Chapter 26 #2
I take another slow sip, the bitterness a welcome rush. The mug’s solidity in my palms and the warmth on my eyelids combine to ease the crushing pressure on my chest, if only for a breath.
A fragile peace.
That’s all it is.
A momentary shield, nothing more.
The quiet that felt like a blessing just seconds ago now deepens, making space for the thoughts I’ve been trying to outrun.
They circle relentlessly.
Matthew’s words from last night echo with sickening clarity:
It’s only a matter of time.
The petition… pointless. All that effort, Lou’s passionate support, Helen’s determination… all for nothing because Bancroft simply doesn’t care?
The thought feels like a lead weight in my gut.
Then there’s James and his ultimatum. Next Friday at Hydra. A performance designed to humiliate me so he can save face while I secure… what?
A repayment plan I can barely afford, for a café that’s doomed anyway?
And beyond all that, the question I shoved down last night surfaces now with icy certainty:
Where will I even live?
The apartment is his.
One more piece of wreckage in the pile.
Last night’s drunken oblivion at Hydra solved nothing. The problems didn’t disappear; they just waited patiently for the alcohol to wear off.
I sip the coffee. The heat traces a path down my throat, but it offers no soothing comfort.
I’m backed into a corner.
I have no moves left.
Despair pulls at me, but I resist. I can’t just give up. Lou and Helen have been knocking on doors with unwavering faith.
They believe we can fight this.
But am I just in denial? Am I clinging desperately to a fantasy while the ship sinks beneath me?
There must be something else.
Another move.
There must be something.
I stare blankly at the still surface of the water. Darkness swirls behind my eyes, dimming the bright morning sun.
How can this place feel so peaceful when my world is imploding?
I can’t afford to acknowledge how truly, completely screwed I am—
The soft click of the metal latch pulls me back. I turn my head, body tensing instinctively.
Matthew walks in, letting the gate swing shut behind him.
He’s showered and changed. Dark black jeans replace the sweatpants; a light grey shirt is tucked neatly at the waist, sleeves rolled to reveal muscular forearms and the glint of a silver watch.
His dark hair is still slightly damp, curling just a little at the edges.
“Enjoying the sunshine?” he asks, carrying his own mug.
As he walks toward me, the clean scent of soap and cedarwood reaches me. Fresh. Undeniably his. He looks settled, composed, while I, still swimming in his oversized tracksuit, feel like a disaster.
“It’s beautiful out here,” I say, the words a fragile whisper.
He settles onto the edge of the opposite lounger, facing me. “It’s what sold me on this house,” he tells me, setting his mug on the wicker table between us as he looks out over the yard.
I follow his eyes to the sun-streaked greenery and back to the sparkling water. This pocket of perfect tranquility is undeniably beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Too peaceful.
A sanctuary I don’t belong in. And soon, I’ll have no sanctuary at all.
The thought sparks, unbidden, lodging itself behind my attempt at appreciating the moment.
A strangled little laugh, half-humor, half-despair, rises in my throat.
“I could honestly pitch a tent right under those trees in the back,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the dense pines.
“And live there forever.” I drop my eyes to my coffee, cheeks heating.
“You wouldn’t even know I was here.” I turn back to him, forcing a shaky, slightly too-bright smile, hoping it masks the desperation clinging to my words.
Matthew doesn’t smile back. He just watches me, steady, assessing. The earlier neutrality in his expression softens into something deeper.
“You’re welcome to hide out here any time,” he says, his expression serious but kind.
God, if only.
He takes another slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine over the rim of his mug. When he sets it back on the table, a small smile touches his lips.
His quiet offer lands like a soft blanket over my raw nerves. Part of me wants to cling to it, burrow into this unexpected safety, but reality snaps back into focus.
“Tempting. But haven’t you heard?” I ask, the words laced with a weary irony. “They’re waiting for me on the battlefield the minute I leave here.”
“Well, luckily battlefields are closed on weekends,” he counters, his lips curving slightly though the concern doesn’t leave his eyes.
“Not my café.” A fresh sense of responsibility settles over me, and I shake my head in resignation. “Helen’s probably already wondering where I am.”
“No, not today,” Matthew says, holding my stare.
The slight curve on his lips fades, replaced by that quiet seriousness I saw earlier.
I blink, thrown off by his simple, firm negation. “Of course, today. We’re open—”
“No,” he cuts me off gently. “You need a break.”
“I just need to pop in real quick to check on Helen,” I reason, the words tumbling out. “We make fresh croissants on the weekends. We can grab some for breakfast.”
He shakes his head. “You can call her. No Maddy’s Place today, Amy.”
His words bounce around my tired mind.
You need a break.
Four simple words, but they collide with a lifetime of voices screaming the exact opposite.
James’s voice, clipped with annoyance over the phone last winter, the words like shards of ice. My exhaustion was never a valid reason, only an obstacle to his ambition.
“I don’t have time for you to be overwhelmed, Amy. The investors’ gala is next week. Just handle it.”
The memory dissolves, replaced by another, older and colder…
The mint green wallpaper of my childhood bedroom. My mother’s face, tight with resentment, looming over me after I’d collapsed with the flu.
“Tired? You don’t know what tired is. If you weren’t always such a disappointment, maybe your father would’ve stayed. Crying doesn’t pay the bills. Get up.”
The two voices—a chorus of dismissal and blame that has scored the soundtrack of my life— suddenly go silent.
Hushed.
Replaced by this man sitting in the morning sun, stating my need as a simple, observable fact.
He says it without judgment or condition. For the first time, running myself into the ground isn’t the price of my own existence. Rest isn’t a weakness I have to apologize for.
The shoulds and have-tos in my head go quiet.
The silence is staggering.
I look at him, and something tight and rusted inside my chest gives way.
I narrow my eyes, a spark of something other than anxiety flickering to life. “Does Sal have breakfast on his menu by any chance?”
Matthew stills. His steady gaze sharpens with surprise. Then, the careful neutrality dissolves, and warmth spreads across his face, softening his features.
“Sadly no, but I promise it’ll be just as remarkably simple,” he says, the tight set of his shoulders relaxing.
A genuine smile reaches his eyes, making their green look brighter.
Heat rushes into my cheeks, fierce and unexpected.
It bypasses the chaos in my head and speaks directly to a quieter part of me. It makes me feel understood.
The warmth in his eyes seems to deepen, mirroring the unexpected ease settling in my chest.
I nod, smiling a small, less shaky smile in return, holding his gaze for a moment longer than I have all morning.
“Now can you please go change?” he asks, voice warm.
I sit up, plucking at the front of my sweater. “What? Are you saying this doesn’t look good enough?” I tease.
“Five minutes.” He laughs, shaking his head at me and holding up five fingers. “You have five minutes.”
“Oh, I’m afraid you’ll be waiting longer than that, Matthew Warren.”
A little spark of defiance, of playfulness I haven’t felt in ages, awakens within me as I say his full name. Turning away before he can reply, leaving his soft laughter echoing behind me by the pool, I head back towards the house.
I ascend the stairs. My legs are heavy, the climb requiring effort, but it feels different from the leaden descent of this morning. The crushing weight on my chest, the sheer dread of facing the day, has lifted just enough to let me breathe.
James is still James. Bancroft is still Bancroft. The café still hangs by a thread, and soon, I’ll have nowhere to live.
The facts remain brutal and unchanged.
Yet, something inside me has shifted.
Matthew’s eyes, the shared laughter, his quiet insistence on this break…
It hasn’t extinguished the darkness. But somewhere deep inside, a tiny, stubborn ember has been lit. A fragile flicker against the overwhelming odds.
I pause at the landing. For the first time since last night, the familiar ache in my chest is no longer the heaviest thing I carry. Instead, I feel the faint, steady pulse of possibility.