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But the ache he’d left in her? That hadn’t aged a day.

Rollo froze mid-step. Their eyes locked.

The silence between them wasn’t silence—it was a whole damn monologue. Her pulse pounded. She felt the old heat creep up her throat, and hated herself for the part of her that still noticed the way his shirt clung to his biceps.

“Delilah,” he said, voice low, rough like gravel soaked in honey.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

He stepped closer.

That was his mistake.

“Don’t,” she said sharply, standing up so fast her chair scraped the floor.

Nerissa winced.

“Not even gonna say hi?” Rollo’s voice was quieter now. Tentative. Too tender.

Delilah tilted her head. “You didn’t bother with goodbye, so why break tradition?”

The room went thick. Even the enchanted muffins on the shelf seemed to stop glowing.

“Can we talk?” he asked, one step closer again.

“No.” She shoved her chair back under the table, hard enough to make a nearby spoon rattle. “I didn’t come back for you.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

She grabbed her cup, marched to the counter, and slammed the mug down with a little more drama than necessary. Nerissa raised an eyebrow.

“Refill?” she asked delicately.

Delilah gave a tight nod.

Rollo hadn’t moved.

Delilah turned just enough to look over her shoulder. “You still lurking?”

He exhaled. “Still living here. So... yeah.”

“You could’ve warned me.”

“I didn’t know you were coming back.”

“Well, surprise.”

His lips parted like he might say something else, but he hesitated—then turned and walked out.

The bell jingled.

Her knees almost buckled.