Chapter 10
Callie
The truck rumbled beneath us as we turned onto the quieter backroads, tires crunching over fresh snow like a soft rhythm under the hum of the engine.
Cavil sat beside me, his usual stoic self, eyes locked on the road—but the silence between us felt different tonight.
Less like distance. More like… stillness.
“Sam really did a great job with this,” I said, patting the wheel. The engine ran smooth now—nothing like the wheezing disaster we’d wrestled before. It was a small miracle.
Cavil nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I smiled too, because I could tell he was proud—and because I was starting to like these little wins more when he was around to share them.
Outside, snowflakes drifted slowly through the headlights, settling on quiet porches and blanketing rooftops. The streets looked still, peaceful, the kind of night that made you forget the world could ever be harsh.
“You okay?” I asked, glancing sideways at him.
He shifted slightly in his seat. “Yeah.” A pause. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
He hesitated just long enough that I wasn’t sure he’d answer. Then, in that dry, familiar tone, he said, “How it’s nicer delivering books than filing paperwork.”
I laughed softly. “Definitely. And no paper cuts.”
He didn’t laugh, exactly, but I saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. It felt good—natural, easy in a way things between us hadn’t always been.
We sat in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t need filling. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “What’s your favorite book?”
I blinked. “That’s hard. There are too many. But… probably Little Women. It’s comforting, in a way I can’t quite explain.”
He tilted his head like he was considering that. “Sounds like you relate.”
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug, keeping it light. I wasn’t about to unpack that right now—not with the night feeling so strangely perfect.
He looked back to the road, and I let my gaze linger on him for just a second longer.
Then he said, quieter this time, “It’s nice seeing you happy again.”
The words stopped me cold. Simple, honest—and unexpectedly gentle.
“Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
And just like that, something shifted in the cab again. Something small. Something real.
I looked down at the book again, my fingers brushing over the worn spine.
Cavil kept his eyes on the road, but his grip on the steering wheel had softened. I could feel the shift in him, like maybe he understood more than he let on.
After a few more seconds, he spoke.
“One Christmas, when I was stationed overseas, my unit found a kid hiding out in a half-collapsed school. Didn’t speak our language, maybe seven or eight years old.
We didn’t have much, but someone gave him a pack of crayons and a half-used sketchbook.
” He paused, voice rougher than before. “Kid smiled like it was the best gift he’d ever gotten.
Drew a picture of us—stick figures in helmets, holding hands.
” A faint breath left him, almost like a laugh but not quite.
“Didn’t say a word the whole time, but when he handed me that drawing, it felt like he was giving me something sacred. ”
My chest ached. I hadn’t expected him to share something so raw. So real.
“What happened to him?” I asked, voice hushed.
Cavil shook his head slowly. “We moved out two days later. Left supplies. Never saw him again.”
I didn’t know what to say, not really. So I reached over and gently set The Velveteen Rabbit between us on the bench seat—its faded cover a quiet bridge between pasts neither of us talked about often.
“Stories matter,” I said after a while. “Even the ones that don’t have an ending.”
Cavil didn’t respond right away, but I caught the way his jaw twitched—just enough to let me know he heard me.
“Mr. Fletcher introduced me to books, to reading. My parents, God bless them, were so busy, I was kind of… left behind when it came to learning. But every time I came into the bookstore and he showed me a new book… I was hooked. He shaped my life, for sure. But… ever since he passed, I haven’t had the heart to reread them.
” The words slipped out before I could stop them—raw and unfiltered, like a wound I hadn’t realized was still open.
Cavil’s brow creased slightly, his expression softening. “Why not?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured, turning to the window as the dark trees blurred past. “Maybe because it feels like losing her all over again. Like… if I read those notes, it’ll break something open I’ve tried too hard to hold together.”
He didn’t respond right away. Just nodded slowly, as if turning my words over in his mind, weighing them against things he maybe hadn’t said aloud either.
“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice low. “Those words hold power. They remind you what’s missing.”
“Exactly.” I let the word linger on my breath. “It’s easier to leave them tucked away than face what they meant.”
Cavil didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t tell me to move on. He just drove—steady and calm—like giving me space was the most honest thing he could offer.
And somewhere between the soft thrum of tires over snow and the moonlight casting silver shadows across the road, something shifted. I didn’t say it out loud, but I felt it: a pull toward memory instead of away from it.
Maybe I wasn’t ready to open those notes yet.
But for the first time in a long time… I wanted to try.
As we pulled into The Book Nook’s lot, I spotted a familiar cluster of figures gathered near the entrance, their laughter drifting into the crisp evening air.
Javier leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, Noah thumbed at his phone, Luke bounced on his heels like a kid on a sugar rush, and Christian stood just off to the side, grinning like he’d just landed the punchline of a joke.
I glanced over at Cavil as we climbed out of the truck. “Do they belong to you?”
“Must be early,” he said, but there was warmth beneath the gruffness.
The moment he shut the door, the group lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Cavil!” Luke shouted, throwing an arm around his shoulders in a half-hug. Cavil rolled his eyes but didn’t shrug him off.
“You’re late,” Javier called, deadpan. “We were about to send a search party.”
Cavil shot back, “Only need finding if someone knows how to read a map.”
The banter flew effortlessly—fast, familiar, full of ease. It wrapped around me like a well-worn quilt, warm and surprisingly welcome.
I hovered near the truck for a moment, just taking it in. These men had been through more than most could imagine, but somehow they’d carved out something solid here—something that looked a lot like family.
Christian caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sneaking off again, are you?”
I laughed and shook my head. “Not tonight. I need to feed Marmalade.”
Noah leaned in the doorway, looking relaxed in that quiet, watchful way of his. “Nice to have some new energy around here.”
Cavil glanced back at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. He looked more at ease than I’d ever seen him—like this was the version of him that came out only in good company.
Luke elbowed him with a grin. “So who’s your partner in crime tonight? You letting her do all the work?”
Something flickered across Cavil’s face at the question—quick and unreadable—but he recovered smoothly. “Just helping out.”
More laughter followed, easy and unforced.
I stepped closer, drawn into the warmth of it all. Tonight, I wasn’t just tagging along. I was part of this. And somehow, standing there among them, everything inside me felt a little less guarded… and a little more home.
I stepped aside, letting the guys spill into The Book Nook, their laughter rising into the chilly evening air like smoke from a warm hearth.
“All right, gentlemen,” I said with a grin. “You know where to go.”
They filed toward the back, their voices blending into a low hum—Christian’s dry wit, Noah’s quiet quips, Luke bouncing around like a pinball already. Just the thought of them settling in made the space feel even more alive.
I turned back to my little corner of the shop and busied myself with the plastic tree by the register.
The ornaments hung crooked, so I began rearranging them, adding splashes of color here and there while munching on leftover Christmas cookies from Edith’s kitchen.
The gingerbread crumbled just right—sweet, spiced, and nostalgic.
With each bite, warmth spread through me.
But it wasn’t just the cookies. It was the sense that this place had come alive again—had become part of something bigger.
I glanced at the tallies from the open house, each one a tiny testament to the people who showed up, who believed in this place.
The numbers glowed softly beneath the twinkle of holiday lights.
Mr. Fletcher would’ve loved this—a true celebration of the shop he’d poured his life into.
“Proud of you, kiddo,” I whispered, picturing his kind smile.
A soft meow pulled me from my thoughts. Marmalade strolled in with the confidence of someone who knew he owned the place. I laughed and bent to scoop him up. He curled against my chest with a purr that vibrated through my bones—another little piece of comfort that reminded me I belonged here too.
“Ready for dinner?” I asked, carrying him toward the stockroom. His purr didn’t falter, even as I set him down and poured his kibble into the bowl.
As he ate, my mind drifted back to Cavil—the way he moved so easily with the guys, how his shoulders had relaxed, just a little. Watching him like that had stirred something deep inside me, something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.
Maybe this time would be different.
I lingered a moment longer, listening to the sound of distant laughter, feeling it settle around me like a soft blanket.
And for the first time in a long time, it felt like everything might actually be okay.
I moved through the shop, turning off lights and adjusting displays, letting the rhythm of the closing routine calm my thoughts. The warmth still lingered in the air, like an echo of the laughter that had filled the space just an hour ago. But under it all, a knot of unease twisted in my stomach.
I reached for my phone, half-expecting a message from one of the guys saying they’d left something behind. Instead, Leo’s name lit up the screen.
Heard the open house went well. Dinner?
My breath caught.
Dinner?
Like nothing had happened? Like he could just walk back into my life now that things were going well again?
I didn’t reply.
The quiet in the shop felt different now—thicker. Like it had absorbed my hesitation and was waiting for me to admit something I didn’t want to say aloud.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and tried to push the thoughts away, but they came anyway. The memories. Leo’s smile over candlelight. The easy charm that slowly turned into something else. The promises he broke. The ones I kept long after I should’ve let them go.
But it wasn’t just about Leo.
It was about Cavil too.
And that scared me more than anything.
Because when I looked at Cavil now, I didn’t see Leo’s shadow. I saw someone quiet and solid. Someone who listened. Who showed up. Who didn’t ask for attention but earned it, anyway. Someone who didn’t realize how deeply he’d started to settle into the cracks I thought were long healed.
And yet… they were brothers.
That truth lingered like smoke in my lungs.
What if I was wrong again?
What if I mistook something good for something safe?
I reached for the door and turned the lock with a click. As I turned back to grab my bag, a shape stepped out from behind one of the shelves.
I startled.
“Hey,” Cavil said, voice low, eyes gentle.
I forced a smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. “Hey.”
“You okay?” he asked, watching me like he already knew I wasn’t.
“Yeah,” I lied, too easily. “Just wrapping up. How was the meeting?"
"Good." He didn’t move. Just stood there in that steady, quiet way of his—as if offering something I didn’t know how to ask for. "Walk you to your car?"
"Sure."
And even as my heart fluttered at the sight of him, fear whispered in the background.
They were still brothers.
And I didn’t know what that meant yet—not for him, not for me, not for this thing between us that felt a little too much like hope.