Chapter 5
Chapter five
Brynn
After this morning’s emotional mess from trying to recover from seeing Knox last night, I need caffeine and a familiar face with the same urgency I need oxygen.
The bell over the door jingles, cheerful and familiar, and the scent of espresso and cinnamon rolls hits me square in the chest as I step into Cedar Perk.
Cedar Falls might be small, nosy, and entirely too informed about my love life or the recent lack thereof, but this coffee shop? It’s a sanctuary. Warm and familiar, with air that practically sparkles from the steady drip of caffeine and comfort.
Even after everything that went down last night, I feel lighter. A little fragile, but almost okay. Steady enough to pretend I’m not one emotional jostle away from falling apart.
I stayed at Gordy’s long after Knox stormed out—dripping wet, broody, and gorgeous in that aggravating way he pulls off so effortlessly.
Kinsey handed me a whiskey and withheld the sympathy, which, honestly, was exactly what I needed.
Nothing like being beer-soaked and insulted to remind you that you’re still breathing.
My heels tap a steady rhythm on the vintage tile as I make my way to the counter, feeling the faintest flicker of myself again.
From behind the espresso machine, a voice floats out, equal parts sass and sunshine. “Well, well. If it isn’t our very own drama queen, freshly steeped in scandal.”
I grin before I even see him. “Good morning, Levi.”
He steps out with his arms spread wide, like we’re in the middle of a soap opera reunion.
Levi has owned Cedar Perk since I was a senior in high school.
He quickly became a second dad to Kate, Kinsey and I, even if he was only seven years older than us.
“You’ve been back what, twenty-four hours?
And you’ve already resurrected the town Facebook page. That’s impressive.”
We hug, and something in me settles just a little.
“I can’t decide if I’m flattered or horrified,” I say.
“Oh, you should be horrified. Definitely horrified. Pictures and videos are already making the rounds.” He flicks on the grinder, tossing me a look over his shoulder. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please. Double mocha. And do you have that apple crumb cake I love?”
“For you? Always.” He glances toward the pastry case. “Are you eating your feelings or celebrating your triumphant return?”
“Why not both?” I ask, pulling out my phone.
And there it is on the town Facebook page—already waiting for me. A grainy, overly zoomed-in photo of Knox, beer-soaked and mid-glare, storming out of Gordy’s like a linebacker who lost his shampoo endorsement deal.
The caption reads: POOR COACH.
I blink at the screen, incredulous. “Poor Coach? I’m the one who got verbally suplexed with a side of nostalgia and beer spray.”
Levi slides my coffee across the counter, barely containing his laugh. “Honey, he’s the high school football coach. During football season? He’s basically royalty. Might as well be the Pope.”
I groan and take my drink like it’s the antidote to small-town drama. “Do you think anyone would notice if I disappeared into thin air?”
“Yes,” he deadpans. “And they’d livestream the fog you left behind.”
I drop into the corner booth by the window and bury my face in the pastry, hoping it holds wisdom. Levi joins me without being asked, his usual smirk giving way to something softer as he leans in, elbows on the table.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
It’s the way he says it—low, kind, no judgment—that makes my throat ache.
“I forgot how loud this town is,” I admit. “Everyone either knows everything or thinks they do.”
He nods slowly. “And Knox?”
I stare out the window. A leaf tumbles across the sidewalk in the breeze.
“He called me Bunny.”
Levi blinks like I just confessed to joining a pyramid scheme. “Oh. Damn.”
“Yeah.” I poke the crumb cake with my fork. “Said it like he still had the right to.”
“Did you hate it?”
I pause. “I hate that I didn’t.”
His expression shifts, but he doesn’t say anything else. Just sips his coffee and stays with me. The way he used to when we’d skip class and pretend heartbreak didn’t taste like cafeteria pizza and tears.
Past the high school, the town stretches out into space. Newer houses line the quiet streets—neat, symmetrical, tidy. The kind of place realtors call up-and-coming and my mom calls soulless, but I don’t mind it.
The last few rentals were disasters. One smelled like pickles and despair. Another was so slanted I got dizzy in the bathroom. This one? Actually has potential.
I park and step out, taking in the fresh siding and clean white trim. Not too big. Not too sad. No strange odors. So far, so good.
The front door swings open before I can knock, and a woman in crisp jeans and practical shoes greets me with a clipboard and a bright smile.
“You must be Brynn.”
“That’s me,” I say, shaking her hand. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“I’m Sophie. Come on in.”
Inside smells like lemon cleaner and possibility. That sterile-clean that makes you want to leave your mark just so the place feels real.
“Two bedrooms, two baths, brand-new appliances,” she says as we walk through. “Owner lives next door.”
I raise a brow. “Is that a perk or a warning?”
She smirks. “He’s quiet, hands-off, and fixes things without being weird. Around here? That’s a unicorn.”
The layout is open and bright. Afternoon light spills across the hardwood floors. It’s simple, sure—but it feels safe. Like somewhere I could start fresh.
Upstairs, I peek into each room. Clean walls, big closets. I picture a bed by the window. A little desk. Maybe a plant I’ll forget to water. A life I’m rebuilding, brick by uncertain brick.
“This is the first place that doesn’t make me want to bolt,” I say.
She grins. “So that’s a yes?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
The tear of packing tape cuts through my old bedroom, slicing the silence in half. I seal another box and set it down beside the others. My muscles are sore, but in that satisfying way that means progress.
The front door opens downstairs.
“Brynn?” my mom calls.
“Up here!”
She appears in the doorway a moment later, hands on hips, scanning the tower of boxes with a look that tugs at my chest.
“You’re already packing?”
“I found a place. Cute duplex near the high school. Quiet, clean, new appliances.”
Her eyebrows lift. “By the high school?”
“Yep. Why?”
She hesitates. “No reason. Did you meet any of the neighbors?”
“Not yet. Sophie, the rental lady, said the landlord lives next door. Keeps to himself. Sounds ideal.”
Mom leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I was hoping you’d stay home longer than a week.”
I step forward and wrap her in a hug. “I’ll still come over for dinner. Still call to ask what setting to use for delicates. I just...I need my own space.”
She rests her chin on my shoulder. “You’ve always needed your own sky to stretch under.”
I smile into her sweater. “And now I’ve got one. It’s just two miles away.”
She laughs softly. “Alright. But I expect lasagna night attendance. And updates on any scandalous neighbor romances.”
I groan. “Please, no more scandal. I’m maxed out.”
She pulls back, grinning. “Famous last words.”
And still, somewhere in the back of my mind, there he is. Knox. The way he said my name like it still meant something to him.
And the truth that rattles around quietly inside me: I didn’t hate it. Not even a little.