Chapter 53
GRACE
“Just like old times,” he murmurs, voice low, a thread of amusement weaving through the roughness.
He dabs at the stain on his shirt with a napkin from the counter, unhurried, as if we’ve just met all over again at Haven.
The memory stings, sharp and vivid, of whiskey soaking his suit and my world tilting off its axis.
I step back, heat creeping up my neck, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my oversized sweater. The coffee shop buzz dims, the other patrons’ chatter fading to a distant hum as I grapple with the sight of him here, in my safe space.
“What are you doing here?” My tone is clipped, defensive, as I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield the raw edges he always manages to uncover.
Asher straightens, discarding the napkin in a bin, his posture as commanding as ever, even in this cramped, cozy corner of my world. His chestnut hair catches the light, a little less perfect than I remember, strands falling over his forehead like he’s been running his hands through it.
“I wanted to see you, Sugar.”
I wince at the endearment. It takes me back in time, to when I was his and he was mine. But that’s not what we are anymore. He ended things.
Swallowing down any emotion, I shake my head. “Well, I don’t want to see you.” I move to turn away, but he reaches out, his hand landing on my forearm. I thought I’ve gotten better, but as soon as he touches me, I’m a weak woman, wanting to curl into him and let him hold me.
“I just want to talk,” he says softly, but I yank my arm from his grasp before I can do something foolish.
“Grace, I owe you more than I can put into words. I was an idiot. A complete, utter fool for pushing you away like I did.” His voice is rough at the edges, lacking its usual polished command.
“I thought I was protecting you, keeping things clean by ending it. But I was wrong. I hurt you in ways I can’t forgive myself for, and I’ve spent every day since regretting it. ”
His words hang heavy in the cool air, each one a pebble dropped into the well of pain I’ve been carrying. My chest tightens, remembering that moment he told me the contract was done. A million dollars in my bank account I've yet to touch.
He opens his mouth again, another apology coming out, more apologies than I think he's ever made.
“Asher, stop.” My voice cuts through his, but I can’t let him keep going, can’t let those words burrow deeper.
I force my gaze to meet his, though it stings to see the regret swimming in those gray depths.
“You broke my heart. You didn’t just end things; you made me feel like I was nothing, like every moment we shared was a lie you could erase with a bank transfer.
I trusted you with everything, and you tore that apart.
I heard you out, okay? I get that you’re sorry.
But I can’t trust you anymore. I don’t know if I ever will again. ”
His jaw tightens, a faint tic of muscle showing how affected he is. He straightens, hand dropping to his side, and for a long beat, the only sound is our breathing.
Asher’s gaze doesn’t waver, though, searching mine as if he can find a crack to slip through, a way to mend what’s shattered. But the pieces are too jagged, the hurt too deep, and I’m not sure there’s enough left of me to even try.
I don’t go back to the Sweet Bean the next day, but on the following day, I talk myself into it. It’s my favorite coffee shop in my hometown. Why am I hiding from him?
My feet stall right after entry, though, when I look at my usual table, finding Asher sitting there. One iced caramel latte in front of him and a second coffee in a to-go cup.
He stands when he sees me, gesturing to the table.
He's more dressed down than I've ever seen him. Just a simple gray sweatshirt and jeans that somehow make him look more human. My stomach twists, bracing for another plea, but he just walks to me.
“For your writing,” he says, voice quiet, almost gruff, before walking past me, the door swinging shut behind him. I stare at the cup, condensation beading on the plastic, my fingers hovering over the lid.
I blow out a breath as I sit down at the booth. When I pick up the cup, I realize he’s written something on the napkin beneath it.
Caramel latte, since I know that’s your favorite. Have a good writing day. -Asher
I pick up and leave, too flustered to write, instead going home and binging Netflix.
I try again the next day, finding him sitting at my table again, coffee waiting for me, another note tucked under the cup and a cookie laying on a napkin beside it.
He nods at me as he leaves, and I wait until he’s gone to read the note.
I try to tame how my stomach flutters, but it’s impossible.
You’re the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. Hopefully this chocolate chip cookie can compare to your favorite place in the city. -Asher
P.S. I finally tried one, by the way. It was delicious. Just not my kind of sugar.
One sentence, and my body flushes hot. I eat the cookie in less than a minute, trying to distract myself from my wandering thoughts.
It happens again the next day.
I miss seeing your face light up when you got to a really good part in one of your book. I miss the way you looked at me, too. -Asher
My chest warms, and the feeling sticks with me until my head hits the pillow that night. But even then, I end up dreaming about him.
The following day, he lingers for a moment before he leaves me to write. Something in his eyes makes my heart stutter, wanting nothing more than to talk to him. But I don’t. I stay strong.
When I read this note, I feel the truth in it. The emotion. It’s exactly what I saw shining in his eyes.
I think about you in everything I do. Since the moment you walked into my life, you consume my thoughts. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. -Asher
And the next day... That one has tears trailing down my cheeks.
Holding you in my arms was the happiest I’ve ever been. -Asher
On the sixth day of him leaving coffee and notes for me, the note is just simply:
Let me take you out on a date. A real date. Because my feelings for you aren’t fake, Grace. -Asher
I’m flustered and frustrated and considering just going home and watching Netflix again, but I’ve always processed my feelings by writing, so instead, I sit down and get to work.
I’m still staring at the iced caramel latte on the scratched-up table at Sweet Bean two hours later when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The hum of the coffee shop—low chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine—fades as I pull it out, Kacey’s name flashing across the screen.
My thumb hovers for a second, a flicker of dread mixing with the need to vent.
I swipe to answer, pressing the phone to my ear, my other hand still inches from Asher’s peace offering.
“Gracie, I'm literally obsessed with this story. I wish it wasn't inspired by ass-face, but I guess even the worst men can inspire great work.”
I snort. "I feel like ass-face isn't even a good nickname."
"I'll keep trying."
I let out a breath, my gaze flicking to the empty spot where Asher stood, the door’s bell still echoing in my head. “He’s here, Kace,” I tell her, my voice low and frayed at the edges.
“Uhm… What?”
"Asher. He’s here. In Cedar Falls. He showed up at the coffee shop earlier this week, bumped into me, literally, and spilled coffee all over himself.
He says he regrets what happened and that he messed up.
Then the next day, he was sitting here with my favorite coffee order in my booth.
And then he just left. No begging, no big speech.
.. He’s been doing it every day since. There’s always a little note on the napkin.
Sweet things, things that I can’t stop thinking about.
I even dreamt about him the other night.
We were just cuddling, and I made him laugh, and when I woke up, I could still feel the warmth of him.
” I pause, taking a big breath, slightly overwhelmed.
“And today, he wrote that he wants to take me on a real date.” I nudge the cup with a finger, the cold seeping into my skin.
There’s a pause on her end, the kind where I can almost hear her chewing her lip, weighing her usual anti-Asher venom against something new.
“Okay, first, that’s creepy as hell, him lingering in your hometown like some lost puppy with a platinum card,” she starts, her tone still edged with disdain.
“But, damn, Gracie, I gotta admit… showing up every day, not pushing too hard, just leaving you your coffee and some love notes? It’s kinda cracking my ‘hate this guy forever’ wall, just a tiny bit.
Especially since you’re obviously having some feelings about it.
Doesn’t mean I forgive him for breaking your heart, though. What’s your head saying?”
I rub my temple, the ache there pulsing in time with my racing heart.
“My head says run. It says he broke me once, and I’m not whole enough to risk it again.
But my stupid heart…” I trail off, swallowing the lump in my throat, my eyes fixed on the coffee like it holds answers.
“It remembers every good thing, Kace. The way he made me feel seen. And I hate that part of me still wonders if he’s here because he wants me back.
Deep down, I know that’s why he’s here, and I’m scared. ”
Kacey sighs, softer now, the fight draining from her voice.
“Look, I’ll always want to dropkick him into next week for what he did, and I understand why you’re scared, but if he’s sticking around, playing the quiet, thoughtful card…
maybe he’s fighting for real. Doesn’t mean you have to let him in.
Just… don’t close the door completely, okay?
Let him show you what you mean to him, if that’s something you want.
You deserve answers, even if it’s just to slam it shut on his face later. ”
Her words linger as I end the call after catching up with her, the phone dropping to the table with a soft thud.
I wrap both hands around the cup, the chill grounding me as I wrestle with the mess inside.
Kacey’s crack of doubt mirrors the one in me, and I don’t know if that makes it worse or better.
Later, at home, the farmhouse kitchen glows under the warm light of the overhead lamp, the scent of fresh bread cooling on the counter mixing with the faint pine of the nearby fields.
Mom’s at the sink, rinsing a mixing bowl, her flannel sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour dusting her cheek.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, the weight of the day still clinging to me like damp fabric.
She glances over, her hazel eyes catching mine, and shuts off the water, drying her hands on a faded towel.
“You’ve got that look, Gracie,” she says, her voice a gentle nudge as she turns to face me, leaning a hip against the counter. “Somethin’ eating at you. Wanna talk about it?”
I shuffle in, dropping into a chair at the scarred wooden table, my fingers tracing a groove from years of family dinners.
“It’s Asher. He’s in town, Mom. Keeps showing up at Sweet Bean and leaving me coffees and sweet notes.
I told him I can’t trust him, that I’m done, but he’s not leaving.
And each note breaks my walls down a little more…
I don’t know how to handle it.” My voice cracks on the last word, quieter than I mean it to be.
Mom pulls out the chair across from me, sitting with a sigh that sounds like she’s carried my pain as long as I have.
Her hands fold on the table, worn from years of tending the farm, and her gaze softens in a way that tugs at something deep in my chest. “Honey, love’s a tricky beast. It cuts deep, leaves scars, but it also has this stubborn way of hanging on, even when you think it’s gone.
I’ve seen how you’ve hurt this month, shut yourself off to heal.
But I’ve also seen you writing again, finding your fire.
If Asher’s still here, showing up, maybe he’s got scars too.
Maybe he’s learning what losing you cost him. ”
After being home for two weeks, I finally told my mom what actually happened between me and Asher. She’s the only one in my family who knows the truth, and we agreed it was better to not tell my dad and brothers, unless we wanted them to actually try to kill Asher.
I blink at her, the words sinking in, warm and heavy. My throat tightens as I look down at the table, tracing the same groove over and over. “But what if I let him close again, and it’s just more pain? I barely pieced myself back together last time.”
She reaches across, her hand covering mine, grounding me like it did when I was a kid scared of thunderstorms. “Then you remember you’re stronger than you feel right now.
You’ve got a heart big as this farm, Gracie, always have.
It’s okay to guard it, to take your time.
But don’t let fear decide for you. Listen to what you need, not just what you’re afraid of.
If he’s worth it, he’ll wait. If he’s not, you’ll know you’re whole without him.
Either way, you’ve got more love in you than any hurt can take away. I promise you that.”
Her words wrap around me, a quiet balm to the storm in my chest. I squeeze her hand back, a small nod all I can manage as tears prick at my eyes from the fierce, tender certainty in her voice.
The kitchen hums with the familiar creak of the house settling, and for the first time in days, I feel a sliver of clarity beneath the mess. Maybe not an answer, but a path to finding one.