Chapter 9
Calla
The next week slips by. Each morning, sunlight spills through my window as I roll out of bed, dress, and head to Maple & Clover, bag already packed.
I swear Maggie’s smile has gotten brighter over the past week.
Every morning when I walk in, my usual order is already waiting: hot black coffee, a latte, and a maple pecan scone.
After a quick hello, I duck behind the counter to greet the girls, their excitement impossible to ignore.
It’s a small but constant moment of happiness that centers me before the day begins.
Then it’s off to Driftwood. The walk is short, the steps memorized now.
When I reach the door, I knock three times—loud, evenly spaced taps.
It’s become our calling card. On the second day I came, Chase and I exchanged numbers, just in case he didn’t hear me knocking, just in case we needed a backup plan.
I’ve never actually texted him, though. I haven’t needed to.
I take my usual spot at the same table, in the same chair.
There’s something comforting in the routine.
Chase moves around me, always careful not to disrupt my focus, but he’s never far.
Some mornings, we barely speak, content in a comfortable silence.
Other times, he leans over my shoulder, teasing me about whatever rabbit hole I’ve fallen into.
Today, it’s an article on juice cleanses.
“Health quacks,” he mutters, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I laugh, the sound escaping me before I can stop it. It’s one of those effortless moments, and for the first time in a long time, I realize just how much I’ve come to appreciate them.
The day slips by faster than I expect, the clock ticking into the early afternoon. One glance at the screen, and my stomach sinks. Only one week until Christmas.
An unwelcome thought rips through me: Jules should be here. She should be part of everything I’d normally be planning. We should be laughing about our favorite traditions, swapping ridiculous gift ideas, baking cookies at midnight in her kitchen.
Instead, there’s an unmistakable void where that joy should be. I try to shake the thought, but it lingers. And before I even realize what I’m doing, my fingers move on their own, opening a new tab and typing her name into the search bar.
It’s the same as always. The same words, the same photos. That bright smile that used to light up a room. I stare, lost in the image of her, unable to look away.
I don’t hear Chase approach until he exhales softly behind me. My breathing stops. I move to close the tab, to hide her away, but it’s too late. I know he’s already seen it.
A warm pressure settles on my shoulder—his hand, just for a moment, before I flinch. He pulls back immediately, but I still feel the echo of his touch. It hangs in the space between us, comforting and unfamiliar all at once.
“Did you know her?” His voice is soft, almost tender, but the words cut straight through me.
I swallow hard, trying to push down the flood of emotions.
“My best friend.”
The words come out soft, almost weightless, like they belong to someone else—someone far away. I don’t recognize the pounding in my head or the way my chest feels like it’s closing in.
Chase steps around the chair, his eyes fixed on me, studying me in a way that makes me feel exposed. He nods once, slowly. But there’s something else in his expression, something that feels too much like pity. And that’s the last thing I want.
I hear it before I can stop myself—a sudden snap as I slam my laptop shut, the sound cutting through the quiet like a warning shot. I start shoving everything into my bag, my hands shaking with the need to move, to get out, to escape whatever emotions are suddenly crowding the space between us.
My fingers fumble with the zipper. I stand too fast. My foot catches on the chair. The world tilts. For a second, everything slows, like I’m watching myself fall from somewhere far away.
I crash backward, the sound of the Christmas tree toppling behind me sending a jolt of panic through my chest. Ornaments shatter, scattering across the hardwood in a violent rain of glass. My back hits the floor with a force that makes my spine twinge as the world blurs around me.
My hands shoot out, landing in a pile of broken ornaments.
The shards slice into my palms, forcing a gasp from me.
My breath comes in short bursts, eyes squeezed shut as blood begins to bead and spill, dripping onto the floor, adding a new shade to the already scattered reds, greens, whites, and golds.
For a long moment, I stay there—mortified, wishing I could sink into the floor, disappear into the broken glass and loose tinsel. Then I hear footsteps, quick and frantic.
Chase is there before I can make sense of what’s happening, his hands already reaching for me. My eyes snap open. He’s crouched in front of me, eyes flicking between my face and bleeding palms, his expression tight with concern.
Pity. It’s the only word that registers as I watch his expression shift.
“Let me help you,” Chase says, his voice calm, though there’s something else underneath. Worry, maybe.
“I got it,” I snap, my voice betraying me as I struggle to find a place to put my hands.
“Calla, please. The tree doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice firmer now, hands hovering just above mine, waiting to help me up.
“Chase, no. There’s blood all over my hands,” I say, almost pleading. “I’ve got it.”
His gaze softens, eyes widening like I’m something fragile he’s afraid to break. “Really, it’s fine,” he says, his voice gentle but edged with quiet urgency.
His words send me into a frenzy. Before I know it, I’m scrambling to clean up the mess, grabbing shards of porcelain and glass. Blood smears across the floor, making it harder to gather the pieces, but I can’t stop. I need to fix this .
A moment later, his hand is on my wrist, pulling me up with surprising strength.
“That’s enough, Calla,” he says, hauling me to my feet. “You’re bleeding. Stop.”
Before I can protest, his hands find my shoulders, guiding me back to the chair. He nudges me down, then gently turns my palms upward to assess the damage.
Tears spill down my cheeks as a wave of helplessness crashes over me.
“Stay here,” he says, voice soothing, like he knows I’m not okay even if I can’t admit it.
He disappears into the back office, and I’m left with nothing but silence. The faint shuffle of supplies, drawers opening, closing—then the quiet tread of his footsteps as he returns.
Chase crouches between my knees, eyes soft as he looks up at me. He sets the first aid kit on the floor and flips it open. “This might sting a little,” he says, reaching for the bottle of antiseptic.
The moment it touches my skin, I suck in a breath. The burn is immediate—searing. I flinch, clenching my jaw to keep from crying out.
“Almost done,” he whispers.
I nod without meeting his eyes, watching instead as he carefully applies ointment to the cuts. His touch is precise but gentle, and for a moment, it’s all I can feel.
He wraps my palms in gauze, securing it with medical tape.
When he finishes, he looks up, meeting my eyes with a quiet intensity that makes my heart stutter. His hands stay on mine, thumbs brushing gently over the bandages .
“Don’t worry about it, okay?” His voice is calm but firm, like he’s willing me to believe him. “It was an accident. It happens.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and whisper, “Okay.”
Standing, he walks to the bar and fills a glass of water, setting it in front of me. “I’m gonna grab a broom. Stay here.”
He disappears into the back again and returns quickly with a broom.
He lifts the tree effortlessly, like it weighs nothing, then begins sweeping the shattered ornaments into a pile.
The rhythmic scrape of bristles on the floor steadies my thoughts, but restlessness creeps in. I can’t just sit here, doing nothing.
I stand, ignoring the ache in my body and the sting in my hands. My movements are stiff, jerky, as I reach for the larger pieces.
“Calla,” Chase sighs, pausing mid-sweep.
“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice strained. “I need to—”
“No, you don’t,” he says, cutting in gently. He steps closer, easing the shards away from my hands. “It’s handled. Just… sit for a second.”
His words wash over me, and I sink back into the chair, reluctant but worn out. The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, not really—but there’s something else now. Something uncertain. Something good.
When the floor is finally cleared, Chase sets the broom aside and crouches in front of me again, his hands resting lightly on my knees. “You don’t have to go,” he says gently. “This doesn’t change anything. I still want you to come by in the mornings. Not just for you—for me, too.”
Something in his voice, in the way he looks at me, unravels some of the tightness inside me. But my words still come out soft, laced with hesitation. “Okay. But I really do need to go… just for today. It’s getting late. ”
He exhales, a flicker of frustration crossing his face, but he doesn’t argue.
Instead, he steps back, giving me space to gather my things.
When I reach the door, I feel him behind me, just over my shoulder. I turn, but before I can speak, his arms wrap around me tightly.
I freeze at first, unsure how to react, but then his voice reaches my ear. “If you ever need anything… just let me know. I’m here.”
His words settle into the foundations of the walls I’ve worked so hard to build. I don’t know how long I stand there—caught between uncertainty and something that feels a little too much like comfort—but eventually, I melt into him.
For the first time in months, I feel the faintest stir of hope.