Bloodline

Chapter 3

The waiter who had rushed toward the entrance returned a moment later, smoothing invisible creases from the front of his apron. Whatever had happened outside had already dissolved into the rhythm of the restaurant, as though it had never existed at all.

No one else seemed bothered. Cutlery resumed its quiet chorus,wineglasses clinked,someone at the bar ordered another round,only I remained fixed on the windows.

The snowfall had thickened, soft white flakes drifting beneath the amber glow of the streetlamps. It should have looked beautiful. Instead, it made the streets harder to see.

"What are you looking for?" Holland asked. His voice was gentle—not impatient, simply curious.

"I don't know."

He waited.

"I just..." I exhaled slowly, rubbing my palms against my jeans beneath the table. "I can't shake this feeling."

"What feeling?"

"Like we're somewhere we shouldn't be."

He studied me for a moment before leaning back in his chair. His gaze drifted toward the same window I'd been staring through all evening.

"I've been coming here for years."

"I know."

"I've never had a problem."

"I know."

"The staff know me."

"I know."

"The owner knows me."

"I know."

He looked back at me."Then what exactly are you afraid of?"

There it was again. The question. Simple. Reasonable. Impossible to answer.I searched for something concrete.

A mugging.

A shooting.

A robbery.

Any story I'd actually heard firsthand.

Nothing came.

The reputation of a place that had become larger than the place itself.

"I don't know," I admitted quietly.

"I think that's the problem."

I frowned."What does that mean?"

"It means..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Sometimes fear grows bigger when it doesn't have a face."

The words settled between us. He wasn't mocking me. He genuinely believed what he was saying.

But somehow...That made it worse.

"So because I can't explain it," I said carefully, "my feelings aren't valid?"

"I didn't say that."

"It's what you meant."

"No." His brows drew together almost immediately. "It isn't."

"You think I'm overreacting."

"I think you're frightened."

"They're not the same thing."

"No." His voice remained even. "They're not."

For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke.A waitress passed carrying a steaming bowl of soup. Someone near the bar burst into laughter. The warm scent of roasted garlic drifted from the kitchen. Everything around us continued as though nothing had shifted.

Yet...something had.

"I wish..." My voice came out quieter than I'd intended.

Holland leaned forward.

"What?"

"I wish you would've listened."

His expression softened."I am listening."

"No."I lifted my eyes to his."You're hearing me."A flicker crossed his face. Confusion. Then hurt."They're different."

"I know the difference."

"Do you?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His shoulders stilled.

"I told you I didn't want to come here tonight."

"You did."

"I said it more than once."

"You did."

"And yet..."I gestured around the restaurant."...here we are."

"I thought you'd enjoy the food."

"I wanted you...US to enjoy feeling safe."The words escaped before I could soften them. Immediately, I wished I could pull them back. Not because they weren't true. Because of the look that crossed Holland's face. It wasn't anger. That would've been easier,it was disappointment. In himself.

"I honestly didn't think—"

"I know."I rubbed my forehead."I know you didn't."

The frustration had nothing to do with the steak. Or Blackwater. Or even Papa Jo's.

It was the small ache that came from feeling like someone you loved had looked at your fear.....and decided it wasn't quite important enough.

"I wasn't trying to ignore you."

"I know."

"I wanted to do something nice."

"I understand."

"So why does it feel like you're angry at me?"

Because I don't know if you'll ever understand why this mattered. The thought rose before I could stop it.I swallowed it. Instead, I looked away.

Outside, headlights swept across the restaurant windows before disappearing into the snowfall.

"I'm not angry."

"Saffron."

"I'm disappointed."

His face fell. The silence that followed stretched longer this time. Heavy. Not hostile. Just... painfully honest.

He rested both hands on the table and lowered his eyes, tracing absent circles over the condensation beneath his water glass.

"When did I become someone who disappoints you?"

The question landed squarely in my chest.

He hadn't asked defensively.

He'd asked because he genuinely wanted to know.

My throat tightened."You haven't."

"Then..."

"It's just tonight."

He nodded once. Slowly.

"I can live with,tonight."Another pause. Then, quietly."I'm sorry."

I blinked.

He wasn't the sort of person who threw apologies around carelessly. If Holland apologized...He meant it."I should've chosen somewhere else," he continued. "I got excited about the food and stopped thinking about how you'd actually feel sitting here."His thumb rubbed the edge of his napkin."I don't like knowing you're uncomfortable because of something I chose."

Something inside me softened."I know you didn't mean to."

"I didn't."

"I know."

He looked up again."So..."A tentative warmth returned to his voice."Can I make it up to you?"

I couldn't help it,a tiny smile threatened at the corner of my mouth."Depends."

"On?"

"How."

"We leave."

I looked at him."Right now?"

He nodded."No dessert,no coffee,no convincing you to stay another five minutes."He reached for the bill folder lying untouched near the edge of the table."We go home."

The tension inside me eased almost imperceptibly."You'd really leave?"

"I'd rather lose a good steak than spend another hour watching you count exits."

Emotion caught me unexpectedly. Not dramatic. Just quiet. The kind that settled behind your ribs instead of behind your eyes.

"I..."Before I could finish,a sharp crash shattered the moment,glass exploded somewhere behind me,several diners gasped,chairs scraped across the floor. Every conversation in the restaurant stopped. My heart lurched so violently I was already halfway to my feet before I realized I'd moved.

"Saffron—"

"I'm leaving."The words came out far louder than I intended. Heads turned."I can't do this anymore."

Holland stood immediately."Bae, it was just—"

"I don't care what it was!"The room had fallen completely silent. The bartender hurried toward the broken glass.A young waiter crouched beside the shattered tray, his cheeks burning crimson as he apologized over and over to an older couple whose drinks now soaked the tablecloth. It had been an accident. Nothing more.I knew that. But my body hadn't cared. Adrenaline still surged through my veins.

The young waiter looked up as he noticed the attention gathering around us. Embarrassment flickered across his face before professionalism quickly replaced it. He approached with careful steps, stopping just beside our table. "I'm terribly sorry, miss," he said quietly, keeping his voice respectful. "It was only an accident."

I closed my eyes for a second. "I know."

"I sincerely apologize if we startled you."

"It's not your fault."

He hesitated. Then glanced around the dining room. A dozen curious faces were still watching. "If I may..." he said gently, almost apologetically. "...some of our other guests are becoming a little uncomfortable."

Heat rushed into my face. Not anger but humiliation.Of course they were looking.Of course they were,I had become the disturbance I'd spent the entire evening trying to avoid. Without another word, I reached for my handbag, my fingers fumbling slightly against the strap. "Holland." My voice was barely above a whisper now. "I'm going outside."

And before he could answer,I turned and walked toward the door, feeling every pair of eyes following me until the cold winter air swallowed me whole.

The cold wrapped around me the instant I stepped outside. The restaurant door swung shut behind me with a muted click, cutting off the warmth, the music, and the dozens of curious eyes that had followed me to the exit. Winter air rushed into my lungs, crisp enough to sting, carrying with it the faint scent of snow, charcoal smoke and damp asphalt.

For a moment, I simply stood there. The city felt different outside,quieter,honest.

The muffled conversations and clinking glasses inside Papa Jo's had given the illusion that the world was still ordinary. Out here, Blackwater wore no disguise. The buildings stood shoulder to shoulder beneath tired streetlamps, their brick facades stained by decades of weather. Neon signs buzzed lazily above shuttered storefronts, casting ribbons of blue and crimson across the wet pavement. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and descended the three stone steps leading to the pavement. The parking lot sat behind the restaurant, tucked away from the main road behind a narrow service alley. Pools of amber light spilled from overhead lamps, leaving dark pockets between the rows of parked cars. I hated how empty it felt. Each step echoed a little louder than the last.

'Don't be ridiculous' I told myself

I reached Holland's sedan and slipped into the passenger seat without a second glance behind me. The familiar scent of cedarwood greeted me almost immediately. I closed the door.

The world outside became muted,I felt safer...a bit.

I rested my head against the cool window, letting my breathing slow one careful inhale at a time. The parking lot blurred behind the thin layer of condensation forming on the glass. A man crossed toward a pickup truck carrying two takeaway bags. A waitress hurried out the back door with a sack of rubbish balanced against one hip before disappearing toward the dumpsters. Someone laughed somewhere beyond the fence. Everything looked painfully normal. Then why couldn't I shake the feeling that something was wrong?.