#bridgetmessian

The ocean wind carried salt and heat, brushing against the porch where Bridget stood, arms folded tight across her chest. Below, Wisteria toddled along the shoreline, squealing with delight as the waves lapped at her ankles, her curls bouncing in the breeze.

Bridget didn’t smile. Couldn’t. Not with him standing next to her like that—quiet, restless, hands jammed in his pockets like they were holding him together.

Kade: (finally) “I need to tell you something.”

She didn’t turn to him. She didn’t have to. She already knew.

The tone. The silence. The guilt.

Bridget: “It’s Noah, isn’t it?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Kade went still. Then nodded.

Kade: “We’ve… been talking a lot. It just happened. I didn’t plan it.”

Bridget laughed—a small, broken sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “You said there was nothing between you.”

Kade: “There wasn’t. Not then. But now—”

Bridget: (cutting him off) “Now you’re leaving me for your best friend.”

Kade looked out at the sea, avoiding her eyes.

Kade: “It’s not like that.”

Bridget: “Isn’t it? You don’t even have the decency to lie better.”

The silence between them stretched, taut and painful. Wisteria shrieked with laughter as she splashed in a tide pool, completely unaware.

Bridget swallowed hard, her throat dry.

Bridget: “Did you ever love me?”

Kade didn’t answer right away. That was answer enough.

Kade: (quiet) “I think I wanted to.”

Her breath hitched like she’d been punched.

Bridget: “So what was I, then? Just somewhere to land while you figured it out? A placeholder until Noah looked your way?”

Kade flinched.

Kade: “It wasn’t like that.”

Bridget: “But it is like that, Kade. You just don’t have the balls to admit it.”

He took a step toward her. She stepped back.

Kade: “This doesn’t change anything with Wisteria.”

Bridget: (cold) “Of course it does. Everything changes. You want to be her dad? Show up. But don’t pretend you didn’t abandon me too.”

Her voice cracked then, just slightly. Enough.

Kade looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. He turned and walked down the sand, scooping Wisteria into his arms. She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck like nothing was wrong.

Bridget watched them, arms wrapped around herself like armour.

From a distance, they looked like a family.

But she knew better now.

She wasn’t the one he’d fight for.

Wasn’t the one he’d ever choose.

And maybe she never had been.

She stood there until the sun dipped lower, her shadow stretching long across the porch, the waves pulling the footprints away like they’d never been there at all.

----

Late that Night

Tomarang was quiet. Too quiet.

The sea murmured in the distance, a soft hush that should’ve been comforting. But inside Bridget’s tiny home, the silence pressed in around her like a weight.

Wisteria was asleep—curled up in her little bed, thumb in her mouth, a small, rhythmic snore barely audible through the monitor.

Bridget sat alone on the bathroom floor. The bathwater had gone cold, her damp towel wrapped around her shoulders like a shield. Her knees were pulled to her chest, cheek resting on them, eyes red from crying—but the tears hadn’t stopped.

She wasn’t even sure why she’d started crying again.

Maybe it was Kade. Maybe it was her mum. Maybe it was Kevin.

Maybe it was everyone who had ever made her feel like she wasn’t enough to stay for.

Bridget: (soft, to herself) “What’s wrong with me?”

Her voice cracked in the quiet. No answer came. Just the slow drip of the tap. The ache in her chest throbbed like a bruise she couldn’t touch.

She thought back to all the moments that should’ve meant something. Kade holding her hand during Wisteria’s birth. Kevin offering a home. Her mum’s empty hugs. The nights she stayed up hoping someone, anyone, would message first.

But they didn’t. They never did.

And she was tired of always being the one who reached out. The one who fought. The one who stayed.

She leaned her head back against the wall, blinking up at the ceiling.

Bridget: “I gave everything. And still… they leave.”

Her voice was a whisper now. Barely there.

It wasn’t just about love. It was about being invisible. Disposable. Used up and tossed aside, like she was just a chapter in everyone else’s story.

She wiped her eyes, but it didn’t matter. More tears came anyway.

For the girl she used to be.

For the love she thought was real.

For the version of her life that never came true.

Eventually, she stood, the cold biting into her skin, and wrapped herself tighter in the towel. She padded barefoot to Wisteria’s room, slipping in without a sound.

Her daughter’s face was peaceful in sleep, lashes long against her cheeks, curls wild on the pillow.

Bridget knelt beside the bed and stroked a curl behind Wisteria’s ear.

Bridget: (quietly) “It’s just us, baby girl. Just us now.”

And maybe that would have to be enough.

Because at least she wasn’t leaving.

Zale was sitting on the bed, shirtless, hair still damp from the shower, flipping through a record sleeve he'd left out the night before. He looked up the second I stepped into the room. I must’ve looked pale—off—because his expression shifted instantly to concern.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer right away. I sat down beside him, slow and deliberate, like my legs might give out otherwise. His arm slid around my back instinctively, pulling me in, anchoring me.

I let myself lean against him, tucking my face into the warm curve of his shoulder. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest, steady and safe.

“Please don’t leave us,” I whispered, so quiet it barely made sound.

He stilled.

His voice, when it came, was confused but calm. “Why would I leave?”

I sat up slightly, just enough to look him in the eye. My lips trembled as I said it.

“I’m pregnant. I didn’t mean to.”

His eyes widened—just for a second—but then they softened, and his hand came up to cradle the back of my head like he thought I might break apart.

“Bridget…”

“I didn’t plan this,” I rushed on. “And I know things have only just started feeling safe and real and… I didn’t want to trap you or scare you. I know you didn’t sign up for more—”

“Hey,” he cut in, gentle but firm. “You didn’t trap me.”

I blinked, tears slipping free despite myself.

“You didn’t scare me,” he added, kissing my temple. “You love me. I love you. We already have a family, Bridget. If this baby is part of that… then it’s a gift.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Angry?” He pulled back just enough to look at me, fingers tilting my chin. “Bridget, I want this life with you. All of it. Glittery chaos, unexpected babies, whatever comes. I’m not going anywhere.”

I started to sob then—quiet, messy tears against his chest.

Zale just held me tighter, rubbing slow circles into my back, grounding me with every breath.

Eventually, he whispered, “Boy or girl, I’m still calling it my little menace.”

And somehow, I laughed through the tears. Because of course he would.

And maybe—just maybe—I really believed him this time.

Zale's arms were still wrapped around me, warm and steady, the kind of hold that felt like it could anchor a soul on the edge. My tears had dried on his skin, my fingers curled into the soft cotton of his shirt like I was afraid he might vanish if I let go.

He tilted my chin gently, eyes locking with mine. Still stormy blue, still serious in that way that made everything around him quieter.

Then he kissed me.

Not rushed. Not wild.

Soft. Certain.

Like an answer.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. I felt his breath mix with mine, felt the weight of his hand on the small of my back.

Zale: "I want you forever, Bridge."

I closed my eyes, let the words sink in like sunlight on skin.

No one had ever said that and meant it.

But he did.

I could feel it in the way he looked at me, the way he touched me like I was something fragile and holy and completely his.

I whispered, barely louder than breath, “Then stay.”

Zale smiled. One of those small, crooked, heart-twisting ones.

Zale: “I already did.”

And that was it.

The moment I stopped bracing for the fall.

The next day, Puck finds Bridget at the beach, surfing. He approaches her slowly, a mixture of uncertainty and regret in his expression. They’ve been at this for months—just two people enjoying each other’s company without any expectations, no strings attached. But today, he’s come to a decision, and he knows it’s not going to be easy.

He stands beside her, his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. “Bridge,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual, “we need to talk.”

Bridget looks at him, her heart sinking just a little. She already knows where this is going, but hearing him say it aloud still stings. She’s spent so many nights with him, lost in the heat of the moment, thinking that maybe—just maybe—there could be more. But she never let herself believe it, not completely.

“What’s up, Puck?” She forces a smile, even though she can feel the weight of her emotions pulling her down. “You sound serious.”

Puck runs a hand through his hair, looking down at the ground. “I’ve been thinking about us. About... everything. And it’s just—there’s no future for us, Bridge. I can’t do this.”

Bridget’s chest tightens, but she tries to keep her face neutral. She’s not going to cry, not in front of him. She’s better than that. “I get it. You don’t need to explain. I’m not stupid.”

Puck sighs, clearly torn. “I like you, I really do. But I’m a fairy, Bridge. And you’re a witch. It doesn’t work. It never does. So I need to cut this off before it gets any more complicated.”

The words sting, but she’s not surprised. She knows better than anyone that things between them were never meant to last. They were never supposed to be anything more than what they were—casual, fleeting, and filled with heat but not substance.

“I understand, Puck,” she says quietly, though the words taste bitter. “I never thought it was going to be anything more. I knew the rules. I just... didn’t think it would end like this.”

Puck glances at her, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Bridge. You’re incredible. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Bridget forces a smile, even though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me. I get it. I really do.”

Puck nods slowly, and for a moment, the silence stretches between them, heavy and thick. He stands up, giving her one last look before turning away. “I’ll see you around, Bridge.”

As he walks away, Bridget lets out a slow breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. She knew this day would come, but she didn’t think it would hurt this much. She watches him go, her heart feeling a little emptier than it was before.

She sits on the beach, staring up at the sky, trying to focus on anything other than the ache inside her chest. She didn’t want to fall for him. She didn’t want to want him. But in the end, it was hard not to, and now she’s left picking up the pieces.

Bridget stays sitting on the beach. Bridget sniffs "Please don't tell me you told me so" Kevin hugs Bridget.

"I'm sorry bridge" Kevin mutters.

Bridget leans into Kevin's hug, her emotions overwhelming her. She breathes in deeply, trying to steady herself. It’s hard to admit, but there’s a part of her that feels a sense of loss—not just because Puck is gone, but because she knows she let herself get too attached, despite everything.

“I should’ve known, you know? It was always going to end like this.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she hates it, but she can't help it. She wipes her eyes quickly, trying to regain control.

Kevin stays silent, just holding her for a moment, offering the kind of comfort Bridget doesn’t often let herself seek. After a while, he pulls back slightly, but keeps his arm around her. "You deserve better than that, Bridge. Someone who doesn’t need to run away from you."

Bridget gives him a small, tired smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I know. I guess I just... wanted something that felt real for once, y'know? Even if I knew it was a mistake from the start."

Kevin watches her, his gaze soft. "You're not a mistake, Bridge. Not now, not ever. I know things with Puck were complicated, but you're not the problem."

She lets out a short laugh, though it’s hollow. "It feels like I am. I should’ve kept things simpler—maybe just... kept to myself. Now I’m just... this mess."

Kevin shakes his head. "You're not a mess. You're figuring things out. And you're allowed to be frustrated. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now."

Bridget sighs, looking out at the ocean, the sound of the waves filling the silence. "I just want to be okay. I don’t want to keep going through the motions, pretending everything’s fine when it’s not."

Kevin nods slowly, understanding more than she expected. "Well, you’re not alone in this, okay? If you need someone to talk to, or if you need to do something other than sit here feeling like crap... I’m here."

Bridget gives him a tired smile. "Thanks, Kevin. I don’t know why I didn’t talk to you sooner."

Kevin smiles back, his tone teasing but kind. "It’s alright. I’m not hard to find." He nudges her playfully. "Besides, I think you’ve got more to learn about the art of hanging out with me."

Bridget laughs softly, the sound a little more genuine this time. "Maybe. I guess you’re not so bad for a guy who’s been giving me unsolicited advice about my love life."

Kevin smirks. "What can I say? I’ve got a knack for that."

She leans back, looking up at the sky, feeling just a tiny bit lighter. "Alright, I’ll take you up on your offer then. Let’s just... forget about the drama for today. Just for today."

Kevin grins. "Deal."

It had been six weeks of heat and chaos and something dangerously close to love. Now the beach was quiet, the sky painted in streaks of violet and orange. Kade and Bridget sat on a blanket, half-wrapped in each other, a half-eaten bag of chips between them and sand dusting their legs. The waves rolled in gentle and rhythmic, like a heartbeat. Neither of them had said it yet—not the real thing—but it lingered in the way Bridget’s head rested on his shoulder, in the way Kade’s fingers never stopped tracing little patterns on her thigh. He was leaving tomorrow. Bridget hated how fast the summer had gone. She broke the silence first, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.” Kade looked at her, eyes shadowed with emotion he rarely let show. “I know.” She sat up a little, frowning at the horizon. “I thought this was just… fun. And it was. But it’s more now. Isn’t it?” He nodded slowly. “Yeah. It is.” Bridget laughed once, dry and quiet. “This wasn’t the plan.” “Plans suck,” he said. “I didn’t mean to meet someone like you. Not now. Not here.” “But you did,” she said, finally looking at him. “I did.” A long pause. “Come with me,” he said suddenly. Half-serious, half-hopeful. Bridget smiled sadly. “You know I can’t. This is my home. My magic’s rooted here. My people are here.” He nodded. “I had to try.” Bridget leaned in and kissed him, slow and lingering, like she could store the memory of it somewhere inside her ribs. When she pulled away, her eyes were bright but dry. “You’re going to be brilliant out there, Kade. You’re going to break hearts and charm professors and write long songs about sunsets and girls with magic eyes.” He laughed quietly. “You make it sound easy.” She grinned. “It won’t be. But you’re annoying and arrogant and too romantic for your own good. You’ll survive.” They stayed there until the stars came out. And when he finally left the next morning, Bridget didn’t cry. But she watched the sea all day, and it felt just a little emptier without him.

Bridget didn’t sleep the night before he left. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, counting his breaths beside her, memorizing the weight of his arm over her waist, the rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek. Every time he shifted in his sleep, she thought about waking him. About asking him to stay. About saying the words she hadn't said yet. But morning came anyway. They walked to the bus station together. It was a short walk, but it felt like the last mile of something she wasn’t ready to finish. Kade carried his bag slung over one shoulder, and she tried to keep her hand in his just a little longer than necessary. They didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything left to say that wouldn’t break something. At the platform, he turned to her, eyes already a little too glossy, smile a little too forced. “So… I guess this is it.” Bridget nodded, arms crossed to keep them from shaking. “Guess so.” “You gonna be okay?” he asked softly. She smirked, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Bridget Messian. I’m always okay.” Kade looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to carve her into memory. “You know if you asked me to stay, I might.” “I know,” she said. “That’s why I won’t.” He let out a shaky breath, eyes falling to the space between them. “Why does this feel like more than it was supposed to be?” “Because it is,” she said, voice raw. “But just because something’s real doesn’t mean it lasts.” He stepped forward and kissed her—slow, soft, trembling. Not the kind of kiss that ends something. The kind that promises it never really will. “I love you,” he said against her lips. “God, I didn’t mean to, but I do.” Bridget closed her eyes. Let the words burn into her. “I know,” she whispered. “I think… I love you too.” And then she stepped back. “Go.” Kade nodded, tears threatening but not falling. He slung his bag over his shoulder, looked at her one last time, and turned toward the bus. She stood there until it was gone, arms wrapped tight around herself, chest aching in a way she didn’t think magic could fix. He was gone. But what they had—it wasn’t. Not really. She carried him home with her, like a song she couldn’t stop humming.

The sun was rude. It streamed through the slats of her window, all golden and loud, lighting up the tangle of blankets and limbs like a spotlight. Bridget groaned and rolled onto her back, blinking against the brightness. Kade was already out of bed. She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him move around her room quietly, pulling on his shirt, shoes already in hand. His hair was mussed, lips still a little kiss-bitten, but he looked ready to vanish like a dream she half-remembered. She smirked, voice still sleep-rough. “Sneaking out?” He jumped a little, caught in the act. Then he flashed that smug, stupidly attractive smile. “Didn’t want to wake the enchantress.” Bridget yawned and stretched, letting the sheets fall just enough to keep his attention. “I was hoping for another round.” Kade hesitated—tempted, clearly—but then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “I’m not really the… stick-around kind. I’m not one for relationships.” She raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “Me neither.” That surprised him. Bridget leaned back against her pillows, grey eyes sharp. “I just want some fun. You know—surfing, drinks, the occasional hot guy sneaking out of my bedroom.” He grinned, lingering in the doorway. “Well. I am excellent at occasional.” She rolled her eyes but smiled. “So drop by tonight. Or don’t. I’m not the crying-into-a-pillow type.” Kade nodded slowly, like he was still figuring her out. “I might come by.” “I might let you in,” she said, already kicking off the covers and looking for her swimsuit in the chaos of her room. He left, and the house settled into quiet again. Bridget didn’t believe in fate. But she did believe in good timing and even better distractions. And Kade? Kade was both.

For now, anyway.

Bridget was already in the water by the time Kade showed up, sunlight glittering off the sea like the whole ocean had been sprinkled with stardust. Her board floated lazily beside her, waves gentle and teasing against her bare skin. She paddled back toward shore when she spotted him—t-shirt clinging to his chest, hair wind-tousled, looking at her like she was the main event. “You’re late,” she called out as she stood, water dripping down her legs. Kade grinned. “You didn’t say what time. I thought this was a ‘sometime after sunrise’ vibe.” Bridget walked up the sand, dripping and smug. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” “You keep saying that,” he said, handing her a towel. “I might start believing it.” She took it, brushing past him as she dropped onto the warm sand. “Come on then, lover boy. Let’s see what you’ve got.” They surfed for hours. Kade wasn’t bad—not a natural, but brave enough to try, wipe out, and come back laughing. Bridget liked that about him. He didn’t care about looking cool. He just wanted to feel everything. Between waves, they floated beside each other, arms brushing in the water. “You always like this?” he asked. “Wild and alive?” Bridget smirked. “You always this sentimental after nearly drowning?” Kade laughed, a real one that made his eyes crinkle. “I could get used to this.” “This?” she teased. “Washing up beside a witch in the ocean?” “No,” he said, softer. “You.” She blinked, caught off guard. Then masked it with a splash of water to his face. “You’re getting attached.” “Maybe,” he said, swimming closer. “You gonna hex me if I am?” Bridget grabbed his necklace and pulled him in. “I’ll do worse,” she whispered—and kissed him. The rest of the afternoon blurred into sun and lips and laughter. They collapsed on a towel later, tangled up, salt-kissed and satisfied. He looked at her like she was trouble. She looked at him like he was temporary. Because that’s what this was. Fun. Fleeting. No strings, no promises. But when his fingers brushed hers as the sun began to sink, Bridget couldn’t help but feel the smallest twinge of something... more.

Her room was cool and shadowy, lit only by the late golden spill from her window and a few half-melted candles. Bridget peeled off her damp swimsuit and tossed him an oversized t-shirt while she pulled on cotton shorts. “Bed privileges are a big deal,” she teased as she flopped into the middle of it. Kade caught the shirt, grinning as he climbed in beside her. “What can I say? I’m charming.” Bridget rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re hot.” “Same thing.” They lay facing each other, legs tangled, her cheek resting on her hand, eyes tracing the slope of his nose, the soft edge of his mouth. There was something strange about the silence between them. Comfortable, but charged. Kade reached out and tucked a damp curl behind her ear. “You always let people this close?” She shrugged. “No. But I like how you look in my sheets.” He smirked, but there was something gentle in his eyes. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?” Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Says the heartbroken poet.” He laughed, then quieted. “You make it easy to forget her. The ache. Everything.” She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let her fingers trace his arm lazily. “I don’t want to fix you,” she said. “I’m not that kind of girl.” “I don’t want to be fixed,” he replied. “Just… seen. And I think you do.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Yeah. I see you.” They lay there a long while—kissing between jokes, dozing off and waking up tangled tighter each time. The window breeze carried the sound of waves through the house. Kade’s head rested on her stomach now, and her fingers slid through his hair. Neither of them said what they were thinking. That it felt like more. That it felt too good to last. That it was more. Later, Bridget whispered, “You’re not just a summer thing, Kade.” He tilted his head to look at her. “Then what am I?” She looked down at him, serious. “You’re a page in a chapter I’ll never forget.” His breath hitched, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he curled closer into her, and for once, Kade didn’t try to run from the quiet.

I should’ve known something was up when he insisted I wear a dress.

Zale never cared what I wore. He liked me salty and half-drenched in seaweed, in gym shorts and one of his stolen shirts. But tonight, he’d shown up in a button-up, actual shoes, and that nervous energy he only got when he was pretending not to care deeply.

The restaurant was tucked away behind a curtain of hibiscus trees, hidden like a secret—small tables, fairy lights strung from the rafters, the kind of place that made you whisper without meaning to. It was romantic, quiet, the food was absurdly good. Zale kept reaching for my hand between courses, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my palm.

And me?

I kept thinking, Why does this feel like a goodbye? Or…

No.

A beginning.

After dessert—some kind of honey tart that tasted like the sun melted into sugar—he stood up and offered his hand.

“Walk with me?” he said.

I nodded and followed him out through the back gate into the garden.

It was dark, soft, the stars hanging low like they wanted to listen in. The garden glowed with little lanterns hung from trees and the faint hum of cicadas. Zale stopped near a white stone fountain. His whole body stilled.

He turned to face me.

“I wasn’t going to do this tonight,” he admitted. “But then I looked at you across the table, and I couldn’t wait.”

My heart tripped.

“Zale,” I whispered.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny seashell—pale pink, heart-shaped, polished smooth. I stared, confused for a second. Then he opened it.

Inside was a delicate white gold ring. Simple. Beautiful. The kind of thing that wouldn’t fall off during a swim or a fight or a wave crash. The kind of thing meant to be worn.

He dropped to one knee.

And that was it.

Time stopped.

“Bridget Messian,” he said, voice a little shaky. “You are chaos and magic and fire and home. You’ve given me everything I didn’t think I deserved. You gave me Wisteria. You’re giving me Ione and Eryx. But I want more. I want forever. I want the screaming and the sleepless nights and the sandy floors and every single stupid fight that ends in making up on the sofa.”

Tears blurred my vision.

“Be my wife,” he whispered. “Be my queen.”

I laughed through the sob stuck in my throat. “Zale,” I choked out. “You absolute idiot. Of course I will.”

He slid the ring on my finger, and it fit perfectly.

Then he stood and kissed me, holding my face like I was something rare and precious.

The garden cheered—or maybe that was just the wind, or the stars, or the wild thudding of my heart.

But I knew.

This was the start of everything.

The sky in Tomarang was streaked with coral and gold, the sea humming softly just beyond the record shop windows. Bridget wiped down the counter, the warm scent of vinyl and old wood settling around her like a memory she didn’t mind keeping.

She’d been working at Coastal Needle—Zale’s shop—for two years now. What started as a part-time gig while juggling Wisteria’s ballet and school runs had quietly turned into something steady. Reliable. Hers.

Zale was in the back, cataloguing the latest arrivals with his usual focus. He’d changed, too. Less sharp edges. Still quiet, still neat, but… softer. At least around her.

Wisteria, now five and a half, was upstairs in the tiny loft office, probably rearranging the sticker drawer again and talking to her stuffed unicorn about dance recitals. She called the shop her “second home.” Zale, she still called “grumpy sea prince.”

The bell above the shop door jingled as I hip-checked it open, pastry in one hand, tote bag in the other—overstuffed with tangled headphones, sheet music, and probably a squished banana I’d forgotten about. My hair was still damp from the surf, skin sticky with sun and sea breeze.

Zale was already behind the counter, sleeves rolled with clinical precision, dark hair tousled like he spent twenty minutes making it look effortless. He was bent over the record crates, flipping through vinyls like they were some sacred text. When he finally glanced up, his eyes caught mine like a hook.

Zale: “You’re late.”

I grinned, unapologetic. “And yet, the world still turns.”

He didn’t even smirk. Just sighed and moved my reusable coffee cup—the one I left yesterday—away from a stack of mint-condition blues records.

Zale: “I reheated this. Figured you’d be back.”

I paused. That got me.

“You saved my coffee?”

He didn’t answer. Just kept working like he hadn’t just made my heart stutter with a dumb cup of lukewarm caffeine.

I took a sip. It was still warm. And yeah, I tried not to smile.

Ten minutes later, I was humming off-key just to annoy him while pretending to alphabetize records. He didn’t look up, but I caught the way his mouth twitched.

Zale: “You’re flat.”

I gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, that was a haunting B-flat. A mood.”

Zale: “It was a cry for help.”

I snorted. “You just don’t know how to have fun.”

He looked up then, eyes steady, voice low.

Zale: “You’re exhausting.”

But he said it like… he didn’t mind.

Then, chaos in glitter form exploded through the front door.

Wisteria.

Her curls were wild, ballet slippers already covered in sand, cheeks dusted with pink sparkles. She screamed his name like he was the main act at a sold-out concert.

Wisteria: “ZAAAAALE!”

I cringed. “Wist, babe—inside voice!”

But she was already climbing him like a tree. He caught her without flinching. Like he always did.

Zale: “There she is. The glitter menace.”

Wisteria: “Wanna see my leap?”

I opened my mouth to tell her no—but he beat me to it.

Zale: (softly) “Go ahead.”

He knelt beside her, eye-level, focused. She twirled, tripped, then leapt—nearly taking out the stand of guitar picks. I held my breath.

Zale clapped. Not fake-clapped—real, slow, impressed enough to make her beam.

And I just stood there. Watching this man—this strange, tidy, quiet man—make room for my chaos.

He didn’t rush her. Didn’t correct her. Didn’t even brush the glitter off his sleeves.

He opened the special drawer—the one Wisteria swore held magic stickers—and gave her the entire sheet.

Wisteria: “I’m taking two!”

Zale: “I’ll invoice you.”

She slapped them onto his arm like war paint and hugged him again, her tiny hands around his neck.

Zale: (to me, deadpan) “She’s banned from the shop.”

I laughed. “You say that every week.”

He didn’t deny it.

---

Later, when Wisteria sat cross-legged near the record player, drawing mermaids with wings, I wandered over and leaned against the counter beside him.

He didn’t look at me. Just kept sorting records like my presence didn’t rattle him.

Me: “You know she’s obsessed with you, right?”

He shrugged. “She’s a good kid.”

“She climbs you like a jungle gym.”

“She trusts me.”

That stilled me.

I looked at him—really looked. His jaw was sharp, his hands still, his expression unreadable.

Me: “And what about me?”

His eyes finally met mine. Quiet. Unshaken.

Zale: “You don’t trust anyone. Yet.”

He said it like it was a fact—not a flaw. And that… shook something loose in me.

He turned back to the records. Didn’t press. Didn’t ask for anything.

And maybe that’s why, for the first time in years, I wanted to trust someone again.