Chapter 29- Unexpected Gesture

Callie wiped her tears, trying to compose herself, but the ache in her chest refused to fade. Her hands trembled as she set her water glass back down, eyes still stinging from the emotion Kyle had stirred. She sat frozen in her chair, the last hues of sunset casting long shadows across the table. Her thoughts churned restlessly—what ifs and could-have-beens looping endlessly in her head.

So caught up in the swirl of her own pain, she didn't notice someone approaching until a shadow fell across the table, followed by the soft thud of something being set down in front of her.

"Here," a familiar voice said.

She looked up, startled, and found herself staring into a pair of sharp, knowing eyes. Dave Howard.

A neatly folded handkerchief lay between them on the table.

"I—I'm fine," Callie stammered, hastily brushing at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Her heart tripped at the unexpected sight of him, his presence somehow both grounding and unsettling.

Dave didn't move, his expression unreadable as he slowly slid into the seat Kyle had just vacated. He leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, gaze steady and quiet.

"I didn't ask if you were fine, Callie," he said evenly. "Just take it."

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the handkerchief before finally picking it up. The fabric was soft, and it smelled faintly of fresh linen and something else—woodsy, crisp, and unmistakably him.

She dabbed at her eyes, unsure of what to say. Dave wasn't exactly the type to show up at random offering comfort, and yet… here he was.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice low and calm but edged with something sharper, "crying over a man who didn't know your worth seems like a waste of good tears."

Callie stiffened, blinking at him. His words struck a nerve—not because they were harsh, but because they were true. Still, defensiveness prickled in her chest.

"You sure know how to kick someone while they're down, don't you?" she replied, her voice quiet but not without heat.

Dave tilted his head slightly, unfazed. "I'm not kicking. Just reminding you who the hell you are."

She looked at him then—really looked at him. The cool exterior, the practiced calm, the eyes that had always seemed to see more than he let on. His words didn't feel like judgment. They felt like truth dressed in bluntness.

And strangely, it helped. More than any hollow apology or meaningless comfort could have.

Callie let out a slow breath, tension leaving her shoulders inch by inch. "Thanks for the handkerchief," she murmured, gripping it tightly, grounding herself in the small, quiet gesture.

Dave studied her in silence for a beat longer, then leaned back in his chair. His expression softened just a fraction.

"Don't mention it," he said. "Just... don't waste your time on people who don't deserve you."

There was something in his tone—barely-there regret? A flicker of something unsaid? Before she could figure it out, he stood up. The scrape of his chair echoed faintly under the hum of the waves.

Callie expected him to turn and leave, but he paused beside the table, glancing down at her one last time.

"You're stronger than you think, Callie," he said quietly. "Don't let anyone make you forget that."

Then, without another word, he walked away, his figure blending into the growing shadows of the evening.

Callie watched him go, something unspoken tugging at her chest. She sat still long after he disappeared, the handkerchief crumpled gently in her hand. The ache was still there, but it didn't feel quite as heavy now.

And somehow, in the space left behind by both Kyle's sorrow and Dave's unexpected honesty, a strange sense of clarity began to bloom.

She wasn't sure what it meant.

But for the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could breathe again.