Chapter 44.
1190 Words
Briar felt the weight of Victor’s stare. It wasn't a touch, but it was just as heavy. She felt the heat of it on her skin, a silent demand for her to remember exactly what had happened in the bathroom the nights before.
"Caleb, that’s really kind, but I have a lot on my plate," Briar said, her voice small but firm. She shifted behind her counter, feeling like she was standing on a fault line. "I don't think tonight is a good time."
"Oh." Caleb’s face fell, a flash of hurt crossing his features before he glanced back at the General. He straightened his shoulders, attempting to project a confidence he clearly didn't feel. "Tomorrow, then. I’m not going anywhere, Briar. You know where to find me."
He gave her a lingering look, one that was supposed to be a promise of a future, but in the shadow of the man standing by the door, it felt like a desperate plea. Caleb nodded curtly to Victor- a gesture the General didn't return, and walked out. The bell above the door gave a final, mournful ting as it closed behind him.
The silence that rushed into the bakery was deafening.
Victor didn't move. He stood by the door, his eyes tracking the flour smudge on Briar’s forehead with a clinical, detached intensity. He was a man of few words, and right now, the silence was his primary weapon.
"He’s just being helpful, Victor," Briar said, her sass finally returning as the pressure of Caleb’s presence vanished. She grabbed a damp cloth and began to scrub the prep table with more force than necessary. "You don't have to look at him like he’s an enemy combatant. He’s an insurance agent who likes sourdough."
"He was in the restricted area," Victor rumbled. He walked forward, but he didn't stop at the counter. He walked around the side, entering the space Caleb had just occupied. He didn't touch her. He didn't even get within a foot of her. He just stood where Caleb had stood, replacing the scent of grass with the scent of pine and cold steel.
"It’s a bakery, not a missile silo," Briar huffed, though her heart was doing a frantic dance against her ribs. She looked up at him, her brown eyes defiant. "And he’s been coming behind this counter since the place opened. He’s part of the 'terrain,' as you put it."
"The terrain has changed," Victor said. He looked down at the bag of flour Caleb had moved. He didn't touch it, but he studied the placement as if it were a poorly positioned barricade. "He speaks of 'we' and 'foundations.' He is building a strategy based on my absence."
"Can you blame him?" Briar asked softly, her voice losing its edge. She leaned against the counter, her hands trembling. "You are leaving, Victor. In thirty-three days, you’ll be a gone, and Caleb will be the one helping me with the heavy lifting. That’s just reality."
Victor finally looked at her. The flinty hardness in his eyes shifted, revealing a dark, turbulent depth that made Briar’s breath catch. He didn't reach out to wipe the flour from her face. He didn't pin her against the wall. He just looked at her with a raw, agonizing honesty that was more intimate than a kiss.
"He can move your flour, Briar," Victor said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous vibration that seemed to settle in her very bones. "He can draw his blueprints and talk about his spring foundations. He can play the part of the 'stable choice' for your mother and the town."
He took one step closer- just one. He was still a respectful distance away, but his presence was a physical weight, a suffocating heat that made her knees feel weak.
"But he doesn't know the way you sigh when you’re cornered," Victor whispered, the words hitting her like a physical blow. "He doesn't know the mark on my shoulder. And he certainly doesn't know that every time he looks at you, you’re thinking about the man who’s going to be gone in thirty-three days."
Briar bit her lip, her eyes stinging. "That’s cruel, Victor."
"It’s tactical," he countered, his expression returning to that mask of disciplined stone. "I don't leave my assets to chance. I don't need to touch you to claim the territory, Briar. You already did that for me."
He turned away then, walking back toward the front of the shop. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small hair tie- the one he’d taken from the kitchen table. He set it on the counter with a quiet click.
"The coffee," he reminded her, his voice back to its sandpaper rasp. "Black. No sugar."
Briar moved on autopilot, her hands shaking as she filled a travel mug. She set it on the counter, her fingers grazing his for the briefest of seconds as he took the cup. The spark was electric, a jolt of pure, unadulterated need that made her want to vault over the counter and beg him to stay.
Victor didn't say thank you. He didn't offer a smile. He simply took the cup, adjusted his tactical jacket, and walked toward the door.
"Victor?" she called out before he could leave.
He paused, his hand on the handle, but he didn't turn around.
"Why did you come here? Truly?"
He stayed silent for a long beat, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a heavy breath.
"I wanted to see if the perimeter was still holding," he rumbled.
"And is it?" she whispered.
Victor turned his head just enough for her to see the sharp, uncompromising line of his jaw. "It’s under siege, Briar. But the General doesn't surrender. I’ll see you at the house for dinner."
He stepped out into the morning light, the door swinging shut behind him. Briar stood in the center of her kitchen, the silence of the bakery feeling heavier than the fifty-pound bag of flour. She looked at the hair tie on the counter, then at the spot where Victor had stood.
Caleb had offered her a dream of walls and windows, a future built on solid ground. But Victor- Victor had offered her a war. And as she looked at her reflection in the glass display case, she realized that no matter how many foundations Caleb dug, the only man who truly held the keys to the city was already halfway back to the base.
Thirty-three days.
Briar picked up the hair tie, slipping it onto her wrist like a shackle. She had work to do, but as she reached for the flour, she realized the "heavy lifting" hadn't even started yet. The Gala was coming, the deployment was looming, and Briar Smith was beginning to realize that in the battle between the stable choice and the storm, she was the one who was going to get caught in the crossfire.
- Writer
