Page 82 of These Jagged Edges

Yet here I am, standing in the middle of something straight out of a dream. A dream he somehow made real. My dream.

The space is everything I never knew I wanted—cozy yet modern, with that perfect touch of rustic charm. My eyes wander over the details: a welcoming breakfast counter, cozy little boothstucked into corners, and several tables scattered across the dining room, inviting warmth into every nook.

Then my gaze lands on a bookshelf lining one of the walls. I walk over, running my fingers along the spines. It takes me a moment to realize it’s filled with all my favorite books. Every title, every story that has ever brought me comfort, now here in this place that is supposedly...mine.

A wave of emotion crashes over me as I turn to look back at Maddox. How could he have known? How did he think of everything?

“Yeah, Lou helped me with these. I noticed your worn Pride and Prejudice in your room a time or two, so I had an idea.” He stands behind me and reaches over my head to run a finger along that exact spine. I turn slowly and look at him.

“What about Joe?”

“She’s closing it down. Retiring after...well, after everything that happened,” Maddox explains, his voice low.

I think back to Joe’s café, to how it has stayed dark for weeks now. Joe’s been stubborn about not reopening, and it’s been the source of so many heated arguments between us lately. But now, it all makes sense. Maddox has been planning this. Though honestly, the thought of Joe actually retiring? That busybody will probably still be chasing customers out with a dish towel if she can.

I turn to him, eyes wide, struggling to process it all. “You really bought me a café and did all of this?” I wave my hand, gesturing to the space that feels too perfect to be real.

Maddox steps closer, his fingers brushing my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear, his touch grounding me in this surreal moment. “Fuck yeah, I did,” he says, his voice fierce with conviction.

Holy shit. My heart stutters. What if I can’t accept this? The fear gnaws at me, twisting my insides. What if I don’t deserve it? What if I can’t live up to everything he’s put into this place?

“Woman, don’t you dare. Besides, everything is already in your name.”

He steps back and begins to look nervous as hell.

“Evie, I know that I’ve fucked this up a couple of times already, and I’m not going to sit here and promise you I won’t fuck up again unintentionally or not.”

He pushes his glasses up on his nose.

“You were trying so damn hard to hide from the world,” Maddox says, his voice rough and raw with emotion. “But, baby, I saw you. Hell, it was impossible not to. From the first moment you screamed in my face, I knew there was something there—a fiery spirit you kept buried so deep. I could see it flicker, even when you tried to snuff it out.”

He steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “And then that gaze of yours...” His voice drops to a whisper. “It held me hostage. You refused to let me drown in my own darkness. You just...pulled me out, made me see there was more than the hell I’d been living in.”

He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, as if trying to ground himself in the truth of this moment. “You give love so damn freely, even with everything you’ve been through. And that mask you wore? That suit of armor you hid behind, with those fake smiles and that sharp, sassy attitude?” He shakes his head with a soft, almost rueful smile. “None of that fooled me. One look, Evie—just one—and I was wrapped around your finger, completely under your spell.”

His words hit me like a wave, threatening to pull me under. But instead of drowning, I find myself breathing deeper than I have in years.

Five things you can see.

Maddox takes my hand, pressing it firmly against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palm, fast and unsteady. “Then I felt you,” he says, his voice a rough whisper. “Every time you looked over your shoulder, every time you checked thosedamn locks three times, I could feel your fear like it was my own.”

His eyes darken with a mix of pain and something deeper, something raw. “When you begged me not to beat you with a belt, I felt your pain, Evie. Every bit of it.”

I want to look away, to hide from the intensity in his eyes, but I can’t. He’s baring his soul, and it’s all for me. “When you showed me those scars,” he continues, his voice breaking, “I felt so damn proud of you—proud of the strength it took to survive, even when you were drowning in your own shame. And despite all of that...despite the darkness we’ve both been through...you made me feel alive again.”

He swallows hard, the words coming out like a confession. “You made me feel I deserved to live, even when I didn’t think I did.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and for a moment, the weight of everything is too much to bear. But his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my hand, anchors me, pulling me back into this moment with him.

Four things you can feel.

I reach up and trace the scar along his lips, my fingertips light against the roughness. He leans into my touch, closing his eyes for a moment as if he’s drawing strength from it.

“More importantly,” he whispers, voice trembling, “my heart heard yours. Every time you reached out, every time you chose to touch me, I could hear the silent cries of loneliness in you, echoing back to me.”

His eyes open, locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “And every time you laugh,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I swear I can hear those jagged edges of yours smooth out just a little bit more. And when you smile at me... it’s like your heart is telling mine, ‘You’re worthy. You’re worthy of this life and my love.”

Three things you can hear.

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