Sorry Wouldn't Work
Remi’s POV
The sunlight was already slipping through the curtains by the time I pulled on my sweater and tiptoed across the hardwood floor. The cabin was quiet, the kind of silence that made every creak of the floorboards sound like betrayal.
I didn’t want a confrontation.
I didn’t want more questions.
I just wanted to find a way out of here and act like last night emotional break down never happened.
And most of all, I didn’t want to feel whatever it was I’d felt last night. That… pull.
My hand reached for the doorknob.
“Where are you going?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I turned slowly. Rowan stood at the hallway entrance, barefoot, dressed in a plain black shirt and sweatpants, arms folded over his chest like some sort of emotionally confused statue. His hair was a mess. Bedhead suited him far too well.
“I, um…” I looked at my bag, then at him. “Needed air.”
He arched a brow. “With your entire bag?”
I laughed—awkward and too loud. “Well, you never know when the air will take you places.”
He blinked. “That’s not even—what?”
I groaned. “Fine, I was leaving. Quietly. With dignity.”
Rowan stepped forward, slow but deliberate. “Why?”
Because I can’t keep being around you like this and pretending I’m not drowning in everything I haven’t said.
I shrugged. “Figured you needed space.”
He tilted his head. “That’s funny, because I thought you were the one who needed it.”
“Touché,” I muttered.
He moved closer, now just a few feet away. “Remi.”
I held up my hand. “Look, I get it. It was a long night, emotional—whatever. Let’s just pretend I wasn’t trying to sneak away before breakfast like some emotionally constipated cliché.”
“You’re not a cliché.”
I scoffed. “Right. I’m a whole limited edition.”
His lips twitched, and damn it, he was trying not to laugh. “You’re quite funny this morning.”
“And you’re still in my way.”
He didn’t budge. “Stay. Just for coffee.”
I hesitated, biting my lower lips. That pull again.
“I’ll even let you make it,” he added. “No fancy beans. No chemex. Just whatever sad drip machine this place has. You can criticize the grounds and threaten me with your science.”
I looked at him, this man who was still so infuriatingly familiar and strange all at once, and finally… I sighed.
“Fine. But only if you promise not to bring up last night.”
He stepped aside. “Deal.”
I brushed past him, trying not to notice how close our arms came. Trying not to notice the way he smelled or how warm the air felt between us.
The way his muscles seem to twitched beneath his shirt.
Rowan wasn't just handsome. He had this aura. When I first saw him, a billionaire in a simple coffee shop. I had wondered and dreamed of being his girlfriend. He had this pull that would make girls wistfully sigh.
The muscles. The height at a 6’3. The muscles, oh wait I already mentioned that.
His face. Handsome, his eyes, his hair, everything about him screamed perfection. He was healthy and he had this coldness in his eyes.
Though now, it was replaced by this tiredness and confusion and…love?
No softness, when he looked at me.
And that's what's still calling me to him.
I was trying not to fall.
Trying and failing.
Maybe I really should give him one last chance. It's a win win…right?
Okay enough, I sound like an idiot now.
I found the coffee machine tucked into the corner of the kitchen, tragically basic. No grinder. No filters. No soul. Just one of those tiny hotel-grade pods that tasted like regret and burnt hope.
Still, I popped it in and pressed the button.
“I hope you’re ready for the most average cup of coffee ever brewed,” I called over my shoulder.
Rowan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I’ve had worse.”
I glanced back. “You say that now. Just wait.”
He gave me a crooked grin, then looked down at the floor. “Thanks. For staying.”
I didn’t respond at first. I watched the dark drip of coffee collect in the pot, pretending it required my full attention.
“Don’t thank me,” I finally said. “I almost bailed before sunrise. That’s not exactly a heroic effort.”
“I would’ve chased you.”
I glanced at him. “You don’t run. You walk.”
“I would for you.”
I paused, fingers tightening around the counter.
He didn’t say it dramatically. No dramatic inflection, no show. Just soft. Certain. And that’s what made it worse.
“Don’t say things like that,” I murmured.
“Why not?”
“Because it makes my heart go beat beat beat.”
He didn’t answer, and I didn’t look at him. The machine beeped. I poured two cups, handed him one, then walked over to the small dining nook by the window.
He followed.
We sat across from each other, the table between us both too wide and not wide enough.
“So,” he said, taking a sip, “this coffee is actually decent.”
I snorted. “You’re just saying that because I made it.”
“Maybe.” He gave me a small smile. “But I meant it. Made with love, maybe that's why it's delicious.”
“Hate actually.” I replied.
He grinned. “Even better.”
I rolled my eyes.
I looked out the window. The forest looked different in the daylight—less mysterious, more grounded.
“How did you find a place like this?”
Rowan hummed. “I was on this weird expedition with some clients. And we just came across it. I felt a pull. I have always wanted something quiet, I wanted to build a home here but then I realized, why not a resort and a home. Make money and have comfort. But I specifically chose this place as my cabin because it's quiet.”
I raised a brow. “Quiet, huh? Away from business and stuff. I think I would need something like that.”
“I like quiet,” he said. “When I’m not working.”
“And you’re not working now?”
He shrugged. “Trying not to. You’re distracting.”
I looked at him over my cup. “Flattery? Before 9 a.m.? Brave.”
He grinned, looking too pleased with himself. “You bring it out of me.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue.
“So…” I ventured, “…besides running empires and buying scenic hideaways, what else do you do now? What happened after you… after we ended?”
He looked down at his cup. “A lot of… nothing. Then a lot of pretending it was something. Work, mostly. Tech deals. Partnerships. I diversified. Tourism, real estate. Built things, sold them. Avoided everything that reminded me of you it seems. I can't really remember the basics. But Callum said I instructed him not to say or talk anything about you. But I guess no matter how I wanted to forget you, it didn't work. And as fate had it, you were my surgeon.”
I didn’t expect that. And it landed with a quiet thud in my chest.
“I always thought you’d forget me easily, I wished you didn't somthe memory of me will haunt you for the rest of your life.” I said.
“Oh Remi, you did haunt me. Even in death.”
We chuckled lightly.
“Good.
You deserved it.”
He smiled. “Yes I did.” He said “I wished there was more I could do. I know saying sorry won’t undo it.”
“No,” I said, “but it’s still good to hear.”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
