Page 41 of Glitches and Kisses (The Havenwood #2)

Noah

I was halfway down the aisle in the New Horizons bookstore, pretending to browse a table of discounted hardcovers I didn’t care about, when a voice behind me startled me.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I turned just enough to catch him out of the corner of my eye.

He was holding a reusable bag that sagged in the middle like it was carrying more than just books.

His face looked tired. Not the dramatic, fall-into-bed-with-a-sigh kind of tired.

The kind that sits beneath your skin, like you’ve been carrying too much for too long and finally stopped pretending otherwise.

“Same,” I said.

Sam tilted his head. “I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. Nothing serious. Just the usual poking and prodding to make sure I don’t keel over in the middle of fifth period.”

I nodded. “Glad you’re not dying.”

He smirked. “Appreciate the concern.”

He looked around the store, then back at me.

“Thought I’d take the rest of the day. Do something small.

Something that didn’t involve grading or pacing in front of a whiteboard.

I figured I’d come grab a book or two and maybe sit at the café next door and pretend I’m one of those people who reads for pleasure. ”

“Radical concept. ”

“Right?” he said, laughing softly. “You ever do that? Take a day just for you?”

I shrugged. “Does this count?”

He didn’t answer that. Just rocked back on his heels and studied me for a beat.

“You look tired, Noah,” he said, quieter now.

That got under my skin. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it came out of his mouth so gently, I didn’t know how to defend myself from it.

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

We stood near the staff picks like two men evaluating the meaning of life through paperback blurbs.

The silence between us was casual on the surface but too careful to be comfortable.

Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly trying to decide if he should grab a book or run for the exit.

Finally, he asked, “So… how are you doing? After, you know… everything?”

It was a fair question. A kind one, even.

But something about the phrasing, the gentle tiptoe of it, like I might shatter under pressure, I don’t know. It hit the wrong nerve.

“How am I doing?” I echoed, then immediately regretted the way my voice pitched too high. “Well, let’s see.”

And then I just kept talking.

“I’m fantastic. Sleeping great, working better than ever, totally not haunted by the sound of Evan’s laugh or the way he used to look at me like I was something worth holding onto.

And definitely not going to the Bistro five times a week like an emotionally repressed stalker pretending to write code while watching him flirt with customers who can actually hold a conversation without emotionally combusting. ”

Sam blinked.

I kept going.

“I’m not rethinking every conversation we ever had or replaying our first kiss like it’s some kind of goddamn Sundance short film.

I’m not reading into every post he makes on Instagram or wondering if that song on his story is about me.

And I’m definitely, absolutely not spiraling over the fact that maybe, just maybe, I was the problem the whole time. ”

Still not done.

“I’m not lying awake at night wondering if I ever actually let him in or if I just performed the idea of vulnerability like some kind of emotionally constipated actor who missed the callback for intimacy.

And I’m certainly not envisioning some alternate universe where I didn’t screw it up and we’re at the farmer’s market right now arguing about jam like two idiots in love. ”

I huffed.

“But thanks for asking.”

Sam stared at me, wide-eyed.

Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.

It started as a sharp breath but turned into a real laugh, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling, the whole deal. Not cruel. Not dismissive. Just surprised.

I raised a brow. “Glad I could amuse you.”

That only made him laugh harder, and somehow, it cracked something open in me too.

I snorted. An actual, full snort. Then I shook my head. “Jesus. I just did that, didn’t I?”

Sam wiped at his face, still grinning. “You really did.”

I let out something between a sigh and a chuckle, scrubbing my hand down my face. “Sorry. That was… a lot. Word vomit. Emotional overshare. Whatever.”

“Don’t apologize,” Sam said, still catching his breath.

“I don’t really have that many people who want to hear it,” I admitted, quieter now. “And even fewer who’d actually laugh instead of awkwardly offering me a tissue and a podcast recommendation.”

“Well,” he said, bumping his shoulder lightly into mine, “I don’t have tissues. But I’ve got time. And I’m decent at shutting up and listening when it counts.”

We stood there for a second, and even though nothing was really fixed, I didn’t feel quite so tangled up in my own head anymore.

He wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just… God, Noah. That was the most depressing stand-up set I’ve ever heard.”

I tilted my head, deadpan. “Yeah? Wait till you hear my tight five on abandonment issues and emotional unavailability.”

Sam laughed again, easier this time, the tension from my verbal spiral diffusing just enough to let the silence stretch a little. “You really don’t hold back, do you?” he said, shaking his head fondly. “Evan’s got his hands full.”

I rolled my eyes. “Had. Past tense.”

Sam held up his hands. “Right, right. Sorry. I’m just saying, when you care that much, it doesn’t just disappear. It’s… messy. Complicated. You’re allowed to be a wreck about it.”

I looked down at the floor, chewing the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean it’s fixable. ”

He hesitated. “I mean, maybe not. But honestly, I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We just didn’t think it would work out,” he said, almost casually. Like it was no big deal. Like it didn’t land like a brick to the chest.

Just like that.

I froze, the humor draining from my face like someone had pulled the plug. My chest constricted.

He must’ve seen it. Whatever flew across my face, whatever I didn’t manage to hide, because his expression changed instantly. Not guilt. Not exactly. Just that slow-dawning recognition that he’d said too much to someone who didn’t deserve to carry it.

He blinked. “Shit.”

“Right,” I said, voice flat.

“Noah…”

“You and Callie.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I didn’t mean…” he started.

“You did.” My voice came out quiet, but firm.

He exhaled, like the admission hurt to give. “I’m sorry. That was shitty of me.”

I swallowed. My pulse had gone weird in my throat, too loud in the otherwise hushed quiet of the bookstore.

I thought back to the night at Callie’s apartment.

The awkward tension when I walked back in from taking a call.

The too-quick way Sam stood, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The looks that passed between them. The way Callie had barely met my eyes.

Of course they’d talked about it. Of course they had opinions. I’d just never expected to hear one of them admit it out loud.

Sam shifted again. “We only saw what Evan told us. And when he started to pull back, we filled in the blanks with the stories we were already telling ourselves.”

“You mean you assumed I was gonna hurt him.”

His silence was answer enough.

I nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the shelf in front of me, though I wasn’t seeing any of the titles. “You weren’t wrong. I did.”

Scene after scene played out in my head. How could I have not clued in on all the signs?

“And not one of you asked about me, or even thought about my side?” I said, the words sharp, hollow.

Sam didn’t answer .

I shook my head, laughing under my breath. There was no humor in it. “I thought we were friends, Sam. I sat at your table. I listened to you vent about work. I brought wine to your birthday dinner. Hell, I helped you move that goddamn sectional into your apartment.”

My chest tightened. “Was I just the filler guy until Evan figured himself out? Some blip you all tolerated because he liked me for five minutes?”

Sam flinched. Just barely. But I saw it.

“God,” I said, quieter now, the heat behind the words giving way to something colder. “What a fool I must look like. Laughing at your jokes. Showing up like I actually belonged.”

When Sam spoke, his voice had dropped an octave. “Fuck.”

I didn’t reply.

Sam’s shoulders dipped. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve said enough today. I should probably go now, huh?”

I looked down at the floor and nodded my head. “Yeah.”

He turned to leave, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. He placed a hand on the shelf beside him. “Noah… for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I’ll tell Callie that too. We owe you more than we gave.”

He walked away without waiting for a response.

And I stood there, staring at a hardcover copy of a romance novel with a fake dating trope and two people on the cover who probably didn’t have half the baggage I did.

I didn’t believe in signs. But in that moment, I did believe in damage. And just how much of it could be done by people who meant well.

Evan

Jordan and I sat outside the Green Bean Café, the sun warm on our arms as we picked at what was left of brunch.

The patio buzzed with the usual Sunday morning energy, dogs curled under tables, the clatter of dishes, someone laughing too loudly at the next table over.

It was the perfect backdrop for what was, without a doubt, the most mutually agreeable breakup in history.

Jordan sipped his iced chai and gave me a lopsided grin. “You gonna say it, or am I going to have to keep pretending this isn’t the most anticlimactic slow fade in queer dating history?”

I smiled. “I thought I was being subtle. ”

He barked a laugh. “Evan, should I keep pretending you didn’t flinch every time I kissed you?”

I snorted. “Flinch is dramatic.”

He raised a brow.

I sighed; hands spread in surrender. “Okay, maybe flinch-adjacent.”

Jordan shook his head and leaned back, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “You’re great, you know that? Smart, funny, ridiculous arms…”

“Flatter me more,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“…but you’re not here. Not really. And I think we both know why.”

I looked down at my coffee, watching the last swirl of cream settle like a storm cloud. “Yeah.”

“And I’m not mad about it,” Jordan added gently. “But I’d rather be your friend than a placeholder.”

Before I could respond, the bell above the café door jingled. I glanced toward the café entrance.

Noah.

He froze when he saw us, me and Jordan, sitting close, mid-laugh, and the temperature of the morning seemed to drop ten degrees. He didn’t scowl or frown. He didn’t need to. His whole body just… closed.

He looked at me like I was a stranger. My chest went tight.

“I’ll be right back,” I said quickly, pushing my chair back and standing.

Jordan gave a slow nod, no bitterness in it, just quiet understanding. “Go.”

“Hey, Noah…”

He was already turning away.

“Wait, please. Just let me…”

“I’m good,” he said, voice flat. Not angry. Worse. Detached. “No need for a scene.”

“It’s not what you think,” I said quickly. “We were just…”

He cut me off with a sharp shake of his head. “Don’t.”

“Noah, seriously…”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, still not meeting my eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, okay? You made that clear.”

“I…”

He finally looked at me, but there was no warmth in it. “It’s fine, Evan. Really. I hope brunch was fun.”

He started to walk past me.

I followed a step. “Noah. Come on…”

He stopped, and when he turned back, there was something tight and forced in his smile. “I guess this makes it easier, huh? I won’t be around much longer anyway.”

My throat closed.

Noah’s voice dropped, steady and controlled. “Guess San Francisco’s the better option after all.”

And with that, he walked away, disappearing into the crowd outside the café like he couldn’t get away fast enough.

I didn’t chase him.

I couldn’t.

Back at the table, Jordan was quiet. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t gloat. He just reached across the table and touched my wrist.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low.

I sat down slowly, like every bone in my body had gained weight.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at me like that,” I said.

Jordan nodded. “That wasn’t anger.”

“No,” I whispered. “It was worse.”

We sat there in silence, the morning pressing on around us. The sun still shone. The breeze still moved. But all I could think about was the look on Noah’s face and the way he didn’t give me the chance to explain.

And maybe… maybe I didn’t deserve one.