Page 61 of When the Storm Breaks
The least I can do is bring him a coffee.
Blowing out a breath, I pull out my phone before I can talk myself out of it. He answers almost immediately. The music cuts off mid-note.
“Calla?”
His voice is groggy, like he hasn’t fully woken up yet.
“Hi, um… I’m here,” I manage, suddenly unsure.
A moment later, Haiyden comes into view through the glass, his head tilted down as he watches his steps. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back in that absentminded way—like he doesn’t realize how effortlessly good he looks when he does it. But I see it. And the realization sends a bolt of nervous energy straight through me.
His eyes hold mine for a beat longer than I expected. The scent of coffee and something fainter, something clean, drifts between us. The morning sun casts soft shadows across his face, and for a moment, his guarded expression isn’t quite so sharp.
The music kicks back on, louder with the door open, filling the air between us. A deep, melancholic voice drifts through the space, thesong’s melody slow and aching, woven with a soft guitar.
It’s not what I expected from him—gentle, almost delicate, in a way that makes me hesitate.
Haiyden glances at his phone, rubbing the back of his neck before lowering the volume. The sound fades to a whisper, like he’s suddenly self-conscious.
I’m not sure what to make of all this—the music, his expression. There’s just always something unexpected about Haiyden. Something that never quite lines up with the version I think I know.
I step inside, letting the door close with a soft chime. There’s a hush in the space now, aside from the music and my anxious breathing. I hold out a coffee and the pastry, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Thanks again… for everything,” I say, the words tumbling out. “And for bringing my car back.”
His eyes meet mine, the intensity lingering long enough to make my stomach twist. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling.
“I’m sorry about yesterday, I was just exhausted, and—”
“Calla,” he says, cutting me off gently. “It’s fine.”
His voice is calm, measured—like he’s trying to keep me from spiraling. It should irritate me, but instead, it leaves me unsteady. Like he knows me better than I’m ready for.
I nod, shifting on my feet, still gripping the drinks like a shield.
“I’m just glad you’re safe,” he adds, quieter this time.
The thought settles between us, feeling unfinished. But before I can respond, Haiyden takes the coffee and pastry from my hands. His fingers brush against mine unintentionally, but I let myself feel it anyway.
Without a word, he turns and walks over to the bar, settingeverything down.
I stay rooted, watching as he pulls glasses from the dishwasher, stacking them on the counter in uneven rows. He moves with a kind of quiet certainty, each motion fluid and practiced.
His muscles shift beneath his shirt as he works, the fabric pulling tight across his shoulders. Each time he reaches inside, the light catches the lines of his forearms, all sinew and strength.
His brow furrows as he sets the last glass down, like the weight of the task is finally catching up to him. He exhales a slow, stabilizing breath—as if preparing himself for something much bigger than a few stacks of dirty glasses.
When his eyes finally meet mine, amusement flickers across his face, but there’s something softer beneath it.
“Make yourself at home,” he says, voice low, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Rent’s due at the end of the month, by the way. But I’ll knock off a few bucks for the coffee and pastries.”
It’s casual. Light. A simple line, but there’s something unguarded in it. Like the smallest crack forming in the wall he keeps so firmly in place.
The music swells again, louder this time.
I retreat to my usual seat at the low table by the window. I hadn’t planned to stay—just a quick thank-you and I’d be on my way—but something about this moment makes it hard to leave. The soft rhythm of water running in the sink. The quiet clink of glass against the bar. The hum of music weaving through it all.
There’s a peace in it. A quiet kind of routine that feels safe.
