Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
LUCAS: Can I see you soon?
My chest tightens, steady and uncertain all at once. It’s possibility itself, a breath caught somewhere between fear and want.
I push back the covers, tug on an oversized tee, and pad into the kitchen. The old kettle grumbles awake on the stove. I spoon coffee into the press and wait, hip resting against the counter, eyes on the window, thoughts drifting towards everything and nothing all at once.
When it’s ready, I pour myself a mug and carry it to my desk; still cluttered with open books, uncapped pens, and a candle I keep meaning to light.
Setting the cup down, I open my laptop to a blank document instead of my new draft. Just a blinking cursor and the thrum of my pulse, loud in the stillness.
This is it. The post that will change everything. I’m tired of hiding behind Lola Reid, tired of splitting myself into two voices, one brave and fictional, the other careful and real. One writing in declarations, the other barely whispering.
But where do I even start? Hi, I’m the girl behind the pseudonym and the pain. No. Too dramatic.
I’ve been writing in the shadows, and it’s time to step into the light. Cringe.
Not knowing what to say, I close the document and open my inbox instead. There it is. Another email about the short story. This one’s from a small but passionate literary blog. The email simply reads:
Your story is being felt.
We’ve received multiple messages asking if this piece came from Lola Reid
herself. Readers are connecting deeply with the tone and emotional clarity.
It’s raw, brave, and unmistakably written by someone who understands what
it means to leave quietly and live loudly.
My fingers hover over the keys. Maybe I don’t need to say everything perfectly. Maybe I just need to start.
The café hums softly, enough to remind me the world keeps spinning, even if I’m not quite caught up yet. I slip behind the counter, tie my apron with ease, and offer a tired but genuine smile. ‘Hi, Nettie.’
She looks up from the till. ‘Hi, Lils. You’ve got that “I’m about to do something brave” look again.’
I smirk but don’t deny it. The door chimes, and Rey swoops in like she owns the place, stealing a muffin off the tray with a wink and zero shame. ‘People are talking,’ she mumbles around a mouthful of a blueberry muffin. ‘You’re not invisible anymore.’
I open my mouth, then close it again. The words are there somewhere.
The line snakes to the door, and the milk hisses like it has an opinion. Rey slides a fresh tray of cinnamon scrolls onto the counter like she’s presenting treasure.
I’m wiping the machine when a woman in a mustard blazer steps up and sets her phone on the tip jar, camera already open.
‘Quick interview?’ she asks brightly. ‘Cait, from The Ridge Roundup. Our readers are dying to know, your piece bares striking resemblance to an already popular author. Are you confirming you’re Lola Reid? ’
My stomach dips. I take a breath. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about,’ I say, steady. ‘And we don’t allow filming inside without permission.’
She laughs like we’re sharing a joke. ‘Public figure, public interest.’ Her thumb hovers over record.
I set my hand over the phone, gentle but firm, and slide it back to her. ‘No filming,’ I repeat. ‘If you have questions, email Tess at Wattlewood Press. I’m happy to talk at an event, but not while I’m working, and not while other customers are here.’
A man in line clears his throat. ‘Yeah, not cool.’
Her smile thins. ‘So, you’re refusing to comment?’
‘I’m setting a boundary.’ I nod towards the sign by the till that reads: No filming or photography of staff or patrons. ‘Happy to pour you a coffee.’
She hesitates, then scoffs. ‘Flat white,’ dropping coins with a clatter. ‘Extra hot.’
I make it and hand it over. ‘Have a good day.’
When she leaves, Nettie appears like a storm cloud breaking. ‘Proud of you, kid,’ she murmurs, flipping a small chalkboard to face the room: Be kind. Ask first.
Rey taps the board with the chalk and adds, “Management.”
The tension drains from my shoulders. I set a boundary, and it’s still standing.
The rest of the shift passes in the warm, familiar blur I’ve come to love.
Regulars order their usuals. A toddler drops a cookie and wails like the world has ended.
Two high school girls share a paperback and a milkshake, giggling in the corner.
And me? I pour drinks, wipe counters, and keep breathing.
Sometimes, when the lull stretches a little too long, I glance across the street towards the windows of Inkwell & Ivy. Not long enough for anyone to notice, just long enough to ache.
The café is quiet in the way only after-hours allows. Lights low, chairs stacked, the machine silent. Nettie’s counting coins. She glances up once, then keeps going.
‘Can we sit for a moment?’
She nods towards the corner table.
My throat feels tight for no good reason. Nettie finishes the float, clicks the till shut. Wiping her hands on a towel, she joins me.
‘I’m thinking about officially telling everyone I’m Lola.’
‘Okay, what do you need to do that?’
‘I’m not sure.’ The truth stings. ‘I want to stop hiding. I want to choose how people know me. But I don’t want to burn my life down doing it.’
‘Then don’t,’ she says simply. ‘Choose your time, and your words.’
I breathe out. ‘There’ll be noise. People won’t like me, they’ll think I lied.’
‘There’ll always be noise,’ she pauses. ‘You can plan for noise. People won’t always like you, Lils, but it doesn’t mean you should hide.’
‘Justin’s pushing,’ I add, the name sour in my mouth. ‘Anonymous emails. Trying to force me to come clean.’
Nettie’s jaw sets. ‘If he walks in here, I’ll ask him to leave. If he doesn’t, we take the next steps.’
I nod, my chest loosening. ‘Lucas,’ I say, his name barely more than air.
‘Lucas,’ she echoes. ‘Does he make it easier to breathe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then start there.’
I stare at my hands. ‘I’m scared of being too much.’
‘You’ll be too much for the wrong people,’ Nettie says, simple and sure. ‘Be the right amount for yourself.’
A laugh escapes me. ‘You make it sound easy.’
‘It’s never easy,’ she, taps my mug. ‘But simple and easy aren’t the same thing. You already know what to do. Now you just have to be brave enough to do it.’
The hum of the fridge and the slow tick of the cooling machine is the only sound between us for a while.
‘I wrote to an online journal,’ I say. ‘It’s been published. In my name.’
‘Good,’ she squeezes my hand once, brief, and warm. ‘When you’re ready, we’ll be cheering,’ she promises.
‘Thank you.'
She smiles at me for a while, not saying anything. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out a small ring of keys. They were the ones I’d used a hundred times in passing, always borrowed, never mine.
‘I think it’s time.’ She holds them out to me.
I swear, I can feel my brain short circuiting. ‘Time for what?’
‘For you to stop thinking you’re temporary here.’
I stare at the keys, heart thudding like I haven't just walked in for a shift but stumbled into a turning point. ‘You’re serious?’
Nettie’s eyes soften, her voice quieter than I have ever heard it. ‘I’ve been waiting. Not for you to be perfect, or for you to have every step planned. Just for you to stop hiding.’
My throat tightens. ‘Nettie?’
She gestures round the café, the same space that had caught me when everything else fell apart. ‘This place, it’s always been yours in spirit. I just needed to make sure you knew it before I handed it over.’
Tears blur the edges of my vision, but I blink them back. ‘What if I mess it up?’
‘Then don’t,’ she says with a small smile. ‘Just make sure there’s always good coffee and a soft place to land.’
Sunlight spills in through the front windows, casting warm streaks across the worn floorboards.
I look around, really look at the scuffed counter where I’d lean through heartbreak.
The shelves I’d restocked after long nights writing.
The faded couch where Marley once threw a cushion at me for being too in denial to admit I was in love.
This place has held me through every version of myself.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’ I ask. ‘That I wasn’t ready before.’
Nettie nodded. ‘I knew you had to reveal yourself first. To the world, to your people, to yourself. That kind of courage? It changes everything.’
I swallow hard, emotions pressing right against the back of my teeth. ‘Thank you for waiting.’
‘I wasn’t waiting.’ She winks. ‘I was making sure you were brewing the best version of yourself.’
A laugh bursts out of me. ‘That’s awful.’
‘Admit it though, it's kinda poetic.’
I didn’t bother with a comeback. I just hug her, really tight.
It is the beginning. When I step behind the counter, my counter now, I feel it settle in my bones.
This isn’t just where I work, it is part of my story, and this time, I am not a character someone else has written. I am the one holding the pen.
I pull out my phone and hover over Lucas’s last message.
LUCAS: Can I see you soon?
LILAH: Yes. Tomorrow night? Want to come over?