Chapter 8 - Roses in December
The diner hadn't changed.
The neon sign still buzzed with that familiar green-and-black flicker against the wet Baltimore pavement. Len still glared from behind the cash register like a man who hated joy and loved lukewarm coffee.
When I pushed open the glass door at 7:55 p.m., Lucian was sitting at the exact same stool three seats down from the end.
He wore a dark charcoal coat, his silver-streaked hair neat, the faint scar over his eyebrow now just a pale line.
He stood up as I approached, sliding onto the adjacent stool.
“You're early,” he noted.
“I’m a nurse. Punctuality is a survival skill.”
Len waddled over with two plastic menus and a coffee pot. He took one look at Lucian, then at me, and wisely decided to say absolutely nothing. He just poured two cups of black coffee and walked away without dropping a single sarcastic comment.
“Miracles do happen,” Lucian murmured, stirring a cube of sugar into his cup.
“Don't flatter yourself. Len just knows you have better lawyers than he does.”
We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the rain streak the diner windows. The neon light cast a soft emerald glow across the counter.
“Noah asked about you yesterday,” I said softly.
Lucian paused, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. “What did he say?” Vale’s voice carried a sudden, uncharacteristic hesitation.
“He wanted to know if the tall man in the black coat was going to teach him how to play chess again.” I smiled. “I told him you were busy running a shipping empire.”
“I’m never too busy for chess,” Lucian said quietly. “Especially with an opponent who actually tries to trap my rook instead of crying when he loses.”
I reached across the counter, letting my hand brush against his knuckles. The skin was warm, calloused from years of a very different kind of life than the one I led in the hospital.
“The ledger is locked in my desk at home,” I said. “Page forty-two.”
Lucian turned his hand over, his fingers intertwining with mine. “And what does it say?”
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“It says the debt is fully paid.”
He looked into my eyes, the dark depths holding no shadows, only a quiet, steady warmth. “In my books, Dela… some debts are never meant to be closed.”
