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11 - You Don't Scare Me

Two days. That's how long it had been since Isla had bolted from my parents' anniversary dinner. Two days of unanswered texts and calls that went straight to voicemail. Two days of wondering if I'd ever see her again.

She'd sent one message late Sunday night after the dinner: Made it home safe. Thanks again for understanding. And then nothing. Radio silence.

I'd tried not to push, giving her the space she seemed to need. But by Tuesday afternoon, concern had overtaken patience. What if she wasn't just avoiding me? What if something had happened to her?

The thought propelled me to Horizon Books after work, only to find Daniel at the counter instead of Isla.

"She's on break," he said when I asked for her. His gaze was slightly suspicious, as if he was trying to decide whether I was the reason she'd been distracted and irritable for the past two days. "Should be back in ten minutes if you want to wait."

"Thanks. I think I'll look around."

I browsed the mystery section without really seeing any of the titles, my mind too preoccupied with what I would say when I saw her. Hey, why are you avoiding me? Too confrontational. Is everything okay? Too vague. I've missed you. Too honest.

After fifteen minutes of aimless wandering, I decided to check if she'd returned yet. As I approached the counter, I caught Daniel looking toward the back door with a concerned expression.

"She usually doesn't take this long," he murmured, almost to himself.

"The back door," I asked. "Does it lead to an alley?"

He nodded. "Employees use it for smoke breaks sometimes. Though Isla doesn't usually..."

I was already heading for the exit, a sense of urgency propelling me forward. The main entrance had a small ramp, but the back door likely wouldn't. I'd have to figure that out when I got there.

The rear exit was tucked beside the restrooms, a heavy metal door with a push bar. I managed to force it open from my chair, then navigated the narrow hallway that led to the alley behind the store. There was a single step down at the end, which I bumped down with a practiced motion.

And there she was, leaning against the brick wall, a cigarette between her fingers. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles under her eyes stark against her pale skin. She looked exhausted, defeated in a way I'd never seen her before.

She startled when she saw me, nearly dropping her cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Looking for you."

"Why?"

"Because you've been avoiding me for two days."

She looked away, taking a long drag of her cigarette. "I needed some time to think."

"And you couldn't text me back to say that?"

"I'm sorry," she said, but it sounded automatic. "I should get back to work."

She moved to walk past me, but I maneuvered my chair to block her path. "Isla. Talk to me."

"About what?"

"About why you're avoiding me. About why you ran from my parents' house like it was on fire. About anything, really."

She sighed, shoulders slumping. "I told you already. I don't belong in that world, Callum. With your family and their normal questions about normal things that I don't have normal answers for."

"Bullshit."

Her head snapped up, surprised by my bluntness.

"That's an excuse," I continued. "Yes, my family can be overwhelming. Yes, the questions were personal. But that's not why you ran."

"You don't know why I did anything."

"Then tell me. Because I'm pretty fucking tired of guessing."

She stared at me for a long moment, a battle raging behind her eyes. Then, abruptly, her expression shifted. The sunshine facade fell away completely, leaving something raw and unguarded in its place.

"You want to know why I ran? Because for a minute there, I let myself believe it could be real. That I could be part of something like that. A family dinner. Normal conversations. People who care about each other." Her voice cracked slightly. "And then your dad mentioned your ex-wife, and I remembered that I don't know the first thing about you. Not really. And you don't know me either."

"I know enough."

"Do you? Because I don't think you do." She looked at me then, really looked at me, her gaze direct and challenging. "You're not scared of me?"

The question caught me off guard. "Why the fuck would I be?"

She laughed, but it was hollow, nothing like her usual bright sound. "Give it time."

Those three words sent a chill through me, not because of what she said, but how she said it. Like it was inevitable. Like eventually I'd see something in her that would make me run.

"Try me," I said.

"You don't want to go there."

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

She dropped her cigarette and crushed it under her heel, then immediately pulled out another and lit it with shaking hands. "You know the cute little story I told at dinner? About foster care and my wonderful foster mom who died when I was sixteen? I left out some parts."

"Like what?"

"Like how I tried to burn down my first foster home when I was eight because the dad was touching me where he shouldn't." She took a sharp drag of her cigarette. "Or how I spent six months in juvie when I was fourteen because I stabbed a boy who thought it would be fun to hold me down and cut off my clothes."

I kept my expression carefully neutral, though each revelation felt like a punch to the gut. "What else?"

"You want more? How about the fact that I have a criminal record? Assault and battery against my ex. He spent two days in the hospital, and I spent six months in jail. That's why I couldn't just go to the cops when I thought I saw him last month. That's why I live in that shitty apartment in that dangerous neighborhood. Because not many places will rent to a felon, and not many jobs will hire one either. Daniel only did because Margaret used to volunteer here, and he owed her a favor."

She was breathing hard now, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Still think you know me?"

"Yes," I said simply.

She blinked, clearly expecting a different response. "Did you not hear what I just said?"

"I heard you."

"And?"

"And I still want to know why you've been avoiding me for two days."

She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Are you serious right now?"

"Completely."

"I just told you I'm a convicted felon who stabbed a guy and tried to burn down a house."

"I heard that part too."

"And you're just okay with it? No questions? No judgment? No running for the hills?"

I considered her for a moment, this woman who'd been so bright and cheerful when we met, who hid so much darkness behind her sunshine smile. Who was now standing before me, stripped of all her defenses, expecting me to be horrified.

"You were a child in the first two examples, being abused and assaulted," I said quietly. "And I'm guessing your ex deserved what he got, given what you've told me about him before. So no, I'm not running anywhere."

Her expression crumpled, disbelief and something like hope warring on her face. "You can't just say that."

"Why not?"

"Because people don't just accept these things. They judge. They run. They decide I'm too much trouble."

"I'm not people."

"Clearly," she muttered, bringing the cigarette back to her lips with a trembling hand.

I moved closer, until I was directly in front of her. "You still haven't answered my question. Why have you been avoiding me?"

She closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering strength. "Because I was ashamed. Of how I acted at your parents' house. Of running away. Of not being able to handle a simple family dinner without having a panic attack in the backyard."

"You don't need to be ashamed of that."

"Yes, I do." She opened her eyes, meeting mine directly. "You don't understand. I've spent years building this person. This functional, normal woman who can hold down a job and have conversations and exist in the world without falling apart. And then one dinner with your family, and it all just crumbled."

"That's not weakness, Isla. That's being human."

"Easy for you to say. You've had a lifetime of normal to fall back on."

"Trust me, I know all about facades crumbling. About who you were versus who you are now."

Something in my tone must have registered because she studied me more closely. "The ex-wife your dad mentioned. That was before the accident?"

"Yes."

"And after?"

"After, she decided she hadn't signed up for a husband in a wheelchair." The words still tasted bitter, even after four years. "She broke it off while I was in hospital still."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"Still hurts though, doesn't it?"

I nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. "Some things always will."

She was quiet for a moment, a strange expression crossing her face. "That night, when you texted me asking why I avoid certain streets... it's because of him. My ex. We used to live on a street with that exact same name. And here, seeing it again—it's like being punched in the stomach. I can't even go near it without wanting to throw up."

"Thank you for telling me."

"Is that why you asked? You noticed I was avoiding streets?"

"Yes."

"You notice a lot of things, don't you?"

"About you? Yes."

A small, genuine smile touched her lips. "That's terrifying."

"Now who's scared?"

"Touché, Hot Wheels." She took one last drag of her cigarette before dropping it and grinding it out with her heel. "I should get back inside before Daniel sends out a search party."

"Are we okay?" I asked.

She hesitated. "I don't know what we are, to be honest. But I'm done avoiding you, if that's what you're asking."

"It's a start."

She stepped closer, then crouched down so we were at eye level. "I'm sorry. For running out on your family. For avoiding you. For all of it."

"You don't have to apologize."

"Yes, I do." She reached out, hesitantly, and touched my cheek. "You deserve better than that."

Before I could respond, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. It was brief, just the lightest pressure, but it sent electricity through my entire body. Then she was pulling back, a blush staining her cheeks.

"I've been wanting to do that for a while," she admitted.

"Me too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She smiled, a hint of her usual brightness returning. "Good to know."

The back door swung open, and Daniel poked his head out. "Isla? Oh, there you are. The new shipment just arrived, and I could use some help with inventory."

"Coming," she called, not taking her eyes off me. "Give me one minute."

Daniel nodded, his gaze moving between us with undisguised curiosity before he ducked back inside.

"I have to go," she said.

"I know."

"Call me later?"

"Definitely."

She stood, brushing off her jeans. "And maybe we could try dinner again sometime? Not with your whole family. Just something smaller. I want to do better."

"You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I know. But I want to try anyway." She backed toward the door. "For me, not for you."

"Okay."

"Bye, Hot Wheels."

"Bye, Sunshine."

I watched her disappear back into the store, then sat there for a while, processing everything that had just happened. The revelations about her past. The kiss. The fact that she wanted to try again, despite her fears.

Give it time, she'd said. As if eventually I'd see something in her that would drive me away. As if it was just a matter of time before I realized she was too much, too broken, too complicated.

That sentence stuck with me as I headed home, as I went through my evening routine, as I tried to focus on a client project I'd been neglecting. Give it time. The words echoed in my head, a warning I had no intention of heeding.

Because she had it backward. She thought eventually I'd see the real her and run. But the truth was, the more I saw of the real Isla, the more I wanted to stay.

My phone buzzed just after midnight. A text from Isla.

Sunshine: Still awake?

Me: Yes.

Sunshine: I can't sleep. Keep thinking about today. About what I told you.

Me: What about it?

Sunshine: I've never told anyone all of that before. Not all at once like that.

I considered that for a moment.

Me: Thank you for trusting me with it.

Sunshine: That's the thing. I didn't mean to. I was trying to scare you off.

Me: I know.

Sunshine: And it didn't work.

Me: No.

There was a long pause before her next message came through.

Sunshine: Why not?

It was a simple question, but the answer was anything but. Why wasn't I scared off by her past? By the violence, the trauma, the unresolved issues that clearly still haunted her? The easy answer was that her past wasn't her fault. That she'd been a child trying to survive in impossible situations. But it was more than that.

Me: Because I see you. Not just your past. Not just what happened to you or what you did. I see YOU. And I like what I see.

Another long pause.

Sunshine: You might be the first person who ever has.

Me: Then everyone else has been looking at you wrong.

Sunshine: You're making it really hard to keep my distance, you know that?

I smiled.

Me: Good.

Sunshine: I should let you sleep.

Me: I don't mind talking if you can't sleep.

Sunshine: No, it's okay. I feel better now. Lighter, somehow.

Me: The truth has a way of doing that.

Sunshine: So they say. Goodnight, Hot Wheels.

Me: Goodnight, Sunshine. Sweet dreams.

Sunshine: They might be, tonight.

I set my phone on the nightstand, a strange mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Concern for all she'd been through. Anger at those who'd hurt her. Relief that she'd finally opened up. And beneath it all, a steady, growing warmth I wasn't ready to name yet.

Give it time, she'd said. But time wasn't going to change how I felt. If anything, it would only make it stronger. The more I learned about her, the good and the bad, the light and the dark, the more certain I became that she was someone worth holding onto.

The question was, would she let me? Or would she keep finding reasons to push me away, to convince herself she didn't deserve whatever this was between us?

I fell asleep with her kiss still lingering on my lips and her warning echoing in my mind. Give it time. As if time was the enemy. As if it would inevitably tear us apart.

I intended to prove her wrong.

The following morning, I woke to another text from Isla, sent at 5:23 AM.

Sunshine: I've been thinking. About what you said, about seeing me. The real me. And I realized I want to see more of the real you too. Not just the parts you show everyone, but the stuff underneath. The hard stuff. If you're willing to share it.

I read the message twice, something warm unfurling in my chest. It was the first time she'd asked for more of me, rather than trying to give me an out or protect herself with distance.

Me: Where do you want to start?

Sunshine: Wherever you're comfortable. But I'd like to hear about before. About the racing. About what you lost. Not just the physical stuff, but the dream of it. If that's not too much to ask.

It was something I rarely talked about. The career that had been cut short. The sponsors who'd disappeared overnight. The future I'd planned that had vanished in a cloud of dust on that track. Even Theo knew not to bring it up.

Me: It's not too much. Dinner tonight? My place?

Sunshine: Are you cooking? Because I remember a story about burned sauce and undercooked pasta that doesn't inspire confidence.

I barked out a laugh.

Me: Takeout. I know my limitations.

Sunshine: Smart man. What time?

Me: 7?

Sunshine: I'll be there. And Callum?

Me: Yes?

Sunshine: Thank you for yesterday. For not running. For seeing me and staying anyway.

Me: Always, Sunshine. See you tonight.

Sunshine: See you tonight, Hot Wheels.

I set my phone down and began my morning routine, a sense of anticipation replacing the unease of the previous days. Tonight I would tell her about before. About the person I used to be. About the dreams I'd lost and the bitterness I'd carried.

It wouldn't be easy. Some wounds, even old ones, still bled when reopened. But she'd trusted me with her darkness. The least I could do was trust her with mine.

And maybe, in the sharing, we'd both find something we hadn't known we were looking for. A place where our broken edges aligned. A place where we could both be real, without pretense or masks.

A place that felt, improbably, like the beginning of something that might actually last.

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