing, concerned.
Last night, she had nearly convinced herself that he was blowing her off, that this connection that had become so important to her meant nothing to him.
But after rereading the letter this morning, she knew that wasn’t true.
He still wanted to write, to share their thoughts, their dreams. He still cared.
And she had promised him she’d accept whatever he decided.
Even if it hurt.
The silence stretched for a beat too long before Vern glanced their way. His gaze lingered on Landry’s unsmiling face, then shifted to Mila.
“Once you finish up there, take your break,” he said, surveying the café with a satisfied nod. “It’s slowed down enough that I should be fine handling things on my own.”
Mila blinked. “Are you saying we can take our break together?”
Vern smirked. “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”
Ten minutes later, they were in the employee break room, the door firmly shut behind them. And Landry knew that this was where she’d finally let herself feel everything.
Mila didn’t hesitate to reach across the table and clasp Landry’s hands, her fingers warm and steady, an anchor against the storm brewing inside her. “Oh, Landry, I’m so sorry.”
Landry forced a smile and let out a breath that trembled just slightly. Kindred Spirit hadn’t responded the way she had wanted, but at least he wasn’t going silent. “At least he wrote back,” she said softly. “That’s something, right?”
Mila’s grip tightened, her brows knitting. “Did he say why he doesn’t want to meet?”