Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Caleb
With the storm over, the next morning dawned clear and bright, sunlight gleaming off puddles and rain-slicked streets. Seagulls wheeled overhead, their cries carried on the fresh breeze that had blown away last night’s darkness. But my stomach still churned with worry for Mason.
At The Coffee Cove, steam curled from the espresso machine as Cooper crafted Mason’s favorite latte for me. The rich scent of coffee and warm pastries filled the air, so different from the ozone-sharp tang of last night’s storm.
“Extra shot of espresso?” His hands moved with practiced efficiency.
I nodded. “He probably needs it this morning.”
Understanding flickered in Cooper’s eyes as he added the shot. Had he known Mason long enough to know about the storms? About his parents? The thought made something twist in my chest—I was the outsider in Seacliff Cove.
The bell above the bookstore door chimed when I entered, the sound mixing with the George Benson tune playing softly through hidden speakers.
Mason stood at the counter, sorting through paperwork.
My heart ached at the sight of him—his shoulders were tight with tension, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
His usual warm complexion looked pale, making his scruff stand out darker against his jaw.
He glanced up, and something flickered across his face—embarrassment? fear?—before his expression closed off. “Oh. Hi.”
“I brought coffee.” I set the cup on the counter, careful not to let our fingers brush. “Vanilla latte. Extra pump of vanilla. Extra shot of espresso.”
His hand trembled slightly as he reached for it. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” I wanted to reach for him, but I didn’t have that right. “How are you?”
“Fine.” The word came too quick, too sharp. He took a sip of coffee, then softened slightly. “Thank you. For the coffee. And for…” He gestured vaguely, unable to say the words.
“Of course.” I watched him fidget with the coffee cup sleeve, remembering how he’d felt in my arms last night, shaking and vulnerable. How much I’d wanted to stay. “Did you get any sleep?”
“I’m fine,” he repeated, but the shadows under his eyes told a different story. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.
I wanted to pull him close, to promise I’d never let him face another storm alone. To tell him I’d never stopped loving him, that eleven years hadn’t changed a thing except to make me understand what I’d lost.
But he wasn’t ready to hear any of that. His walls were up, professional distance restored like armor.
“Well.” I took a step back. “I should let you work.”
He nodded, relief and something else—regret?—crossing his face. “Thanks again. For the coffee.”
“De rien. You’re welcome.” I turned to go but paused at the door. The morning light streamed through the windows, illuminating Mason’s disheveled hair. He looked beautiful and broken and so familiar it hurt.
I’d do anything to win him back. To deserve a second chance. To prove that this time, I wasn’t going anywhere.
I just had to figure out how.