Chapter 12
Calla
When I open the door at Maple & Clover, a rush of warm air wraps around me, thick with the scent of coffee and baked goods.
It should ease something in me. Instead, I feel self-conscious—like the soapless shower I took this morning wasn’t enough.
Like I’m tainting this place, leaving my own heaviness in the air.
Maggie catches my eye from behind the counter, a bright smile in place as she waves, trying to push through a thick line of customers.
They’re bundled in winter coats, cheeks flushed—probably on school breaks or squeezing in some holiday PTO.
The kind of people who glow a little brighter this time of year. Not the ones who fall apart.
She moves fluidly, full of energy and light. The line keeps moving, but I’m too busy watching her hands glide from cup to register to pastry bag.
When it’s finally my turn, she slides two coffees and a pastry bag toward me with a grin.
“On the house.”
Her smile is bright, but there’s something behind it. Like she can tell I’m not okay.
“Maggie…”
I can’t keep letting her do this. It was different when Jules and I came in together. Every so often, she’d slip an extra pastry into our bag when she thought we weren’t looking. But lately, it’s been day after day.
A kindness I don’t know how to repay.
She pushes the items closer, leaving no room to argue. I sigh, quiet but resigned. She’s not taking my money.
My eyes drift to the extra coffee and pastry.
It’s a clear sign. I’m heading straight to Driftwood.
I stare at the two coffees, a question creeping in that I’d rather ignore. Will Haiyden be there?
I don’t know his schedule, but I do know he wasn’t exactly thrilled to be at the bar the other morning. With the holidays coming, maybe he’s working more. Or maybe just at night.
Either way, they share the space—and if he’s there, I’m not showing up empty-handed again.
I exhale slowly, eyes bouncing between the cups before looking up at Maggie. “Actually, sorry—can I get another one?”
She nods. “Drip?”
“Yes, but I’m paying for this one.”
She gives me a small, knowing smile, but doesn’t argue. A moment later, she hands me the third cup. I nestle the pastry into the center of the tray, then carefully set the coffees around it.
I could leave my car where it is, walk to Driftwood, drop everything off, and go. But taking up a parking space outside Maple’s, a space that could go to a real paying customer, feels like taking something from Maggie.
And I’ve already taken enough.
I skip the seatbelt for the short drive, the coffee tray balanced on my lap. The gravel lot crunches under my tires as I pull in and park. I grab my bag and the book I tossed in the backseat earlier, then step out, arms full and awkward.
With my eyes fixed on my feet, trying not to stumble, I hear the door swing open before I see it. Chase stands there, holding it with one hand.
Guilt twists in my stomach. He’s started expecting me, hasn’t he? I’ve been showing up uninvited, walking into his mornings like I belong. What if me staying home yesterday was a relief?
I step through the doorway, and Chase lets it close softly behind me. Shifting the tray, I hold it up uncomfortably. “The latte’s on the left, closest to you.”
He nods in thanks, but his expression changes when he sees the extra cup.
“It’s for Haiyden,” I say, quieter than I mean to. Embarrassment prickles at the back of my neck. “I wasn’t sure if he’d be here, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
Chase raises an eyebrow as he sets his cup on the bar.
“You’ve been supplying my caffeine and sugar fix for, what, a week now? I don’t think you could be rude if you tried.”
He laughs lightly, but his voice softens.
“That said, Haiyden usually doesn’t leave his room until, like, noon. I’ll see if he’s up and interested, though.”
“Don’t bug him,” I cut in quickly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. He blinks, clearly surprised by the urgency .
I turn away before he can say anything else and drift toward my usual spot. The low table, the worn chair, the soft morning sun. It’s all familiar. It’s enough.
I’m content.
But after about thirty minutes of peace, the front door chimes, shattering the quiet.
Haiyden strides in, his expression blank—still a mask I haven’t managed to crack.
“Good morning, Calla. Do you actually have an apartment, or are you planning to move in here?”
His voice has an edge, but there’s something else underneath. Amusement, maybe.
He turns to Chase. “Better brush up on your squatter’s rights, buddy.”
Chase lets out a long sigh, clearly unimpressed.
“You’re hilarious,” he mutters dryly.
I hear the sarcasm in Haiyden’s tone, but it still stings. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve stayed home, where it was safer.
The sound of Haiyden’s boots crossing the floor snaps me out of my thoughts. He stops in front of me, the corners of his mouth lifting—infuriating and magnetic all at once.
“I hear there’s a coffee waiting for me? Charming, Calla,” he says, voice laced with mockery.
Suppressing a groan, I gesture toward the coffee tray still sitting on the bar.
“Help yourself,” I mutter, shooting Chase a look.
He shrugs, unapologetic. “What? He likes coffee.”
Haiyden walks to the bar, every movement deliberate as he picks up the cup.
He lifts it to his lips and takes a long sip.
His eyes never leave mine. There’s an intensity in his stare that suffocates me, and when he lowers the cup and mouths thank you , it feels like there’s not enough air on this earth.
Heat rushes to my face, and I look away, pretending to lose myself in my book. My fingers tremble as I grip the pages, trying to focus, but the scrape of a chair across the floor pulls my attention back to him.
Haiyden sits across from me, stretching out his long legs like he owns the space. He pulls out his phone and scrolls casually while I sit here, tense and restless.
Out of the corner of my eye, I study him.
The sharp line of his jaw, the slight curl of dark hair, the way his fingers wrap around the coffee cup—everything about him feels meticulously designed to draw my attention, and I hate how easily it works.
My gaze drifts lower, to where the cuffs of his jeans brush against his boots, and that’s when I notice—his feet are just barely touching mine under the table.
It’s not an accident. He’s filling the space, claiming it in a way I can’t.
I force my eyes back to the pages of my book, willing myself to just read, but my heart betrays me—every beat a quiet reminder of the man sitting across from me.
His presence fills the room, and even in the stillness, I can feel the weight of his approaching storm.
And still, I steal glances, each one pulling me deeper into his orbit.
The faint scent of citrus and sage floats between us—bright and clean, with an undercurrent of something earthier.
My thoughts betray me, slipping to the back office: his hands on me, his lips igniting something primal.
Something I couldn’t control. I feel the phantom weight of it now, pressing into me with force.
The memory is searing. Overwhelming. For a second, I forget where I am entirely.
Chase’s footsteps pull me back into the present, breaking the spell. He emerges from the back, coffee in hand, and drops into a seat like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m late to the party this morning, huh?” Chase says, tone light, but I see the glint of curiosity in his eyes.
“No party,” I blurt out, too fast, too flat.
I glance at Haiyden, and his smirk is immediate—curling at his lips like he’s in on a joke I don’t want to be a part of. It’s infuriating how easily he reads me when I’m trying so hard to stay composed.
Chase follows my gaze, then turns back to me, nodding toward my book. “No work today, Calla?”
“Ahead of schedule.” The lie twists in my throat, but it’s easier than explaining the truth.
“Impressive,” he says, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast before taking a sip.
I manage a small smile in return.
“Do you get any time off for Christmas?” he asks, the only one in the room who seems remotely interested in my life.
“I work on more of a freelance schedule,” I say, but the words come out clumsy. “I, uh… make my own hours, so I can work whenever I want.”
My face warms as I realize I’ve just outed myself, admitted these mornings aren’t exactly required.
“Anyway, I fell behind. Working here’s just been helping me catch up.”
It’s quick, but I catch Haiyden’s expression—an almost-smile tugging at his lips. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it’s maddening. Like he’s silently laughing at me while I trip over my own words.
This man is insufferable.
“Haiyden, what about you?” Chase asks, shifting his attention. “Are you sticking around for Christmas or going home to see your parents?”
“Around,” Haiyden replies curtly, voice clipped. There’s something in his answer, the single word, that makes it clear this isn’t a topic he wants to discuss.
But Chase doesn’t take the hint. “What are they up to?”
“Why? You planning on sending a gift?” He exhales, slow and tight. “I don’t know, Chase. And I really don’t care.”
Chase doesn’t seem offended, but he doesn’t press either. He just shifts his attention back to me, tone light again.
“What about you, Calla?”
I blink, momentarily thrown. In the haze of the last few weeks, I haven’t thought about the holiday at all. Visiting my parents is out of the question. And suddenly, a quiet realization settles over me. I’m spending Christmas alone this year.
“I’ll be here,” I say, my voice uncertain.
“Yeah, but do you have plans?” Chase presses, genuinely curious.
I shrug. It’s meant to be casual, but it doesn’t quite hide the sadness creeping in.
“Sitting at home, I guess. I don’t really do holidays.”
Chase narrows his eyes, confusion flickering across his face. “No way,” he says after a beat, his voice light but puzzled. “I saw you at the party. You looked like you were having a good time.”
Before I can respond, Haiyden shifts in his chair, dragging his boots across the floor .
Loud. Deliberate.
Maybe I’m not the only one still stuck in that room.
The room falls silent for only a moment, but I feel it. I can see it in the way his jaw tightens that Haiyden feels it too.
Chase, ever the optimist, leans forward, eyes bouncing between us.
“I’m leaving the day after Christmas for a ski trip with my family,” he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow, not sure where he’s going with this.
“I love Christmas,” he adds, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world. “And I’d really like to celebrate before I go. So here’s the deal.”
He gestures toward me with an open hand.
“Haiyden and I have been half-assing Christmas celebrations since college.” He smiles. “But they’re better now. We live down the street, and I’m guessing you’re not far. Come over for Christmas Day.”
Haiyden’s jaw drops. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to. The look on his face says it all.
Chase glances between us again, clearly catching the apprehension but powering through anyway. “It’ll be low-key,” he says, casual but sincere. “Music, dinner, a few drinks—nothing crazy.”
Haiyden crosses his arms, gripping his biceps so hard his knuckles go white. The sight sends a surge of something bitter through me.
I stand up, needing space, and take a few steps away from the table. I walk toward the Christmas tree we re-decorated a few days ago and brush my fingers along one of the ornaments.
A rush of imagined memories flows through me—what it might’ve looked like if Jules were still here. Us celebrating, decorating, laughing the way I wish we still could.
The joy in them feels like a cruel joke against the emptiness I carry now.
When I look back at Haiyden, it’s written all over his face. The idea of me stepping foot in their apartment makes his skin crawl.
“I don’t want to impose—” I start, but Chase cuts in.
“You’re not,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument.
At the same time, Haiyden mutters, “You are.”
The look that passes between them is a storm meeting still water.
Chase’s disappointment shows in the subtle slump of his shoulders, the dimming in his eyes. This means more to him than he’s letting on.
“You really don’t have to include me,” I say, voice unsteady. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but maybe the two of you should just celebrate together instead.”
Chase stands suddenly, his movements pulling my focus to him. He steps closer until we’re eye to eye, his expression more serious than I’ve ever seen it.
“Unfortunately, Calla, that’s not going to fly.”
I brace myself.
“It’s been months since Haiyden has let anyone step foot in our apartment,” he says. “This one’s for me.”
“Okay,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can second-guess it.
I glance at Haiyden again. He’s not hostile. Not sarcastic. Not irritated, like I expected. He just seems… off.
Uncomfortable in a way that feels familiar. Almost vulnerable.
Chase turns toward the back office, his usual ease returning.
“See you at 3:00 on Thursday! I’ll text you the address!” he calls over his shoulder.
A few seconds later, he’s gone, leaving me alone with Haiyden.
He stands, posture rigid, glare slicing straight through me.
But it’s his voice that lands the blow—low, laced with venom, edged in something close to disgust.
“See you Thursday at three,” he spits.
Without another word, he stalks past me, the door slamming behind him with a finality that echoes through the empty room.