Chapter 2 #2
I swallowed. Took in the sharp lines of his jaw, his clean-cut hair, the eyes that once knew how to find all my softest places—and how to press against them. My stomach twisted, past and present blurring like breath on glass.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
“I just got in town.” His hands stayed buried in his coat pockets, but his presence filled the space too easily. “Thought we could catch up. Grab dinner.”
A hollow ache formed in my chest. The kind that warned me before the fall. “That’s not a good idea.”
He scoffed—sharp and automatic. “Still holding a grudge? It’s been years, Cal. Don’t tell me you’re still mad.”
My jaw clenched. The anger came fast, but colder than fire. “It’s not about being mad,” I said, each word clean and cut. “It’s about knowing better.”
His face tightened. I saw it then—the flicker behind his eyes, the way his smile thinned like old paper. “That’s unfair,” he said. “You weren’t perfect either.”
The words hung between us like smoke.
I didn’t respond. Just stepped back and leaned against the counter—my hands behind me, steadying myself without thinking. My body remembered what my heart was still trying to forget.
And then his voice changed—soft, almost sincere, but I knew that tone. The one that asked for things dressed in charm and left with control. “I just want to talk,” he said. But it wasn’t just that. It never was.
Above us, Marmalade hissed. Low. Warning. Tail flicking once.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to Marmalade, though my own hands trembled as they gripped the edge of the counter.
Leo stepped forward, then stopped just shy of arm’s reach—close enough to press, but not enough to touch. He gave me space, but not freedom.
“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” he asked, voice tight. “We were good together once.”
“Once.” The word scraped across my tongue like rust.
His brow lifted, eyes narrowing—like he expected me to rewrite our history to fit his version.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter.” I exhaled hard and folded my arms across my chest. Armor. “I’m running this place now. I don’t have time for nostalgia dressed up as guilt.”
He stepped closer. That shift in his stance—shoulders looser, eyes a little too soft—made my stomach twist.
“Can’t we just be civil?” he asked, quieter now. There was something new in his voice. Or maybe something old trying to sound new.
“I think civility’s a lot to ask from someone who left without looking back.”
The words came sharper than I meant—but I didn’t take them back.
“That was years ago!” His frustration surged, voice rising, cresting like a wave that didn’t know where to land. But behind it, I saw something else. Regret, maybe. Or realization. It barely registered before it was gone again.
“Yes,” I said, cool and clear. Fury didn’t help. Truth did. “And we’re not those people anymore.”
“We’ve both changed,” Leo said, a little softer now. Testing. The way he used to when he was working an angle but didn’t want me to know it yet.
“Some changes aren’t for the better,” I replied, even as the heat climbed my neck. My pulse fluttered—because that was the thing. He still knew how to get close. He just didn’t know how to stay.
“You don’t even know what I’ve been through.”
That stopped me. Just for a second. There was hurt in his voice. Genuine. Unfamiliar. Like a note that didn’t belong in the song.
“I know enough,” I said, forcing the words to stay steady while doubt gnawed at the edges of my ribs. No, I didn’t know everything. But neither did he. We both came away bruised. Just because I didn’t bleed where he could see it didn’t mean I hadn’t suffered too.
Still, none of it mattered.
Not now.
Marmalade watched us from his perch above, eyes sharp and tail twitching—a quiet sentinel in a room meant for peace, now crackling with tension that had no business slipping through these walls again. This place wasn’t built for ghosts. But here they were.
And still… the air thickened. Every breath tasted like memory. Old wounds stirred beneath words unsaid, the kind we never knew how to say out loud without cutting too deep. Leo’s mask didn’t slip, but I saw the cracks anyway—fragility hidden beneath that practiced calm, like a bluff stretched thin.
It made everything feel raw. Too raw. And no matter how many pages had turned since, this chapter still hadn’t closed.
“You can pretend all you want,” he said quietly, voice dipping into something dangerous—too steady, too sure, “but there’s still something here between us. Even after everything.”
The words landed heavy. Truth or manipulation—I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. Either way, they struck something inside me I didn’t want to feel. A flicker, bright and unwelcome.
“No, there's not,” I said. "Not after…"
My heart thudded hard against my ribs. Regret and longing were twisted vines—and for a moment, I felt the pull of all the roads we never finished walking.
But I couldn’t go back. Not when forward was finally starting to look like freedom.
I had rebuilt so much. Quietly. Carefully. I’d clawed my way out of the fog and into something that looked like clarity. And I couldn’t afford to stumble now—not for a feeling that lived in the past, dressed up in longing but still steeped in loss.
So I stayed still.
And let the silence answer for me.
Because whatever had once burned between us… was no longer mine to tend.