Chapter 2 A door left unlocked

The lake was quiet after their conversation, but Bella's mind wasn't. She walked back to town under a sky of ink, the only sound the rustling of early-fall leaves underfoot. The air was damp with memory, like everything around her remembered him too.

Roman had looked the same-and yet not. Older, yes. Softer in the eyes. And his voice... it didn't tremble when he spoke, but it carried a weight, as if each word had been rehearsed countless times before being released.

Bella didn't sleep that night.

She sat by the window of her apartment above Chapters & Charms, watching the flicker of streetlamps bounce off raindrops. She held his letter again in her hand. She had reread it so often that the creases now felt like scars in the paper-proof that it had been folded and unfolded, like a heart trying to find its shape again.

She didn't know if she could forgive him. But part of her-maybe the part that still believed in something larger than pain-was beginning to wonder if she wanted to.

The next morning, Bella opened the café as usual. Jules wasn't scheduled until noon, so the shop was quiet when the bell above the door chimed.

And there he was again.

Roman.

He didn't step inside right away. Just stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of wildflowers that looked like they'd been picked from the hill just past the lake.

Bella raised an eyebrow. "You're either brave or crazy showing up unannounced again."

Roman gave a sheepish smile. "Maybe both."

She folded her arms, but a smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "You know you can't just bring flowers and expect everything to be okay."

"I know. But I thought I'd start with something that doesn't require words." He stepped inside, placed the bouquet on the counter, and took a careful breath. "I want to be honest this time, Bella. Completely."

"Honesty's a good place to start," she said, motioning toward a small table near the front window. "But you should know-I have very high standards for coffee dates these days."

Roman laughed, the sound rusty but genuine. "Let's hope I still remember how to impress you."

They talked. For two hours.

No interruptions. Just two people unraveling years of silence in a corner of a bookstore café surrounded by the smell of espresso and cinnamon.

He told her about New York-how the internship turned into a job, which turned into burnout. How he'd lost his way chasing a version of success that never quite fit him.

"I thought I needed to leave everything behind to become someone," he said. "But the truth is, every step I took away from you just led me back here."

Bella listened. Really listened.

There was no yelling. No dramatic speeches.

Just... space.

Space for wounds to breathe and words to mend.

Over the next few days, Roman became a quiet, steady presence. He didn't ask to be let in. He just showed up-sometimes with coffee, sometimes with pastries, once with a rare first edition Bella had mentioned wanting in college.

He stayed late and helped clean up after events. Recommended books to customers. Listened to local gossip with an amused smirk, like he was rediscovering the town as much as her.

One evening, after closing, they sat on the floor of the café surrounded by mismatched cushions and leftover scone crumbs. Bella poured wine into two chipped mugs.

"So," she said, "what are you really doing here, Roman?"

He didn't look away. "Trying to prove to you that I'm not the man who left. That I could be the one who stays."

Her heart ached.

"You broke me," she whispered. "And I rebuilt myself."

"I know," he said softly. "And I don't want to undo any of that. I just want to know the woman you've become. If you'll let me."

Autumn deepened.

With it came change.

The trees around Wren Hollow lit up in gold and scarlet. Tourists arrived for cider and fall markets. And Bella, slowly, cautiously, let Roman into her life again-not fully, but enough to see that some parts of him had never really left her heart.

One chilly afternoon, they walked through the town's Harvest Festival. Children screamed happily from hayrides, and vendors sold caramel apples and knit scarves.

Bella pointed to a booth selling poetry prints.

"Remember when you used to read to me in the library?" she said. "I was always pretending to study."

Roman chuckled. "You were terrible at pretending."

They stopped in front of a print that read:

"I don't know if we were meant to last forever. But I know we were meant to begin."

He turned to her. "Do you think we were meant to begin again?"

She swallowed hard. "I think... we'll never know unless we try."

That night, she brought him upstairs for the first time.

Not for anything physical. Just to show him the space above the café-her sanctuary. Books lined every wall. Plants cascaded from shelves. A worn reading chair sat by the window.

"This is where I healed," she said quietly. "Where I grieved you."

Roman looked around, reverent. "It's beautiful."

"It's mine."

"I'm glad," he said, taking a step closer. "I'm glad you found peace. Even if it wasn't with me."

She looked up at him. "Peace isn't always quiet. Sometimes it comes back louder than we expect."

He hesitated. "Can I kiss you?"

Her breath caught.

"Yes," she whispered.

And he did.

Not like a man staking a claim, but like one asking a question. And she answered it with everything she had.

The next morning, Bella stood at the café's counter staring at a photo of her parents. Her father had once told her, "The hardest kind of love is the kind that returns after you've already let it go."

She understood now what he meant.

Love wasn't a straight line. It looped, twisted, returned. Sometimes, it showed up seven years later holding wildflowers and regret.