By the Book

Chapter Forty-Six: The Price of Love

Miles was behind the counter, his back to me, flipping through a pile of receipts when I pushed through the red front door of the café. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though the weight of the day had settled in his shoulders. He didn't notice me at first, not until I took another hesitant step forward, the soles of my boots scuffing against the wooden floor.

He glanced up, his hazel eyes locking on mine. For a split second, he looked surprised—almost caught off guard—but the expression quickly faded, replaced by something guarded and unreadable. He straightened, setting the receipts aside as his hand moved toward the sign hanging in the window. 

He glanced up, his hazel eyes locking on mine. For a split second, he looked surprised—almost caught off guard—but the expression quickly faded, replaced by something guarded and unreadable. He straightened, setting the receipts aside as his hand moved toward the sign hanging in the window. The café was dimly lit, the overhead lights turned down low, and every empty table felt like a glaring reminder of how late it was.

"You're here," he said, his voice low, the faintest trace of relief threading through his words.

"I said I'd come," I replied evenly, my voice firmer than I felt. I shifted on my feet, the bag slung over my shoulder suddenly feeling too heavy. "You said we needed to talk."

He hesitated, his fingers brushing the sign before he flipped it to Closed. The quiet click of the latch locking the door sent a shiver down my spine. He turned back to face me, his expression softer now but still wary, like he wasn't sure how much ground he had to tread before he lost me completely.

"Do you want coffee?" he asked after a moment, gesturing toward the counter. His voice was careful, his tone too neutral.

"No, thanks." I shook my head, my arms crossing tightly over my chest. "I don't think I could drink anything right now."

He nodded, his hand falling to his side. "Okay."

The silence that followed felt oppressive, stretching between us like a chasm neither of us knew how to cross. I stayed rooted near the door, refusing to step further inside, and he remained behind the counter, the physical distance between us feeling as deliberate as it was necessary.

"So," I said finally, breaking the silence. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

His eyes flicked toward the floor for a moment before meeting mine again. He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the edge of the counter, his knuckles brushing the worn wood. "I wanted to apologize," he said, his voice soft but steady. "For earlier. For how I handled everything with you—then and now."

I swallowed hard, my arms tightening around myself like armor. "You've already apologized, Miles."

"I know," he said quickly, his tone edging toward desperation. "But it doesn't feel like enough. It's not enough."

I shook my head, taking a step closer but stopping well before the counter. "What do you want me to say? That I forgive you? That everything's fine now? Because it's not, Miles. It's not fine."

"I don't expect you to say that," he said, his voice lowering. "I don't expect anything, Kara. I just... I need you to hear me."

"I have heard you," I snapped, the words sharper than I intended. "And now you want me to do what? Forget everything? Pretend like none of it happened?"

His jaw tightened, his hands gripping the counter a little harder. "No," he said firmly. "I don't want you to forget. I just want a chance to make things right."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "A chance to make things right? Miles, do you even know what you're asking for? Do you even realize how much you've hurt me?"