Chapter 47
The morning light was soft through the curtains, pale gold and quiet, and I lay in bed for a moment longer than I needed to, just staring at the ceiling and thinking about yesterday.
The flowers. The entire lobby filled with tulips, like a garden had exploded inside my building.
I could still feel the heat in my cheeks when I remembered the way the neighbors stared, the way the security guard smiled, the way I had stood there surrounded by petals and not known what to do with my hands.
And Sam. Little Sam, with his chocolate-smeared face and his round eyes and the way he had looked at Caspian like he was just a tall man with a shiny car, not a mafia boss who could probably make people disappear.
Capsicum. I snickered just thinking about it, the sound unexpected in the quiet of my bedroom.
He had called a mafia boss a pepper, and Caspian had just...
taken it. No correction. No glare. Just that flat look he got when he was trying not to be amused.
The saleslady calling us a married couple.
Your wife and child. The way his eyes moved to me when she asked what his favourite flavour was.
I buried my face in my pillow and groaned.
My ears had been red for an hour. I had wanted the floor to swallow me whole.
But somewhere underneath the embarrassment, there had been something else.
Something warm. Something that made my chest feel too full.
I lay there for a moment longer, letting the memories settle, and I realized something strange.
I had been expecting it. The basket. The breakfast.
The small white note in his handwriting telling me to eat something that wasn't from a vending machine.
Somewhere between the flower-filled lobby and Sam calling him Capsicum and the saleslady calling us a married couple, I had stopped bracing myself against him and started... waiting.
Waiting for the doorbell. Waiting for his car to be parked outside. Waiting for him to glance at me through the rearview mirror like he was afraid I might disappear.
I sat up and pressed my hands against my warm cheeks.
This was dangerous. This was exactly how I had fallen for him the first time. Small things, stacking up, until one day I realized I couldn't imagine my life without him.
But yesterday had been different. Yesterday, he had told me the truth.
All of it. The mafia. The chain. His parents.
The fear that had made him run. And instead of running myself, instead of slamming the door in his face and blocking his number the way he had done to me, I had let him carry Sam upstairs.
I had let him help with the groceries. I had let him stand in my kitchen, surrounded by tulips, looking at me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
I hugged my knees to my chest and let myself feel it. The warmth. The hope. The terrifying, fragile thing that was growing in my chest despite every wall I had built.
He was still the same man. The one who had cooked for me and held me while I cried and let me hit him when he was being shameless.
The one who had learned how I took my coffee and remembered my favourite flowers and followed me home every night just to make sure I was safe.
The one who had been too scared to stay, but brave enough to come back.
I wasn't ready to forgive him. Not yet. But I wasn't as angry as I used to be.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.
I got out of bed and walked to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were brighter than they had been in weeks. My cheeks had color. I didn't look dull.
I thought about the old apartment. About the mornings when Caspian used to lean against the doorframe while I got ready, his arms crossed, his eyes following my every move.
He never said anything. He just watched, like he was memorizing me.
I used to pretend it annoyed me. It didn't. Not even a little.
I fixed my hair carefully, taking my time. I adjusted my collar twice. I told myself I wasn't doing it for him. I was doing it for me.
But when the doorbell rang, I still checked my reflection one more time.
I walked to the door, my heart beating faster than it should have, and I pulled it open.
He wasn't there.
Just the basket. The same wicker basket from before, with the white cloth napkin and the small note tucked under the handle. The smell drifted up, eggs and toast and coffee, and I felt something twist in my chest.
I picked up the note.
Eat more, you have already lost so much weight. - C
I stared at the words. The same handwriting. The same man who had left me a sticky note that said don't forget to eat now left me breakfast every morning because he knew I wouldn't cook for myself.
I carried the basket inside and set it on the kitchen counter.
The eggs were perfect. The toast was warm.
The coffee was made the way I liked it, too much milk, a little sugar.
I sat down at the small table and ate slowly, savoring each bite.
And for a moment, I let myself pretend he was sitting across from me.
The way he used to. The way he would rest his chin on his hand and watch me eat, like I was the most interesting thing in the world.
I missed that. I didn't want to miss it. But I did.
I finished breakfast, washed the dishes, and set the basket by the door for him to pick up later. Then I grabbed my bag and walked out into the morning.