Page 119 of Between the Lines

“No, god, Fia.” She rolls her eyes, laughing. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” I reply without missing a beat.

She exhales. “I just need you to head to the shop. I promise it’s for a good reason.”

“I just got Daisy to bed—” My gaze travels up.

“I know.” Halle picks up her bookbag. “That’s why I’m here. I’ll stay until you get back. I have my laptop and will be working on my resume, but if Daisy wakes, I got this.”

Leaving Daisy with Halle doesn’t bother me in the slightest; she is more than capable of taking care of Daisy. But I don’t like walking into something unknown.

I’ve done that before and look where it left me.

Sensing my hesitation, Halle reaches out to touch my arm.

“I swear to you, Fia, I wouldn’t let you walk into a lion’s den.”

I sigh, closing my eyes before agreeing. “Okay.”

Halle rushes forward, hugging me quickly. “Yay!” She scans my ratty pajamas. “Yeah . . . so maybe just put on some normal clothes first.”

I roll my eyes.“This is insane. You know that, right?”

“But it’s kind of exciting too,” Halle replies with a mischievous grin.

What in the fresh hell is this? I squint through my windshield as I pull into a parking spot in front of the shop. Only a few lights are on, as expected. Good Grinds closed three hours ago. An uneasiness claws at my chest, but I get out of the car anyway.

I changed my pj’s for jean shorts and a knit top, so this better be worth it.

Just as I’m ready to unlock the cafe door, keys in hand, the sight of a note taped to the window stops me. I check to my left and right, but no one is around, so I pull it off the door.

I have to read it twice.

You’re standing in the spot where I first laid eyes on you three years ago. You were just a college student (with the brightest smile I’d ever seen) who needed a job. I was a lost business owner who had no idea that by hiring you, I’d be changing everything . . .

My lungs constrict as I flip the note over, desperate for more words. Instructions are scrawled on the other side in messy handwriting.

Go inside and sit at the table where we first met.

My hand shakes when I unlock the shop and step inside. The lights over the barista counter are the only ones on, but they’re enough that I can still see my way around. A single candle flickers from the round marble cafe table in the back corner—the same table Caden interviewed me at many moons ago.

My feet move me towards the table, my eyes locked in on the single flame. It’s quiet here besides the soft hum of the air conditioner.

I sit on the edge of the seat gingerly, giving up on trying to regulate my heartbeat.

A small note leans against the glass candle. I pick it up.

This is also the table I was sitting at late one night when I decided to promote you to manager. Not because I knew you would excel (you did) but because I saw the kind of person you were. You made everything and everyone around you better. In some ways I was jealous of the light that beamed from you . . .

I furrow my brow, lips parted, rereading the sentence.

How could he be jealous of me—he’s the one with the world at his fingertips.

The back of the card elicits a smirk from me.

Go to the place I found you sleeping.

The tension in my chest eases just a fraction as I quietly nudge the office door open. A single floor lamp casts the room in soft yellow light, and I’m drawn to the leather wingback chair.