The bell above the café door jingled as Catherine stepped inside for the first time in days.
It was strange — being back. The smell of fresh espresso and sweet vanilla pastries wrapped around her like a memory she didn't quite recognize anymore. The warmth of the place hadn't changed… but she had.
Her coworkers greeted her gently, their eyes filled with the kind of sympathy that clings. Aina had already warned them not to say too much, and Catherine was grateful for that. She didn't want to talk about the funeral, about flowers, about grief.
She just wanted to make coffee. Pour lattes. Wipe down tables. Be useful. Feel something.
Behind the counter, her movements were slower, more careful. But she still smiled softly at customers. Still offered extra cream to that old man who always came in at 10:15. Still remembered the playlist she used to hum to when the sun poured through the window.
Her frame was a little thinner. Her cheeks slightly hollowed from days of skipping meals. But her hair was tied up neatly, and she wore her signature soft brown apron. There was a certain beauty in her stillness — like glass that hadn't shattered, but had learned to bend with pressure.
The doorbell jingled again.
She didn't look up at first — until the low, familiar voice broke through the ambient clatter.
"You didn't answer my texts. Or my calls."
Catherine froze for a second — not in fear, not even in pain — just… stillness. Then she looked up.
Maverick stood near the register, one hand in his coat pocket, the other holding his phone loosely. His eyes were tired, but not desperate — more annoyed than anything. His jaw was tight, like he was used to being forgiven quickly.
"You went completely quiet," he continued. "I'm sorry if I hurt you, but this… this isn't how we fix things. We don't just go silent."
Catherine's eyes met his, calm and unblinking.
"I know," she said quietly. "But I needed space. To breathe. To feel what happened. And what I was waiting for… was just a real apology."
Maverick shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
"I came to see you. I cancelled my plans for tomorrow." His voice lifted, like it should impress her. "Let's go out. See how things could work."
There it was — that arrogance again. Like his presence was the fix, like showing up erased what he'd done. As if bringing Rose into her house could be brushed under the rug now that he'd cleared his Valentine's calendar.
Before Catherine could respond, Maverick's phone buzzed loudly.
He glanced at it — and quickly stepped outside to take the call.
Catherine watched through the glass.
He smiled.
Smiled.
He turned his back to the café, speaking animatedly, his hand in his pocket, pacing lightly in front of the windows.
She didn't need to guess who it was.
She knew.
Rose.
The realization didn't sting the way it might have days ago. It simply… confirmed something. Something she had been denying.
Aina leaned in from the other end of the bar, catching her expression. "Do you want me to tell him to leave?" she whispered.
Catherine looked at her friend, then back at the man outside — handsome, selfish, distracted.
"No," she said softly. "Let him finish his call."
Then she turned away.
Back to the espresso machine. Back to the steam and the noise and the rhythm.
Back to herself.
Because maybe grief had torn her down.
But it had also started building someone new.