Ava opened the café the next morning without waiting for Cole.
She didn’t need him to unlock the door anymore. Or to tell her how much coffee to brew. She knew the rhythm now.
But that didn’t stop her from glancing at the clock every ten minutes.
He showed up just after eight. No smile. No apology. Just tired eyes and a quiet “Morning.”
Ava gave a small nod. “We’re out of muffins.”
“I’ll pick some up later.”
He didn’t try to talk more. Neither did she.
The silence was louder than any fight.
By noon, the tension thickened.
Cole finally broke it. “Want to talk?”
Ava wiped down a clean table. “I think we did that already.”
He winced. “I’m trying, Ava.”
“I know. But trying doesn’t erase anything.”
He moved closer. “Do you still want this? Us?”
She paused. “I’m not sure. I want honesty. Safety. A future that isn’t built on missing pieces.”
“I can give you that.”
“Then start acting like it.”
Later that day, a letter arrived.
No name. No return address. Just Ava’s name in neat, sharp handwriting.
Inside: a photo of Cole. Taken in front of the café. With a note.
“You don’t know him. But we do.”
A chill ran down her spine.
Someone was watching.
And she wasn’t sure if she or Cole was the real target.