Page 26 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Evan

“He said WHAT?” Callie slammed their whiskey sour down onto the bar, eyes wide, voice just shy of shouting.

I winced, shushing them with a hand, but Sam was shaking his head, completely floored.

“No, no, no,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “You don’t just say that to someone you’ve been seeing for months, someone you sleep next to almost every night.” He scoffed, taking a sip of his wine. “Jesus, Evan.”

“I know.”

Callie sat back, shaking their head bewildered, then leaned forward, expression dead serious. “I love you. I do. But why the hell have you been putting up with this?”

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Because… Because I like him. Because I want him. Because I thought, maybe, if I was just patient enough, Noah would let himself have this. Let himself have me.”

Sam could see the exact flood of thoughts and feelings written all over my face because his expression softened. “I get it,” he said. “I do. But babe, you deserve more than,” he gestured vaguely, “whatever this is.”

Callie sighed. “We’re not saying dump him…”

“I AM saying that,” Sam interjected.

He glanced at Callie, who was already mid-eyeroll. “Mark really fucked some shit up. ”

“Who?” I asked.

Callie didn’t miss a beat. “A bitch.”

I chuckled. “Okay, but like… who’s Mark?”

Sam shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “Noah’s ex. Real piece of work.”

Callie leaned back, swirling their drink. “Toxic doesn’t even cover it. He was controlling and manipulative, and ugh, I’m just glad he moved away.”

“Jesus.” What the fuck did this man do?

“Yeah,” Callie said, more gently this time. “I hope Noah talked to someone after all that. I mean, it’s been a while. But trauma like that doesn’t just poof out of your system, you know? Still… it would be nice if he wasn’t carrying it around like a goddamn designer handbag.”

Sam cracked a smile. “Vintage guilt. Limited edition shame.”

Callie clinked their glass against his. “Exactly.”

The two of them were in rare form tonight, extra catty, bitchy, and just a little too gleeful about the tea they were spilling.

Callie elbowed him before turning back to me. “Regardless, we’re saying he needs to get his shit together. And if he can’t, you need to figure out how much longer you can do this.”

I swallowed hard, picking at the label on my beer bottle. I didn’t have an answer.

Because the truth?

I wasn’t sure either.

The bell over the door jingled as Elliott and Jules stepped into the Bistro, the two of them chatting as they made their way toward the host stand.

“Hey, Teach!” Sam called from the bar, raising his glass as he and Callie stood to leave.

Elliott shot him a look, pausing near the bar with Jules. “Hey, how was the last week of classes with your 3rd period?”

Sam let out a dramatic sigh. “Chaotic, as usual. My students are either going to ace their final projects or somehow set the classroom on fire, no in-between.”

Elliott chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds about right. End-of-year energy is real.”

Jules smiled with faux encouragement. “At least no one has actually committed arson yet.”

Sam huffed. “Yet being the key word.” He took a sip of his drink.

“The seniors are either checked out completely or having existential crises about leaving, the underclassmen are feral, and I’ve got one kid who is determined to turn his final paper into a TED Talk about why Cats by Andrew Lloyd Webber is an underrated masterpiece. ”

Elliott whistled. “And you’re letting him?”

Sam shrugged. “If he can make a compelling argument, who am I to stop him?”

Callie snickered, pulling on their coat. Then, quieter, they glanced between Elliott and Jules, tilting their head toward me. “Heads up. Evan’s not in a good place tonight.”

Elliott’s brows lifted slightly, Jules’s face turning toward me across the restaurant.

“Noted,” Elliott murmured.

“Damn, Callie. Just sharing my tragic life with everyone. Thanks.” I said, as they hugged me goodbye.

As Sam and Callie left, Jules looped his arm through Elliott’s, tugging him toward the host stand. “Come on, let’s get our table.”

The dinner rush at The Rivermere Bistro was in full swing, the smooth hum of jazz drifting through the speakers as I weaved between tables. Orders fired off in rapid succession, glasses clinked, silverware scraped plates, it was all noise, but it grounded me. Gave me something to focus on.

I liked the pace. The rhythm. The distraction of it all.

Smiling at customers, topping off drinks, cracking a quick joke at table twelve, it all kept my hands busy, kept my thoughts in check.

Because the second I slowed down, the second there was a lull, my mind drifted right back to Noah.

To that night. To everything we’d done, and everything we said.

Work was easier than wondering where we stood.

So I kept moving. I was on autopilot.

You wanted me to fuck you. I’d felt that sentence like a gut punch, like something cut straight through me. But it was the way he’d said it, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like we hadn’t just torn something open between us.

And then the worst part?

I saw it in his eyes. The regret. The instant fucking regret.

But he hadn’t taken it back.

Hadn’t stopped me when I walked out the door.

And now? Now I was just supposed to go about my night like it hadn’t happened. Like I wasn’t still seething. Like I wasn’t still hurting.

I yanked my notepad from my apron pocket and forced a breath through my nose, clearing my throat as I approached my next table. Table five. Nice couple. Candlelight danced against the deep red of their wine glasses. I did my job. Because it’s what I was supposed to do .

Elliott and Jules settled into a booth, their usual presence filling the space. They always did this, slid into a conversation like it had been waiting for them, ordered a bottle of wine like they weren’t in a rush, like the world outside the Bistro didn’t exist.

Normally, I liked having them in my section. They were good customers, good tippers, good people.

Tonight? Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to be seen. But they saw me anyway.

They were watching. Not in an obvious way, not in a way that would catch anyone else’s attention.

But it caught mine. In the way Elliott’s brow furrowed when I refilled their waters without my usual joke about him drinking too fast. In the way Jules caught my wrist lightly when I reached for their empty breadbasket, just for a second, just enough for me to look at them.

“Hey, Ev,” Jules said, voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

I wasn’t okay. But before I could answer, table seven needed refills, and then table twelve was missing their appetizer, and then someone flagged me down for a new fork and… I was busy. Too busy.

So, Elliott and Jules let me be. They didn’t push. They didn’t pry.

But when I dropped their check off at the end of the night, Jules nudged the paper back toward me with a knowing look. “We’re heading home,” he said. “Come over after your shift.”

I hesitated, glancing between them.

“Come on,” Elliott said, voice gentle. “Hang out for a bit.”

I relented and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

They exchanged a glance, like they’d expected me to say no.

But I wasn’t going home to my empty apartment tonight. Not after last night.

The summer night air was perfect. The forest loomed beyond the yard, dark and still, with only the rustle of leaves now and then. The air smelled of wood and resin. The porch light glowed softly above us, casting gentle shadows.

Jules pressed a cold beer into my hand as I sank into one of the worn wooden chairs, stretching my legs out and resting the bottle against my thigh. The condensation chilled my fingertips, as I let out a slow breath.

For a long moment, none of us spoke.

We just sat in the quiet.

Elliott, relaxed in the chair next to mine, swirled his whiskey in slow circles, watching the way the amber liquid caught the light. Jules curled into his seat across from us, tucked under a thick knit blanket, as he held on to his ceramic mug.

It felt natural. Uncomplicated.

And yet, the weight in my chest wasn’t lifting.

Elliott finally leaned back, breath escaping him. “You are welcome to talk if you would like, or you can just sit and be with us this evening. No pressure. Just want to give you some space and know we are here if you want us.”

I sighed, the heft of their attention weighing on me.

And I told them about last night. About what Noah said. About the way he had unraveled in my arms, how he had wanted me, how he had let himself want me, and then how, the second the heat of it faded, he had shut down completely.

I told them about how he had brushed me off the next morning, more concerned about packing for his goddamn work trip than looking me in the eye when I asked him for more.

Told them how, after everything, he still couldn’t… wouldn’t define what we were.

The words tumbled out of me, harsher than I intended, as if saying them aloud might dull the ache they had left behind.

When I finished, Jules cursed under his breath, shaking his head. “I love you, but why the fuck are you still dealing with this?”

I huffed a laugh, hollow and tired. “Yeah, well. Good question.”

Elliott, always the calmer one, took a sip of his drink before setting the glass down beside him. He looked pensive for a long moment before he asked, “Do you think he wants to be like this?”

I frowned, staring down at the beer bottle in my hands, rolling it between my palms. Did Noah want to be like this?

I thought about the way his fingers tightened in my shirt as I kissed him. The way his breath hitched when I pulled him closer. The way he melted into me, desperate and wanting, before slamming the door shut on all of it like it hadn’t even happened.

“I don’t know.” I swallowed hard, my voice rougher than I intended. “I think he’s just scared. And maybe that’s not his fault, but… I can’t be the one to fix it for him.”

Jules nodded, his eyes softening. “No. You can’t.”

Elliott leaned back, eyes scanning the quiet scene beyond the patio railing.

“Noah’s a good guy,” he said, finally. “But he’s been carrying some shit for a long time.

Stuff he doesn’t talk about. You can see it in the way he holds himself, like he’s always bracing for something to fall apart.

” He looked at me then, not unkind, just honest. “That doesn’t mean you have to wait around for him to figure it out.

But it also doesn’t mean he’s trying to hurt you.

Sometimes people push others away not because they don’t care, but because they care too much and don’t know what the hell to do with it. ”

I let the words sit with me, heavy but not crushing. Because I knew Elliott wasn’t making excuses for Noah. He was just reminding me of something I already knew, Noah was fighting battles I couldn’t see.

I can’t help it that there is still part of me that wants to fix it anyway.

Because I… I stopped the thought before it could fully form. I cared about him. A lot. More than I wanted to admit. But did I… No. I wasn’t ready to say that yet.

Still, the truth sat there, humming just beneath my skin.

It was in the way I looked forward to the walks home after dinner, when the streets were quiet and he’d fall into step beside me like we were synced to the same rhythm.

It was in the way he’d hand me the last slice of pizza on movie nights, even when we both knew he wanted it, or how he’d mutter snarky commentary under his breath during the worst parts of whatever terrible action flick we were watching.

It was in the way we’d linger too long at the farmer’s market, trying bizarre coffee blends and pretending we were just passing time when really, we were just trying to stretch the morning out a little longer.

It wasn’t the big, dramatic moments that got me. It was the simple ones. The quiet ones. The ones where he was just Noah, and I didn’t have to be anything but myself. And if that didn’t mean something… if that didn’t mean everything… then I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

Elliott leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, what now?”

I stared out into the dark tree line. “I don’t know.” That was the honest answer. I didn’t fucking know. But what I did know? I wasn’t pushing him. Not anymore. I had been patient. I had waited. I had given him space, given him everything. I thought hard and said, “I think it’s his turn.”

Jules reached over, squeezing my knee, his touch warm and solid. “Proud of you.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Yeah,” I said, my voice rough. “Me too.”