Page 24 of Unearthed Dreams (Sable Point #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

CHARLIE

Or maybe he knew exactly what was wrong. He’d been watching me carefully ever since that morning I’d snuck in wearing yesterday’s clothes.

But it wasn’t any of my family calling. The screen displayed “Rosie’s Diner,” and my heart stuttered.

“Hello?”

“Charlie, honey.” Rosie’s voice was soft, careful. “He’s here.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. I didn’t have to ask who she meant. “How... how is he?”

“About as good as you’d expect. ”

The air left my lungs in a rush. Seven days. Seven days of wondering, of wanting to go to him, of respecting his wishes to stay away even when everything in me screamed to be there.

“He needs you,” Rosie continued. “Even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

I sank onto my pink bedspread, surrounded by the remnants of the life I’d lived before Kai—before I knew what it felt like to want someone so much it hurt. “He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want my help.”

“Oh, honey. Men say a lot of things when they’re scared. Doesn’t make them right.”

I glanced at my reflection in the vanity mirror—dark circles under my eyes, hair pulled into a messy bun.

I’d barely slept this week, spending nights staring at my phone, willing it to light up with his name.

During the day, I’d throw myself into work at the bookstore, reorganizing shelves that didn’t need it, just to keep my hands busy.

I’d even tried working on my novel, but every time I opened the manuscript, all I could see were Kai’s notes in the margins. His careful observations. The way he’d understood exactly what I was trying to say.

“I’ve got him here now,” Rosie continued. “We’re planning a memorial at the bar. Four o’clock today.”

My throat tightened. “Is that... would that be okay? Me being there?”

“Charlotte Everton, you listen to me.” Rosie’s voice took on that stern-but-loving tone she usually reserved for teenagers trying to skip out on their bill. “That man has been through hell, and he’s about to go through more if someone doesn’t stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. ”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s talking about selling the bar. Leaving town.”

The words cracked open my chest. Leaving? After everything we’d shared, everything we’d built, he was just going to...

“Like hell he is.” The steel in my own voice surprised me.

Rosie’s laugh crackled through the phone. “That’s my girl.”

Ten minutes later, I pushed through the diner’s door, the familiar bell chiming overhead.

The scent of coffee and bacon wrapped around me, but my eyes were fixed on the counter where Kai sat hunched over a mug.

His shoulders were tight with tension, his white hair pulled back in a messy bun that looked like he hadn’t touched it in days.

My heart clenched at the sight of him. He looked... smaller somehow. Like grief had carved pieces away.

A cardboard box sat on the counter beside him. Simple, unadorned. Nothing like the ornate urns in movies. My throat tightened as I realized what—who—must be inside.

Rosie caught my eye from behind the counter, giving me a subtle nod. She was still talking to Kai about memorial plans, her voice gentle but firm as she shot down his every attempt to minimize the event.

“We’ll need chairs,” she was saying. “And proper glasses, not those plastic things you use during tourist season.”

“Rosie, it doesn’t have to be?—”

“Yes, it does.” She cut him off, then looked past him to where I stood frozen in the doorway. Her eyes softened. “Some things are worth doing right. ”

Kai’s shoulders tensed further, like he could feel my presence even without turning around. I took a step forward, then another, my heart thundering in my chest.

“Hi.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to.

Kai went completely still, his knuckles whitening around his coffee mug. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then, slowly, he turned.

The shadows under his eyes were worse up close. His neat beard had grown unkempt, and his skin had a gray cast to it, like he hadn’t seen sunlight in days. But it was his eyes that broke my heart—haunted, hollow, like he’d been through a war and lost.

“Charlie.” He rasped my name as if it hurt to speak.

“I’ll just...” Rosie backed away, busying herself at the other end of the counter. But I caught her small, encouraging nod.

“I heard about Billy.” The words felt inadequate even as I said them. “I’m so sorry, Kai.”

His jaw clenched. “Why are you here?”

“Because you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I told you?—”

“I know what you told me.” I stepped closer, close enough to smell coffee and grief on him. “I don’t care.”

His eyes darted around the diner—past Mr. Henderson at his usual booth, past the couple by the window, past Rosie pretending not to watch us. Even grief-stricken and exhausted, he was still thinking about protecting me from small-town gossip.

I took a deliberate step back, putting a respectable distance between us. “Let me help with the memorial.” I kept my voice steady, casual. Just a friend offering support. “I can handle the music. And maybe help set up?”

Something flickered in his haunted eyes—gratitude maybe, or relief that I understood the need for discretion.

“You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.” Simple. Direct. Nothing that would raise eyebrows from the morning crowd. “Billy was important to this town. He deserves to be remembered properly.”

Kai’s gaze dropped to the cardboard box on the counter, his throat bobbing. “Yeah. He does.”

“So let me help.” I slid onto the stool next to him, careful to maintain that friendly distance. “Tell me about the music he liked.”

Rosie appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and another mug, her movements deliberately slow. Giving us cover to talk. “Billy always loved his Johnny Cash,” she offered, filling my cup.

A ghost of a smile touched Kai’s lips. “Yeah. Used to play ‘Sunday Morning Coming Down’ every morning when he opened.”

“Perfect place to start then,” I said, pulling out my phone to make notes. Just two friends planning a memorial. Nothing for the gossips to see here.

But under the counter, away from prying eyes, my pinkie finger brushed his. Just once. Just enough to say I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

His hand trembled slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

The last notes of “Sunday Morning Coming Down” faded into silence as I gathered empty glasses from the tables.

The memorial crowd had thinned to nothing, leaving behind half-empty plates of Rosie’s food and lingering traces of conversations about Billy.

Tales of nights spent in this very bar, back when he was the one behind the counter instead of Kai.

Kai.

He hadn’t said much during the memorial, just nodded and accepted condolences with quiet grace.

But I’d felt his eyes on me all evening as I moved through the crowd, keeping water glasses full and making sure everyone had what they needed.

Always watching, never approaching. Both of us maintaining that careful distance that small towns required.

Now, in the quiet aftermath, I heard him behind the bar, the familiar clink of bottles being straightened, the soft scrape of his rag against wood. Some habits didn’t change, even on nights like this.

The cardboard box still sat on the bar where it had all evening, surrounded by framed photos people had brought.

Billy behind this very bar, that legendary grin on his face.

Another of him with a group of regulars, all of them holding up drinks in a toast to something long forgotten.

And one, brought by Rosie, that made my heart ache—Billy and Kai, taken not long after Kai arrived in town, both of them looking uncertain but hopeful as they stood in front of the bar’s worn facade.

I set the last of the glasses on the bar, careful not to look directly at him. “Do you want me to go?”

The steady rhythm of his cleaning faltered, just for a moment. “No.”

The empty bar felt different now—more intimate without the buffer of other people, more honest. Shadows stretched across the worn floorboards, and somewhere a tap dripped quietly, marking time.

Kai let out a long sigh, finally setting down his rag and looking at me. His eyes were tired, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

The simple admission hung in the air between us, more powerful than any grand gesture could have been.

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

He ran a hand over his beard, looking at the cardboard box that held all that was left of Billy.

“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Push me away?”

He stared at the box, his fingers tracing patterns in the condensation left by the glasses I’d set down. “Never really had anybody... care.” He shrugged. “Not used to it, I guess.”

I moved closer, drawn by the raw honesty in his voice.

“Billy used to tell the same stories over and over,” Kai continued, still not looking at me.

“But there was this one... about the night he met Kelsey’s mother.

He’d say, ‘Sometimes life gives you these moments, these chances, and you either take them or spend forever wondering what if.’” His voice cracked slightly.

“He’d tell it like it was the first time, every time.

And each time, he’d end it the same way—‘I took my chance. Even knowing how it ended, I’d do it again. ’”

I reached across the bar, covering his hand. This time, he didn’t pull away.

“The bar was his whole life,” Kai said roughly. “His chance at something real. And when he gave it to me... fuck, Charlie, I didn’t deserve it. Don’t deserve any of this. ”

“That’s not true.” I squeezed his hand. “He chose you for a reason.”

“Yeah?” His laugh was bitter. “Same reason you keep coming back? Because you see something in me that isn’t really there?”

“No.” I waited until he finally met my eyes. “Because we both see exactly who you are. And we choose you anyway.”