Chapter 28 #2
I saw it happen—the flicker in his eyes, the way his brow drew in just enough to tell me he was putting something together.
He’d known my parents were gone. I’d told him that much.
But I’d never told him the rest. Never said the words about that rainy night, the car, the headlights that never appeared in my friend’s driveway.
Never admitted that they’d been on their way to get me when it happened.
His thumbs brushed over my shoulders, slow, deliberate, like he was afraid I’d bolt if he moved too fast. “They were coming for you,” he said quietly—not a question, not an accusation, just fact.
My stomach clenched. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The truth was in the way my gaze slid to the floor, in the way my chest locked tight.
“And this place,” he went on, his voice even lower now, “it’s not just a restaurant to you. It’s theirs.” His eyes searched mine, seeing more than I wanted him to. “You’ve been carrying it for them.”
The air between us felt heavier, like the kitchen walls were closing in. He was right. God, help me, he was right. And somehow, having him say it out loud made the guilt sharper, not softer.
But the thing about guilt? You can’t logic it away.
I shook my head, the burn in my throat threatening to spill over. “If I let this place close, even for a week, it’ll be like I’m letting go of them. Like I’m admitting it’s all for nothing.”
Caleb’s grip tightened, his voice low but fierce. “This isn’t nothing. And it’s not just theirs anymore. It’s yours. You built this. You keep it alive. Or not.”
I swallowed hard, the weight in my chest shifting but not lifting. The truth was, I didn’t know how to separate the restaurant from the debt I thought I owed. They were braided together, root and vine, choking me even as they held me upright.
Behind us, Finn cleared his throat softly. “We’ll figure out the fish. I’ll call every contact I’ve got.”
Carly wiped her hands on her apron, stepping up beside Michael. “We’ll rework the sides. Make something beautiful.”
Alba’s voice carried from the pass, steady and warm. “You’ve got a whole crew here who’d stand outside in the dark for you. Don’t forget that.”
The words hit me like a soft blow. I turned, looking at them—really looking—and for the first time that morning, I saw more than the list of things that could go wrong. I saw the people who’d shown up, anyway.
My throat was too tight to answer. I just nodded, forcing myself to pick up the knife again, to keep moving. Because that’s what you did in a kitchen. You kept moving.
Even if you were falling apart inside.
Caleb didn’t move his hands from my shoulders. If anything, his hold anchored me more firmly in place, as if letting go meant I might splinter.
“You don’t have to do any of this,” he said, the words low enough that only I could hear them. “Not like this. Not with the weight of a ghost on your back.”
I tried to shake my head, but his grip was steady. “You think I can just walk away?”
“I think,” he said, his gaze cutting into mine, “that you could walk away today, and the world wouldn’t fall apart.
You could take a breath. A week. A month.
Let this place rest. Let yourself rest. And when you come back, you could build your dream— your dream, Meg—not the one you’ve been carrying like a punishment. ”
The heat behind my eyes threatened to spill over, but I blinked hard. “This is my dream.”
He tilted his head, watching me like he was weighing every word. “Then why does it sound like penance when you talk about it?”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My chest felt like it had been pried open.
“You’ve been running yourself ragged for something that’s supposed to bring you joy.
That’s not the way it works.” His voice hardened, the edge in it unmistakable.
He whispered so only I could hear. “I’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe.
I’ll deal with whoever’s behind these notes.
I’ll make damn sure they never come near you again.
But I’m not gonna stand here and watch you destroy yourself in the process. ”
My pulse jumped. The room felt smaller, like the walls had pulled in just to trap me between him and the truth I didn’t want to hear.
“You don’t understand?—”
“I understand enough.” His jaw flexed. “I understand that you’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”
That sent a flush through me—half arousal, half defiance—but I couldn’t meet his eyes without feeling the ground shift under me.
“This isn’t just yours to fight,” he went on, softer now but no less certain. “You’ve got me. You’ve got my family. And whether you like it or not, you’ve got all the reach and power that comes with that. Use it. Let yourself lean on it. That’s what I’m here for.”
I glanced past him to Carly, Michael, Alba, and Finn—my crew, my people—and then back at Caleb. “And what if I don’t know how to lean on anyone like that?”
His mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “Then you learn. Starting now.”
I shook my head again, because the alternative—that he was right, that I could lay this burden down even for a little while—was too big to process without breaking. “If I stop, I don’t know who I am.”
“You’ll be the woman who still wakes up tomorrow. Who still gets to choose. Who still gets to build something that isn’t tangled in the worst days of her life.”
The words cracked something in me. I pressed my lips together, willing the burn in my eyes to settle. “I can’t just … shut it down.”
“You can. And if you don’t want to, you can change the way you run it. Either way, I’m right here.”
He let one hand drift from my shoulder to the side of my neck, his thumb brushing under my jaw. “I’ll deal with the danger. You deal with finding your joy again. And if that means we burn this whole thing down and start fresh somewhere else, so be it.”
The idea made my stomach flip—not because I wanted it, but because a part of me, deep down, feared he might be right.
But I wasn’t ready to admit that. Not yet.
So I stepped back just enough to put space between us, my hands going through familiar motions again, even though I could still feel the imprint of his touch. “We’ve got work to do.”
He didn’t push. Just stood there, watching me like a man who knew he’d started something that wouldn’t be finished in this moment.
And maybe that was the worst part—knowing that eventually, I’d have to face the truth in his words.