She shook her head. “Or that spelling bee in eighth grade. He studied every night for a month. He was so sure he would win.”
“But he froze on stage,” Maxine finished. “I remember.”
“His father didn’t even stay to watch. Said he had a meeting.” Her throat tightened at the memory. “Eleanor sat there with her spine straight as a board, but you could see the disappointment in her eyes. And Cliff… he tried so hard to act like it didn’t matter.”
Maxine reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “He was always trying to get their attention, wasn’t he? Even when he was causing trouble.”
“Especially then. At least when he was in trouble, they had to notice him.”
The familiar chime of the door interrupted them and her fingers froze on the sugar shaker as Cliff stepped inside, dressed in crisp navy slacks and a light blue button-down that seemed too formal for her casual cafe. His polished appearance was another reminder of how far he’d come from that boy who used to show up at her door in worn jeans and a faded T-shirt.
The usual afternoon chatter died down as several regulars turned to stare. Mrs. Henderson set her coffee cup down with a clatter. Tony’s newspaper rustled as he lowered it to watch. Even Janine, who’d been wiping tables, paused with her cloth suspended in midair.
Her chest tightened. This was her space. Her cafe. The one place she’d carved out for herself after all these years. She’d built it from nothing, turned it into somewhere people felt at home. Somewhere she felt at home.
She pushed back her chair and stood, her movement sharp and decisive. “Didn’t I ask you to find a different place to eat?”
Her voice carried across the quiet restaurant, harder than she’d meant it to be. She saw Mrs. Henderson’s eyebrows shoot up, and Tony’s mouth dropped open slightly. She never spoke to customers that way. Everyone knew Beverly Mooney treated each person who walked through her door like family.
Cliff stopped in the middle of the floor, one hand still gripping the strap of his leather briefcase. For just a moment, his confident expression slipped. She caught a flicker of something in his eyes. That same hurt she used to see when his father would dismiss his achievements with a wave of his hand, or when Eleanor would purse her lips and say, “Well, I suppose that’s the best you could do.”
The look vanished so quickly she might have imagined it, replaced by that smooth mask he wore now. But she knew what she’d seen. She’d spent years watching him hide his pain behind a smile, pretending nothing could touch him.
Maxine’s hand brushed her arm, a gentle reminder that they weren’t alone, that this moment was playing out in front of an audience. But she couldn’t seem to move, caught between the woman she was now and the girl who’d once promised to meet him at the ferry dock, her heart full of dreams that had been shattered.
Her hands clenched at her sides as he strode past her and up to the counter, his polished shoes clicking against the wooden floor. He kept his gaze fixed on the menu board above, though she knew he’d never needed to look at it. He’d ordered the same thing since high school. Black coffee, two sugars. That was back before she’d bought the shop and renovated it and made it into what it was today. Hers.
“Large coffee, two sugars.” He paused and glanced at her before turning back to the counter. “To go,” he said to no one in particular, his voice carrying that practiced smoothness she’d come to associate with this new grown-up version of Cliff. The successful developer. A man so different from the boy who used to gulp down his coffee and tell her wild stories about his plans for the future.
The silence in the cafe pressed in around them. Everyone watched, waiting. Mrs. Henderson hadn’t touched her coffee since Cliff walked in. Tony’s newspaper lay forgotten on his table.
Janine darted forward, her movements jerky as she reached for a cup, her hands trembling. The girl’s gaze kept bouncing between Beverly and Cliff like she was watching a tennis match, waiting for the next serve.
“I can handle this,” Beverly said, but Janine had already grabbed the coffeepot.
“No, no, I’ve got it,” Janine insisted, her voice pitched higher than usual. She turned too quickly, and coffee sloshed over the rim of the pot onto the counter.
Of course. Janine was always dropping or spilling something, but the girl had a heart of gold and was a hard worker.
“Oh! Sorry, sorry.” She grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the spill, nearly knocking over the stack of cups in her haste.
Beverly stepped forward to help, but Cliff’s presence at the counter stopped her. He stood there like he belonged. Like he hadn’t walked away from this town—from her—all those years ago. Like he wasn’t trying to change everything about the place she’d built her life around.
Janine finally managed to pour his coffee, only spilling a little more in the process. Her hands shook as she added the sugar, stirring so vigorously that coffee splashed onto the counter.
“Here you go, Mr. Griffin.” Janine plopped a top on the cup and pushed it toward him. She glanced at Beverly again, her expression uncertain.
He reached for his wallet, still refusing to look in her direction. The leather looked expensive. Everything about him seemed expensive now. His clothes, his briefcase, even the way he held himself. It was all carefully crafted to project success.
The cafe remained unusually quiet. Usually, at this time, there’d be the gentle murmur of conversation, the rustle of newspapers, the clink of spoons against coffee cups. But now there was just the sound of Janine’s nervous breathing and the soft whir of the ceiling fans.
She watched as he placed a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change,” he said to Janine, who broke into a wide smile as she snatched up the bill.
She wanted to tell him to take his money and leave. Wanted to tell him that she didn’t need his generous tips or his development plans or anything else from him.
Janine hovered nearby, wiping the same spot on the counter over and over, her cloth moving in increasingly frantic circles.
The sudden crackle of static from the radio behind the counter cut through the tension. She’d never put in a fancy sound system, instead enjoying the normal radio broadcasts. The soft music that had been playing faded into silence, replaced by the urgent voice of the broadcaster.
