The café was filled with a tense silence. The kind that crept in after someone dropped a glass and everyone is still waiting for the next thing to break. Five minutes passed. Maybe ten.

Then came the sound of boots and muffled voices.

Aunt Mary telling someone, “She’s not here. He’s trespassing.”

“I know she’s here,” Blake said. “I know⁠—”

“Sir, we’ve had a report of harassment. I’m going to have to ask you to step outside.”

“I didn’t do anything! I just need five minutes, I just want to see her face. I know she’s—don’t touch me!”

My blood turned cold.

“Step outside, please.”

The voices collided, overlapping—Blake yelling, Aunt Mary trying to explain, the cops talking over them both. Then the sound of resistance. Shoes scuffing against the tile. A grunt. Cuffs?

I couldn’t be sure.

I was shaking from head to toe.

“Beverly!”

I moved before I realized it, pulling open the door just a few inches—just enough to peer through the crack, past the pastry display and espresso machine, to the front window.

And there he was.

Soaked from the December rain, hair sticking to his forehead, wrists locked behind his back as two officers led him toward the squad car. His mouth was still moving, his face flushed with fury. He looked thinner than I remembered, exhausted and frantic.

He twisted in their grip, shouting toward the café. “Beverly!”

My name ripped out of him like it hurt to say.

I flinched, tears welling up so fast I couldn’t blink them away. He scanned the café with wild, desperate eyes—searching for me.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I just watched from behind the door, heart crumbling, lungs begging for air. I watched as the boy I loved shouted my name as if it was the only word left in him.

“I know you’re there!” Blake cried. “Beverly!  Please. Please, B. Just let me see you!”

A sob caught in my throat. He shouted my name over and over again, fighting against the restraints like a man possessed.

He tried to look over his shoulder one last time before they opened the back door and ducked his head inside.

He was still yelling. Still hoping I’d appear.

I pressed my lips together to keep from making a sound, biting down so hard I tasted blood.

The car door slammed shut.

The engine rumbled to life.

And then he was gone.

I stumbled back, my legs betraying me as I sank to the floor, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. I stayed there, gasping for air like I’d been underwater the whole time.

My ribs ached. My throat burned. The floor beneath me felt like it might swallow me whole.

I should’ve run to him.

I should’ve done something.

But all I did was cry.