Episode 4: What He Never Told Her
1262 Words
Harper didn’t confront Leo right away.
She should have. The note burned in her pocket like a secret too heavy to carry, her father’s handwriting etched into her thoughts with cruel clarity. Protect her. Even from yourself.
From yourself.
The words clung to her as she moved through the quiet bookstore the next morning, mechanically opening the blinds, straightening chairs that were already straight, aligning books that didn’t need aligning. Every task was a distraction. Every breath an effort.
Leo arrived just before noon.
She felt him before she saw him—the shift in the air, the quiet certainty of his presence. The door bell chimed softly behind him.
“Morning,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
He paused.
Harper stayed turned away, gripping the edge of the counter until her knuckles whitened.
“Harper?” he tried again.
She slowly turned.
The note lay on the counter between them.
Leo’s face drained of color.
“How long have you had it?” he asked quietly.
“Since last night,” she replied. Her voice was steady, but her eyes weren’t. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Silence.
Thick. Loaded.
“I was going to,” he said finally.
“When?” she challenged. “After the shop was saved? After everything was decided for me again?”
“That’s not fair.”
She let out a short, bitter laugh. “Neither was keeping this from me.”
Leo stepped closer to the counter. “Your father made me promise.”
Her eyes flashed. “So did I—promise him I’d carry this place forward. And you let me believe he left me nothing but debt.”
The words landed painfully between them.
“I was protecting you.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
He exhaled sharply. “You think I wanted this weight? You think I wanted to be the one holding the truth while you walked around drowning in grief and guilt?”
Her chest tightened. “You watched me mourn him… while knowing he had left me hope.”
“Yes,” he said. “And every day it nearly broke me.”
She faltered.
For the first time, she saw the exhaustion behind his control. The guilt that sat in his eyes. The burden he had carried alone.
“You don’t get to play the martyr,” she whispered.
“I’m not,” he replied. “I’m just telling you why.”
Her voice softened despite herself. “Then tell me everything. Right now. No more half-truths.”
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Your father didn’t just hire me to restore the shop,” Leo said quietly. “He hired me because he was dying and didn’t want you to know.”
Her breath caught sharply. “I already knew that.”
“No,” he said. “You knew he was sick. You didn’t know he was preparing to leave.”
She shook her head. “He wouldn’t hide that from me.”
“He hid the manuscript,” Leo said gently. “For the same reason.”
“Which was?”
“Because he was afraid you’d stay for him instead of living.”
Tears welled despite her resolve.
“He watched you walk away once,” Leo continued. “He said it was the hardest thing he’d ever let happen… but also the bravest thing you’d ever done.”
Her throat tightened painfully.
“He made me promise three things,” Leo said softly. “To help save the shop. To publish his manuscript if it would give the store a future. And to protect you from carrying the weight of his death.”
She pressed her palm flat to the counter, grounding herself.
“So why him?” she whispered. “Why not me?”
Leo met her gaze. “Because he said you loved him too deeply to be objective. And because you’d already given up everything once for this place. He didn’t want you to do it again out of guilt.”
Harper closed her eyes.
Every memory of her father rearranged itself in her chest.
All those long nights.
The quiet smiles.
The pride he never said out loud.
He hadn’t abandoned her.
He had been setting her free.
When she opened her eyes again, tears slipped without permission.
“You should’ve trusted me,” she said.
“So should he,” Leo replied softly. “But love doesn’t always choose logic.”
Silence fell again—but this time it wasn’t sharp.
It was aching.
She wiped her tears roughly. “Why keep it from me after he died?”
Leo’s jaw tightened. “Because I was afraid if I told you… you’d hate me.”
Her heart stumbled.
“You still might,” he added quietly.
She looked at him for a long time.
Then shook her head, slowly. “No.”
His eyes lifted in surprise.
“I don’t,” she said. “But I am angry. And hurt. And overwhelmed.”
“I deserve all of that.”
She gave a soft, broken laugh. “You really do.”
Something eased between them then—not fixed, not healed—but unlocked.
Later that afternoon, they worked in quiet companionship. The shop felt different—still fragile, but no longer haunted. The truth had shifted the air.
As evening fell, Harper climbed the familiar ladder to reach the upper shelves. Her hands were tired. Her body worn.
“Wait,” Leo said suddenly.
She looked down at him.
Before she could ask why, her foot slipped.
She gasped.
Strong hands caught her waist instantly.
Their bodies collided.
He steadied her, hands firm at her hips, breath shallow as he looked up at her.
The world narrowed.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded—but neither of them moved.
His hands were still on her.
Too warm.
Too right.
Their eyes locked.
Time slowed.
She became acutely aware of every detail—his breath against her skin, the faint scent of coffee and paper on him, the way his grip tightened almost imperceptibly as if afraid to let go.
“Leo…” she whispered.
He released her instantly—as if burned.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t—”
“I know.”
But her pulse betrayed her.
So did his.
They stood there, shaken by something neither was ready to name.
That night, Harper stayed late again. She sat alone with the manuscript, reading deeper into her father’s story.
This time, she reached the final chapter.
And there she found something new.
Not just fiction.
But truth.
Her breath caught as she read.
The love story in the manuscript mirrored her parents’ own nearly forgotten beginning—her father’s quiet longing, her mother’s brief, blazing presence, the tragedy that followed.
It wasn’t just a novel.
It was his confession.
Tears fell freely now.
Her father hadn’t just left her a bookstore.
He had left her his heart.
She carefully set the manuscript aside and locked the office door behind her when she left.
Outside, night had wrapped the street in silence.
Across the street, Leo leaned against his car, staring up at the shop as if pulled there by the same ache that lived inside her.
Their eyes met through the glass.
Neither smiled.
But neither walked away, either.
Something had shifted.
Not love.
Not yet.
But the first fragile truth that would one day become it.
- Writer
