Chapter 47
TIANA
The closing shift at Willow’s used to feel like home.
There’s a rhythm to it: the last hour’s scrape of wooden chairs over tile, the thump of the espresso dump drawer, the ghostly scent of coffee clinging to my skin no matter how hard I scrub my hands in the sink.
I’ve shut down this café maybe a thousand times, but tonight, every movement feels like an aftershock.
It’s my last shift. I’m quitting a place I thought I’d eventually die in—if not tragically in the back office, then at least from a slow caffeine overdose, surrounded by people who knew me better than my own family.
The world is so small behind this counter, and I’ve never wanted to leave it until now.
I rinse milk pitchers in the sink and ignore the ache in my stomach.
Demi is already mopping the floor, doing her usual thing of humming too-loudly to whatever’s playing from her headphones.
Eric leans against the pastry case, chin down, restocking the fridge with seltzers.
We’re all pretending this is a normal night, like I’m not about to walk out of here for good.
“It’s so quiet,” Demi says, pausing mid-mop. “It’s as if everyone already knows it’s your last shift, and they’re in mourning.”
“Yeah, well. Who’s gonna tell the regulars?” Eric mutters, stacking cold cans with a little more force than necessary.
I shoot him a look. “You could always break the news gently. Or just tell them I died. That’s less embarrassing.”
He shakes his head, lips quirking in a smirk. “You could be dramatic for once, you know. Go out in a blaze of glory. Tell everyone you’re opening your own place across the street and that it’s going to put this dump out of business.”
I laugh dryly. I used to dream about this place being mine; I never really let myself imagine anything bigger. Starting from scratch… I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
Demi whips the mop toward the back with a flourish, water sloshing onto her shoes. “But for real, TJ, it’s so weird knowing you won’t be here tomorrow.”
I dip a tray into the soapy water. “It’s super weird, but it’s not like I’m never going to see you guys. You’re my best friends.”
I strip the espresso machine and start the cycle for the last time, breathing in the unique perfume of scorched grounds and oat milk foam.
The whole case is empty except for a single almond croissant that’s going stale on a tray, and the register drawer is balanced to the penny, just like I taught all my closers.
There is nothing else to fix, nothing else to delay what comes next.
Eric slings a dish towel over his shoulder. “You better not go ghost on us, okay? Come back and judge our latte art.”
I force a smile and nod, but my heart is in freefall. I’m not actually sure I’ll ever step foot in here again, except maybe as a customer, and just the thought of it is weirdly nauseating.
Demi puts the mop in the bucket. “You got plans tonight, TJ?”
I shrug. “Maybe eat ice cream in my pajamas and cry about how I’m officially unemployed.”
She snorts and plops an arm over my shoulder. “I give it a week before you’re on to the next thing. You can’t stay still.”
Demi doesn’t say it like a put-down. She’s watched me start a million things—jobs, diets, micro obsessions—but she’s also watched me drop them when they stopped feeling right. That’s what was different about Willow’s. It was the first thing I ever wanted badly enough not to quit. Until now.
Aravind was understanding about the resignation letter, and he apologized again about Aldercrest. I told him not to. You can’t blame someone for doing right by their family.
“Hey.” Demi flicks a glance toward the back office. “You need help with your shit?”
I shake my head. “I’m good.” I grab my bag from the hook and sling it over my shoulder, taking one last look at the back office before I head out into the café.
The door jingles. I don’t even look up at first—just open my mouth on instinct. “Sorry, we’re clo—” But something makes me stop. I look up, and there’s Griffin, framed in the doorway with the dark street behind him. “Griffin? What are you doing here?”
He shifts his weight on the balls of his feet, hands deep in his pockets. “I have something to show you.”
Behind me, I can feel Demi and Eric pretending not to watch.
Griffin knew it’s my last day—I mentioned it once, offhand—but I hadn’t thought much of it.
We’ve barely spoken since the night we showered together.
I told myself the distance was practical.
That I just needed a little room to breathe before I could look at him the same way again.
I’m not ready to let him back in all the way, but I’m getting there.
“Uh, okay.” I turn back to Demi and Eric. They’re both grinning. Those little shits. Demi gives me a small, innocent wave, and Eric tips me a wink. I roll my eyes at both of them and head for the exit. “So what are we doing?” I ask Griffin.
“You’ll see.” He holds the door open and I step through, and for a moment we are closer than we’ve been in weeks. Our arms brush as I walk past him, and I feel the warmth radiating off him before I feel the night air.
Griffin turns right, and I follow him down the block, neither of us saying a word. I watch his back, the width of his shoulders, the way he moves. The space between us is charged and fragile.
He stops in front of a dark building and turns to face me, his hand finding the door handle behind him. “Ready?”
My throat tightens. I hadn’t prepared myself to see him tonight, and something in my chest feels loose and unmoored.
But looking at him now, silhouetted against the dark street with that tentative half-smile… something in me leans forward before I can tell it not to.
I nod.
When Griffin opens the door, I lose my breath.
It’s a wide, empty space and someone has draped the walls in fabric and run candles along every flat surface—windowsills, the floor, a single table set for two in the center of the room with cloth napkins folded into points and a champagne bucket sweating beside it.
Above it all hangs a chandelier, throwing small coins of light across the ceiling.
My hand goes to my mouth before I can stop it.
I turn to him. “Did you do all this?” I ask, voice gone small, like if I speak too loud the spell will break and the fairytale will disappear.
Griffin smiles. “I had some help.”
“Eric and Demi?”
“Perhaps. And maybe Mya, too.”
“What is this place?” The windows are papered over so nobody can see inside.
Griffin moves behind me and pulls my bag off my shoulder before I can protest. He sets it down beside the door and then stands back.
He gestures at the table. “Would you sit with me? Just for a moment and let me explain?”
I hesitate at the edge of the table, but Griffin offers a chair and waits until I slide into it before sitting across from me.
He picks up a bottle of Cava and fumbles the foil.
For a guy who’s built skyscrapers and signed contracts worth more than my whole life, it’s weird seeing him this nervous while dealing with a wine bottle.
He nicks a knuckle, curses, then wipes his hand on his jeans and keeps going.
When the cork finally pops, he doesn’t smile in triumph or make a joke.
He just meets my eyes for a moment, something haunted and hopeful behind the blue, and pours two glasses half full.
I take the drink, finally finding my voice again. “Explain what?”
He takes a slow breath. “Why I bought this place.”
I blink. “Wait, what?”
Griffin fidgets with the edge of the cloth napkin. “I bought the building. For you.”
I nearly fall off my chair, and I grip the table. “Griffin. Please tell me that is not supposed to be a grand gesture, because I will walk out right now.”
“No.” He holds up his hands, palms out. “Not like that. I mean—it is a gesture, but not the kind you’re thinking.
” He’s sweating, I realize. Actually sweating in a way that’s almost adorable.
“You used to talk about wanting something that was yours. When I saw how hard you fought for Willow’s—how it mattered—I couldn’t just watch it get taken from you.
” Griffin rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“Which is why this isn’t a… declaration, or a grand gesture, or whatever you want to call it.
” He draws a breath. “It’s just a way to say that I see you.
You took care of me and my son for months.
You poured yourself into us until there was nothing left.
Because you’re the kind of person who fills every room she walks into, no matter how empty, or cold, or broken. ”
I look away. The compliment lands raw in my chest.
Griffin continues, softer, “I never want you to feel small, Tiana. Not ever again.”
He slides an envelope across the table. My name is handwritten in black.
I wedge it open. It’s a lease agreement with my name at the top.
The numbers, printed clean in the margins, are more than fair.
There’s an option to buy after three years.
A right to first refusal if someone tries to flip it out from under me.
And a clause, highlighted, that says all renovations will be handled at cost, by the owner, to help the business succeed.
My hands shake. I look up at Griffin. There’s nothing smug on his face. He’s not expecting a thank you. He’s just waiting, like he always is, these days, until I decide how much I want him in my life.
“This isn’t a trick?” I ask, glancing at the lease again.
“No,” he says softly. “It’s not. I don’t want you to be obligated to me. I just want you to be free and in control of your own life. I want you to have a shot at something that’s just… yours. Even if I’m not in the picture. That’s what you deserve.”
I blink, and the room blurs. For so long, I’ve been waiting for proof that Griffin cared enough to fight for me, not buy me. The difference is razor-thin and has always, always scared me.