Chapter 74
Sienna's POV
I'd gotten used to having someone sit across from me at breakfast. Used to someone asking, "Did you sleep okay?" Used to not facing this kind of excessive silence alone.
This feeling wasn't dramatic or overwhelming. It was subtle—like a low-grade ache, the sensation of having a puzzle piece removed and suddenly noticing the gap it left behind.
It's only two days. He'll be back soon.
But even as I tried to reassure myself, another thought crept in: Why does it feel empty? I lived alone like this for years before...
I forced myself to finish eating, rinsed my plate, and was heading upstairs when I heard it—the sharp metallic click of a key turning in the front door lock.
My head snapped toward the entryway. My posture straightened involuntarily, shoulders pulling back, eyes fixed on the door. My pulse kicked up a notch.
Did he forget something?
A faint smile started forming on my lips. I was already preparing to say something like, "Thought you'd left already—"
The door swung open.
It was Cindy, carrying two large grocery bags.
My smile froze halfway, caught awkwardly on my face before I could pull it back. Cindy spotted me and offered a warm, friendly grin. "Good morning, Sienna. Started raining outside, so I went to the market early and grabbed some extra supplies."
I stood there like an idiot for a beat too long before managing, "Oh... thanks. That was thoughtful."
I moved to help her with the bags, but Cindy waved me off gently as she headed toward the kitchen. "I've got it. You should rest more."
I trailed after her anyway, suddenly unwilling to be alone in the empty living room. As Cindy set the bags on the counter and began unpacking vegetables, I hovered nearby, pretending to be interested in organizing the items she pulled out.
"I thought... I thought it might be Hayes," I heard myself say, then immediately regretted how transparent that sounded.
Cindy glanced up, her expression warm but knowing. "You thought he came back?"
I looked down, fiddling with a bundle of carrots. "Yeah. I thought maybe he forgot something."
"He checked his luggage three times before leaving," Cindy said with a soft laugh. "That man doesn't forget anything. But he did spend quite a while telling me to take good care of you—went through the instructions so many times I could barely keep track."
Heat crept up my neck.
Cindy's hand landed gently on my shoulder. "If you miss him, just call him. I'm sure he's waiting to hear from you."
Before I could respond—before I could even process what to say—she picked up the bags and headed toward the pantry, leaving me standing there biting my lower lip.
I went back to the living room and sank onto the couch, pulling out my phone. My fingers hovered over Hayes's contact for a long moment before I typed out a message.
Be safe.
Short. Neutral. Not too revealing.
I hit send, then immediately stared at the screen, as if expecting him to reply instantly. But of course he wouldn't—he was probably on the plane already.
I set the phone down and tried to focus on the design sketches spread across the coffee table, but my eyes kept drifting back to the screen every few minutes.
This was ridiculous.
Cindy returned to the kitchen, and I heard her opening the refrigerator. A moment later, she called out, "Sienna, there's an iced Americano in here from this morning. Hayes must've made it before he left—he usually drinks one after training. Should I pour it out?"
I looked up sharply. "Wait. Don't."
Cindy appeared in the doorway, holding the cup wrapped in plastic.
"I want to drink it," I said, standing up before I could second-guess myself.
Cindy nodded and set the cup on the counter.
I picked up the coffee.
Condensation beaded on the outside of the cup. The plastic wrap was sealed perfectly—of course it was. Hayes never did anything halfway, not even prepping a cup of coffee for later.
I reached out and touched the cup. Cold. Solid. Real.
My mind flashed to mornings over the past week—Hayes coming back from training, going straight to the fridge for the iced Americano he'd prepped earlier. He'd stand right where I was standing now, tilt his head back, and down half the cup in one long gulp before heading upstairs to shower.
I peeled off the plastic wrap slowly.
The sharp, bitter scent of black coffee hit me immediately—no sugar, no milk, just the faintly burnt aroma of the dark roast Hayes preferred. I never drank coffee this bitter.
But I lifted the cup to my lips and took a small sip.
Bitter. Harsh. Almost unpleasant.
I took another sip anyway. Then another.
I stood there in the quiet kitchen, drinking Hayes's coffee in small, deliberate mouthfuls, until the cup was empty. When I swallowed the last sip, I closed my eyes and felt my throat tighten.
I set the empty cup on the counter and stared at the residue left at the bottom.
This was his coffee. I just drank it.
As if by doing so, I could fill some small part of the emptiness his absence left behind.
I drew in a shaky breath and muttered under my breath, "This is getting out of hand."
But there was no smile on my face. My eyes burned faintly, and I had to blink a few times before turning away from the counter.
The morning dragged on slowly after that. I tried to work—really, I did—but I kept catching myself staring blankly at my sketches, pen unmoving in my hand. The rain outside picked up again, drumming softly against the windows, and the sound only made the house feel more cavernous.
Around nine, the doorbell rang.
I wasn't expecting anyone. For a split second, I wondered if Hayes had come back after all—maybe his flight got delayed, maybe—
But no. That was stupid. He wouldn't ring his own doorbell.
I got up and walked to the door, pulling it open to find Bobby standing on the front step. And beside him, sitting calmly on a leash, was a dog.
A border collie. Black and white coat, lean and muscular build, intelligent dark eyes watching me with cautious curiosity.
My brain short-circuited.
I knew this dog.