Chapter 8
JULES
Daisies Cafe glows with afternoon light.
Glass bottles glint behind the bar. The scent of herbs drifts from the open kitchen.
The hum of conversation feels warm, not rushed, like the city has finally slowed for us.
Calvin sits across the table, sleeves rolled, sandwich half-forgotten. We’re smiling like two people who don’t quite believe this is happening.
We start small. About the weather, how summer’s still clinging to the edges. About the music, how the restaurant seems to have a perfect playlist for pretending time doesn’t exist.
Then, with intention, I let it shift.
I rest my elbows on the table, tracing the rim of my glass. “Okay,” I say, smiling softly.
“Calvin, I’ve spent most of my life trying to please everyone else,” I admit, voice low. “With Evan, with my boss… but it’s not worth losing my peace to keep someone else comfortable.”
I tilt my head, teasing. “So my question is, if you were with a woman who stands in her own power, could you handle that?”
His grin curves, slow. “Wow. You’ve done your homework.”
He leans back, watching me with that half-amused, half-awed look, like someone hearing his own language spoken back to him.
“I can handle it,” he says finally, “but only if she knows she doesn’t have to carry everything alone.”
The air shifts. Warmth, not possession.
He folds his hands, eyes glinting with quiet challenge. “My turn, then.”
His voice lowers, more grounded now. “I’m the kind of man who’s spent years being the anchor. The one people call when their storms hit.” He pauses, a trace of vulnerability threading through his tone. “But sometimes the anchor gets tired.”
He meets my eyes. “So my question is, could you love someone who sometimes needs the same calm he gives everyone else?”
Something inside me stills. I don’t rush to fill the silence.
“I could,” I whisper. “Maybe that’s what balance really is.”
He smiles, small and knowing. “Sounds like we’re both learning what that looks like.”
We talk about nothing. About everything. Without prompts or pretense.
The waitress stops by to refill our glasses, sunlight sliding across the table in slow gold.
I lean toward her. “What station is this? I love the music.”
“Café Easy Listening,” she says, smiling. “Glad you like it.”
The moment she walks away, a new song begins.
I freeze mid-sip. “You hear that?”
Calvin tilts his head, already recognizing it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
It’s that song, the one from his car the night everything fell apart.
My laugh comes out small. “Of course. Of all the playlists in the world.”
He smiles, slow, like he’s trying not to believe it either.
We both go quiet.
Nostalgia dressed as fate.
“You’ll probably think I’m crazy,” I say, smiling into my glass, “but I just thought of this Korean drama you need to watch.”
Calvin groans dramatically.
“Oh no.”
“Yes.” I point at him. “Don't judge me.”
“I am absolutely judging you.”
I laugh. “A couple years ago I got completely obsessed with it. Watched it over and over. It's about this dentist who ends up in a small seaside town and keeps clashing with this guy who somehow knows everyone and fixes everything.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
I stop.
“No way.”
A grin spreads across his face.
“No way.”
“You've seen it?”
“Seen it?” He laughs. “You're talking about Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha.”
I blink. “No way! You already know it?”
“Know it?" He laughs. "I practically memorized the lines. Chief Hong was actually my hero, the guy who does everything for everyone. I watched that show eight times trying to understand myself. The small-town vibe, the awkward romances, the neighbors who all meant well… it hit home in too many ways.”
My chest warms. “You are exactly like him. You fix everything. Everyone. Except maybe yourself.”
He smirks. “And you’re definitely Hye-jin. She drove me crazy at first, but her growth, the way she learned to trust softness again…” His voice lowers. “That’s when she became real.”
I laugh, a little shaky. “You watched it that closely?”
“I memorized the soundtrack,” he admits. “And I don’t even speak Korean. Cried every single time.” He grins. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“That show wrecked me,” I say quietly. “All those almost-moments. The way fate kept pulling them back together, no matter how far they drifted.”
He nods, slow. "Maybe some stories just take longer to finish."
I smile across the table.
I swirl what’s left of my drink, heart still light from laughing. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
I pause, searching his face. “Remember those end-of-summer picnics my family used to host? I always prided myself on the lemonade…”
Calvin’s smile deepens. “Of course. You always made way too much.”
I laugh softly. “Still guilty of that. Funny thing is, my parents still host them, just in South Carolina now. But I don’t know anyone there. And here in Chicago…” I shrug. “I haven’t found that kind of community. I think I’ve been chasing that feeling ever since.”
He listens, quiet, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass.
“It sounds silly, I know,” I say. “But it’s the little things. Before life became this endless performance, those picnics reminded me what mattered.”
I draw in a breath. “So… I already checked with Riot, Maddie, and Cara. They’re free next weekend.” The words come slower now, weighted with hope. “I wanted to ask you last because, if you’re not there, it won’t mean the same.”
A small laugh escapes me. “I don’t want to throw the picnic just to throw it. I want us to throw it. Together.”
I glance at him, heart thrumming. “Even if we’re not anything yet, just friends, hosting a potluck like we used to. I don’t know.” I laugh softly, shaking my head. “It sounds funny now that I say it out loud.”
I brace for silence, for a letdown.
His smile fades. “You know, Jules… next weekend I’ve got a pretty important client. It’s an emergency session, actually.”
My smile falters. “Oh, of course. Yeah, it’s short notice. I totally understand.”
He pauses just long enough for my stomach to drop. Then his grin breaks through, slow and mischievous.
“Name’s Calvin Stewart. Poor guy’s been ghosted all week by the girl he really likes.”
I stare, then laugh, swatting at his arm. “You’re impossible.”
“Or inevitable,” he says, voice softening. “Jules… if you want me there, I’m there. No question.”
Relief floods warm through my chest, like sunlight after a long, patient storm.
The moment loosens between us, light again, like the world remembered to breathe.
“I really admire you, Cal,” I say, voice low.
“I see you. Full. Unscripted. Not stuck selling someone else’s product.
My job’s fine, the title, the paycheck, the emojis that pretend to mean something, but they don’t.
It’s noise. It’s stealing more than it’s giving.
And then I look at you, lit up by your work, and I think, that’s a life worth living. Not just surviving.”
He nods once, slow.
I swallow, pulse hammering. “I thought I needed a year… turns out what I needed was this. Time to know you again. Not more distance.”
His mouth tilts, not quite a smile, more like he’s holding space open for me to keep going.
The hardest words rise like a dare. “And if I’m being honest, I don’t want fear running my life anymore. I don’t want fear to be the reason I lose you.”
He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing lightly against my hand.
A soft breath. “I could say the same,” he murmurs. “I’ve spent years letting fear make the choices for me. Even if I didn’t realize it. I’m done with that too.”
Something in my chest unravels.
He meets my gaze. “Maybe we were never lost,” he says quietly. “Just learning how to come back.”
I smile, small and real. “Yeah.”
His lips curve, faint but certain. “We’re not chasing the past anymore, Jules. We’re looking forward.”
The waitress appears with the check, too soon, like someone fading the music mid-dance.
“You two are super cute, by the way,” she says with a shy grin. “I hope I find something that special someday.”
She sets the bill down and slips away, still blushing.
Calvin and I glance at each other and laugh quietly. He picks up the receipt, then slides it toward me.
“You always look for meaning in numbers, right?” he teases.
I glance down. “Our ticket was printed at 12:34:56.”
My breath catches.
He chuckles, low and easy.