ck to town under a sky of ink, the only sound the rustling of early-fall leaves und

d his voice... it didn't tremble when he spoke, but it carried a weight,

't sleep t

ff raindrops. She held his letter again in her hand. She had reread it so often that the creases now felt li

her-maybe the part that still believed in something la

l. Jules wasn't scheduled until noon, so the sh

re he w

ma

orway, holding a bouquet of wildflowers that looked li

u're either brave or crazy s

heepish smile.

lips despite herself. "You know you can't just

words." He stepped inside, placed the bouquet on the counter, and too

ard a small table near the front window. "But you should k

but genuine. "Let's hope I stil

ed. For t

ars of silence in a corner of a bookstore café

o a job, which turned into burnout. How he'd lost his wa

become someone," he said. "But the truth is, every

ened. Real

elling. No dra

...

s to breathe an

k to be let in. He just showed up-sometimes with coffee, sometimes with pas

d books to customers. Listened to local gossip with an amus

he café surrounded by mismatched cushions and leftover

hat are you really

to you that I'm not the man who left

eart

e whispered. "And

t to undo any of that. I just want to know

n dee

t came

r and fall markets. And Bella, slowly, cautiously, let Roman into her life again-n

Harvest Festival. Children screamed happily from hayr

o a booth selli

o me in the library?" she said. "

"You were terrib

n front of a p

ant to last forever. But I

o you think we were

I think... we'll neve

ought him upstairs

the café-her sanctuary. Books lined every wall. Plants cas

d," she said quietly.

und, reverent. "

s mi

ep closer. "I'm glad you found p

't always quiet. Sometimes it co

ed. "Can I

eath c

she whi

he

like one asking a question. And she

hoto of her parents. Her father had once told her, "The hardest ki

ood now wha

ted, returned. Sometimes, it showed up seven