Page 9

Callie:

The sun is warm through the tall café windows, spilling golden light across the table like someone poured honey over everything. Outside, the street is quiet, birds chirping, leaves dancing in a breeze that doesn’t quite reach us inside.

Roman’s across from me, sprawled comfortably in his chair like a man who owns the world and knows he’s already given me the best parts of it. His plate is half-finished, the corner of his mouth still tipped in amusement from the last thing he said. Something about my irrational hatred of cucumbers.

“I’m telling you, they taste like lies,” I say, spearing a rogue slice he snuck onto my plate and flinging it back onto his with exaggerated disgust.

He grins wickedly at me. “That’s slander. Cucumbers are crisp little angels, and you just lack the palate to appreciate them.”

“Crisp little demons,” I mutter.

And then he’s sliding a fork across the table, this time with a perfect bite of my own sandwich perched on it. “Try this instead. No cucumbers. Scout’s honor.”

I narrow my eyes. “Were you ever a scout?”

“Not officially.” He winks. “But I’m deeply committed to honorable feeding practices.”

I lean in, lips parting, and let him feed me the bite. His eyes follow my mouth as I chew like I’ve just performed an act of erotic art instead of just chewing a very ordinary sandwich.

“Better?” he asks, voice low and lazy.

I nod, smiling around the mouthful. “Okay, yeah. That bite was pretty great.”

“See?” He leans back, arms crossing behind his head, the motion pulling his T-shirt tight across his chest. “You just needed a good man to fix your life one bite at a time.”

I laugh, but God, he’s not wrong.

The strangest part of today is how light I feel.

Not just physically, though my body does feel lighter somehow, like I’ve finally stopped dragging an anchor behind me.

No, this is deeper. My chest doesn’t hurt when I breathe.

My thoughts don’t race like they’re trying to outrun disaster.

For the first time in a long time, I’m sitting still. Full. Safe.

It’s only lunchtime, and already the day has given me more than some months of my life have.

Roman insisted we skip classes today. “Mental health day,” he said while tugging a sweatshirt over my head this morning, then kissing the tip of my nose. “Non-negotiable after everything Gideon put you through last night.”

I’d tried to argue. Briefly. He kissed me quiet.

And now here we are. In this sun-drenched little café, laughing over sandwiches and mock cucumber wars.

It almost feels like a dream. But it’s not.

Because before we came here, before we even thought about food, Roman took me straight to his lawyer.

The meeting was fast and surgical. Roman laid out everything Gideon had done. I watched the lawyer’s expression sharpen with every page of receipts, every screenshot, every voice memo. The longer we sat there, the more real it became.

There’s a case. A strong one. Fraud. Coercion. Financial misconduct. Emotional exploitation.

Roman was terrifying in that meeting. Not in volume, because he barely raised his voice, but in focus. In that quiet, burning authority that wrapped around me like armor.

I shook through half the meeting, but Roman never let go of my hand. Not once.

And after, when I was barely holding myself together, he brought me to the bank.

That’s when he did it.

He sent my mom enough money to cover the mortgage, to buy groceries, to take care of my siblings. Enough to breathe again. I doubt mom will have to work again until my youngest sister is an adult if she doesn’t want to.

The relief was overwhelming. It still is. No more skipped meals. No more pretending I’m okay when I’m not. Both me and my mom will be taken care of, and I’m so damn grateful to him that I can’t even put it into words.

I stare at him across the table, his hair a little messy, sleeves pushed up, long fingers tapping idly on the edge of his plate.

I smile, and for the first time in months, I feel whole again.

He’s mid-sentence, something about setting up a meeting for me with one of his publishing contacts who owes him a favor, when my phone buzzes on the table between us.

I barely glance at it at first, assuming it’s spam or a university alert I’m still too stubborn to unsubscribe from. But then my eyes catch the name of the sender and the subject line.

I go still. My breath catches so sharply it makes a sound.

“Roman…” I whisper, voice suddenly paper-thin.

His head snaps up. One look at my face, and he’s already leaning across the table, brows pulled tight in concern. “What is it?”

I turn the screen toward him with trembling hands. “It’s an email. From one of the agents I queried forever ago. I thought I’d never hear back. But...”

He scans the email and his eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” he says, grinning like I just dropped the moon into his lap. “Callie, that’s real. She’s one of the biggest in the business. And she wants to represent you.”

I blink at him. “It’s not another scam?”

He laughs, his face shining with joy. “No, baby. That’s as real as it gets.”

The screen blurs as my eyes well up. Again. I press the phone to my chest, shaking my head like I still don’t believe it.

“I didn’t think they’d ever respond.”

Roman reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “They responded because you’re that good. Your book is stunning. You’re stunning.”

I let out a laugh that’s more of a sob. “God, I’m becoming a crier.”

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle with exaggerated reverence. “You’ve earned every tear, baby.”

I wipe my eyes, still smiling, still floating somewhere far above the café floor.

He leans back just slightly, gives a little nod toward the server, and like magic, the guy appears.

“We’ll take the check,” Roman says smoothly.

I blink. “Wait, what? I haven’t even finished my...”

He leans close, the air between us suddenly charged. His voice drops to a low murmur. “We’re going home.”

I blink again. “Why?” I ask, even though my heart is already galloping ahead of the answer.

He brushes my hair behind my ear, fingers lingering at the nape of my neck. “Because you just landed a top-tier agent,” he says softly. “And I think the best way to celebrate would be in my bed, with your thighs wrapped around my head, and you screaming my name in ecstasy.”

My whole body flushes. Heat rushes to my cheeks, to my chest, to places lower.

He grins like he feels it, too.

I bite my lip and nod. The bill is paid in less than a minute. And then we’re up, out, hand-in-hand.

The breeze greets us as we step into the sun-drenched street, but all I feel is him.

Roman.

Steady. Solid. Mine.

The future unfurls before us like an open book.

And I can’t wait to write every page.