10. Daryl
Chapter 10
Daryl
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, scanning the scene. Tables lined up with an assortment of cookies, each more elaborately decorated than the last. Judges moved between them, murmuring to each other and taking delicate bites.
I tried a cookie from a booth, one decorated like a little snowman. This one had a sugary glaze that was almost too sweet, but there was a pleasant lemon zest that cut through it. Not something I'd usually go for, but I found myself taking another bite.
I tried a few more, each offering different flavors—chocolate chips that melted in my mouth, chewy oatmeal raisin with just the right amount of spice, and even a peanut butter cookie that was surprisingly good despite my general aversion to sweets.
Beth appeared beside me with a triumphant smile. "So? What do you think?"
"They're all right." I shrugged, trying to downplay my enjoyment.
"Everything's all right to you, hmm?" she asked.
Lucy beamed as she was announced the winner with her gingerbread cookies. The crowd clapped, and she received her ribbon with a modest smile. Beth clapped enthusiastically, her grin wide and genuine.
I tried to focus on the dwindling crowd, but my eyes kept drifting back to Beth. She was sitting next to me, the chair a little too close for comfort. But I didn't mind as much as I should have.
"Congrats to Lucy," she said, standing up. "A well-deserved win."
I nodded, my eyes following her as she moved toward the counter to top off her hot chocolate. The café was starting to empty out, people heading home with satisfied smiles and full bellies.
Beth's hair fell in soft waves around her face as she poured more cocoa into her cup. She looked up, caught my gaze, and smiled before returning to her task. Something about the way she moved, so effortlessly kind and warm, made it hard to look away.
I pretended to be interested in the half-empty tables and chairs as people trickled out of the café. Conversations turned into murmurs and then into silence.
Beth returned to her seat, cradling her steaming mug between her hands. "You want some more?" She gestured toward the cocoa pot.
"I'm good," I muttered, though my cup was nearly empty.
She took a sip of her drink and sighed contentedly. "It's nights like these that make all the hard work worth it."
I nodded again, not trusting myself to say anything. My hands fidgeted with an empty cookie wrapper, trying to keep busy.
"You know," she began softly, "this place could use a good mechanic's touch now and then."
I looked up at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she said, leaning in a bit closer, "the espresso machine's been acting up. And some of the lights flicker when it rains."
A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "You're saying you want me to fix your coffee machine?"
"If you have time," she said with a shrug that seemed almost playful. "I can pay you for it."
"I don't need the money," I replied gruffly, though the idea of spending more time here didn't seem so bad.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's not what I—" She stopped herself, a pretty blush on her cheeks.
I noticed the notebook on the table, pages slightly worn and edges curled. "Do you like to write poems?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, nodding towards it.
Beth's eyes widened, and her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink. "Uh, well, they're lyrics." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture almost timid. "I feel like it's the only way I can really express myself which sounds so dramatic but…"
"They're good," I murmured, surprising myself with the admission.
Her brows lifted in surprise. "You really think so?"
"I mean, I don't know nothing about lyrics," I replied, feeling a bit out of my depth. "But yeah."
She laughed, a soft sound that made her eyes sparkle. "Thanks, Daryl."
I shifted in my chair, feeling the wood creak beneath me. The café was almost empty now, the buzz of conversation replaced by the soft hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clink of dishes being cleared away.
Beth stood and began gathering mugs and plates from the tables, her movements efficient and practiced. I watched her for a moment, unsure what to do with myself. My hands rested on my knees, fingers drumming an anxious rhythm.
The truth was, I didn't want to leave. Sitting here felt... nice, even if I couldn't quite put my finger on why. But staying put made me feel awkward too, like I should be helping or at least not just sitting there like a lump.
She glanced over at me, her eyes warm. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
"I know," I replied, my voice gruffer than I intended. "I just—" I trailed off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
She smiled softly. "It's okay, Daryl. Really."
I stood up then, my legs feeling stiff from sitting so long. "Here," I said, stepping forward and taking a stack of plates from her hands. "Let me help."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise but then softened in gratitude. "Thanks."
We moved around the café in a comfortable silence, cleaning up the remnants of the evening's festivities. Beth hummed softly as she worked, a tune that sounded vaguely familiar but that I couldn't quite place.
As we finished up and I set the last stack of plates on the counter, Beth turned to me with a smile that reached her eyes. "You know," she said quietly, "you didn't have to help."
"I know," I replied simply.
Her smile widened just a fraction before she turned back to wiping down the counter. I felt a strange warmth in my chest at that smile—a feeling both unfamiliar and not entirely unwelcome.
When the last table was cleared and the chairs were stacked neatly, Beth leaned against the counter and looked at me with a curious expression. "So," she said slowly, "what's next for you tonight?"
I shrugged, not really having an answer for her. "Probably head home," I said after a moment's thought.
She nodded thoughtfully but didn't say anything more about it. Instead, she reached for a cookie from behind the glass. "Here," she said softly. "In case you haven't had enough."
I took it from her gently, surprised by the gesture but touched, nonetheless. "Thanks," I murmured.
She smiled again—another one of those warm, genuine smiles—and it felt like maybe things weren't so bad after all.
Beth locked up the café, her keys jingling softly in the quiet night. I walked beside her, the cold air nipping at my face. Her car was parked a couple of spots away down.
I glanced at her car, then back at her. "Almost wonder if I should follow you home," I said, my voice rough. "Make sure your car actually gets you there."
She turned to me, one eyebrow raised and a playful smirk on her lips. "Is that your way of asking to come home with me, Daryl Walker?"
The words hit me like a bolt of lightning. My mind went blank, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond.
Beth laughed, a sound that was almost as melodious as her singing.
"You're a brat, Morrison," I muttered, trying to hide my embarrassment.
Her eyes sparkled under the streetlights as she looked up at me. Before I could react, she stood on the balls of her feet and kissed my cheek. Her lips lingered there, soft and warm against my skin. A shiver ran down my spine, unexpected and electric.
I stood frozen for a moment, feeling the ghost of her kiss long after she pulled away. She smiled at me, that same warm smile that seemed to light up everything around her.
"Goodnight, Daryl," she said softly before turning to her car. “You sure you don’t need a ride?”
“My truck’s at the garage,” I replied. “Just down the street.”
I watched her go, still feeling the warmth of her lips on my cheek. The night felt colder without her close by.
The walk back to the garage was short, but it felt longer tonight. My mind kept replaying the evening, the way Beth's eyes sparkled, her laughter filling the café. The warmth of her kiss on my cheek lingered like an echo I couldn't shake.
I stepped into the garage, standing there for a moment in the silence. I should go home. I should sleep. But my thoughts were tangled up with images of Beth—her smile, her voice, the way she looked at me like she saw something more than just a mechanic.
The garage was dark and quiet compared to the lively café. I flicked on a light, illuminating the space with a dim, yellow glow. My eyes landed on the old guitar leaning against the workbench, strings loose and dusty.
I walked over and picked it up, feeling its weight in my hands. But tonight felt different. Something about Beth had stirred something in me.
I strummed a chord, wincing at the discordant sound. The guitar was in worse shape than I remembered. I set it down on the workbench and began to examine it more closely. The wood was worn but solid; the strings frayed and out of tune.
I found some tools and got to work, my hands moving with a familiarity that surprised me. Tightening screws, replacing strings—it felt almost like second nature. As I worked, my thoughts kept drifting back to Beth. Her face as she sang softly in the café, unaware that anyone was listening.
With each adjustment to the guitar, it felt like I was piecing together fragments of myself that had been scattered for too long. The act of fixing something so broken brought a strange sense of calm over me.
I strummed another chord once I'd finished making adjustments. This time, it rang out clear and true. A small smile tugged at my lips despite myself.
Sitting there in the dim light of my garage with that old guitar in my hands, I realized something had shifted inside me tonight. Maybe it was Beth's unyielding kindness or her infectious warmth—whatever it was, it had managed to crack through my rough exterior just enough for me to feel...something.
I strummed again, letting the sound fill the quiet space around me.
The last chord resonated through the garage, a clear note that hung in the air longer than I expected. I let it fade before setting the guitar back down gently, a strange sense of accomplishment settling in my chest.
I looked around the garage, the familiar clutter of tools and parts scattered about. The place felt different tonight—less like a tomb and more like a workshop again.
I sighed, stretching my arms over my head. It was late, and I had an early start tomorrow. The thought of heading home didn’t feel as heavy as usual. For once, I wasn’t dreading the empty silence that waited for me.
I flicked off the light, plunging the garage back into darkness. The cold night air hit me as I stepped outside, locking up behind me. My truck sat waiting, its old engine grumbling to life with a turn of the key.
The drive home was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio playing some classic rock tune I couldn’t quite place. It was strange, this pull she had on me. I barely knew her, but already she felt like a beacon in this small town.
Pulling up to my house—if you could call it that—I cut the engine and sat there for a moment in the dark. The familiar silhouette of my home stood against the night sky, but tonight it didn’t feel as oppressive.
Stepping inside, I was greeted by the usual quiet. But instead of feeling like a weight on my shoulders, it felt like an opportunity to think about everything that happened today.
I tossed my keys onto the table and kicked off my boots before heading to bed. As I lay there in the dark, thoughts of Beth drifted through my mind—her laughter, her smile, even that kiss on my cheek.
How I wanted to turn my head.
How I wanted to see what she tasted like…
For the first time in a long while, there was something to look forward to tomorrow. And that feeling—however small—was enough to carry me through until morning.