Shadows and Broken Glass

A Slice of Trust

As Mia stepped through the door, the familiar jingle of the bell announced her arrival.

Ms. Lawson, her silver hair pulled back in a loose bun, looked up from arranging a tray of cinnamon rolls. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled. "Good morning, dear," she said, her voice as comforting as the aroma of butter and sugar. "The usual, I presume?"

Mia nodded, her gaze swept the room, seeking out the familiar figure. And there he was—Killian, sitting at a small table tucked away in the corner. His unruly dark hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes were fixed on the book in front of him. The sunlight painted a halo around his silhouette, casting shadows on the worn wooden floor.

Summoning her courage, Mia crossed the room. The floorboards creaked under her steps, but she pressed on. Killian looked up, surprise flickering across his features. His lips curved into a slow smile—a smile that sent warmth radiating through her chest.

"Good morning," he said, his voice a low timbre that made her heart flutter.

"Morning," Mia replied, her fingers gripping the back of the chair across from him. She pulled it out, the legs scraping against the floor. As she settled into the seat, their eyes locked.

"Did you sleep well?" He said, his voice soft and gravelly.

She had fallen asleep on her couch, the letter from Mme Rose clutched in her hand. The words had haunted her—the secrets they held about Killian's past. But she couldn't reveal her knowledge just yet. Not until she understood more.

She hesitated. How did one respond to a man who had haunted her thoughts? "I slept," she finally replied vaguely, her fingers tracing the edge of the table.

His smile widened, revealing a dimple. "Dreams or nightmares?"

"I don't dream," Mia said, her voice steady. "Not anymore. And you?"

His eyes held a hint of mystery, a depth she longed to explore. "Dreamt of distant places," he said, cryptic yet inviting.

"Tell me about them," she whispered, hoping he'd reveal more than just dreams.

But Killian merely chuckled, his gaze lingering on her. "Another time, perhaps."

Ms. Lawson arrived, balancing a tray laden with steaming mugs and a plate of flaky pastries. "Your usual, dears," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And a little extra sweetness for the morning."

Mia thanked her, her gaze lingering on Killian. The warmth of the cup seeped into her palms as she mustered courage. "Killian," she began, her voice hushed, "Tell me more about you."

His chin tilted slightly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "Why now?"

She traced the rim of her mug, remembering the night she'd trailed kisses along that very chin. "Because some secrets are meant to be shared," she said, her heart fluttering like a captured butterfly.

His arms, strong and defined, drew her attention next. The dark blue shirt clung to every contour, hinting at stories etched into muscle and sinew. She couldn't help but appreciate the view.

His tanned arms peeked out from the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. Mia's gaze lingered on the tattoos that adorned his forearms—a compass rose, a fading anchor, and a cryptic phrase in Latin.

Killian leaned closer, his breath warm against her cheek. "What if my past scares you?"

"Tell me," Mia said softly, "and let me judge."

Killian's eyes locked onto her. His gaze was intense, as if he could see through her very soul. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, her heart racing. What was it about her that fascinated him so?