Eliza’s heart swelled with happiness for her friend. When Frank had offered Cassie the opportunity to cowrite the revised edition of his coffee roasting manifesto,The Mariposa Method, he had inadvertently given Cassie the financial freedom to pursue her lifelong dream of opening a coffeehouse. Not to mention helping Eliza achieve her own entrepreneurial aspirations. But more than that, Frank had become like a surrogate grandfather to Cassie, and watching the two of them together made Eliza want to weep with joy.
“Speaking of Frank…” Eliza started, her throat constricting with emotion. “Have you asked him yet?”
Cassie shook her head. “No, the timing hasn’t been right. We’ve been so busy with the book and creating blends for the café that the wedding has barely come up.”
“What about your mom? Has she responded to any of your messages?”
“No.” Cassie bit her bottom lip, an anxious crease etched across her forehead. “And I’m starting to worry. She’s fallen off the map plenty of times before, but this time feels different. When I dropped her off at the rehab center right before Christmas, I honestly thought she wanted to turn her life around. There was this intense look in her eyes like…” With a heavy sigh, Cassie ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, I don’t know how to explain it. But it felt…real.Like she wasn’t pretending this time. Then… well, you know the rest.”
Sadly, Eliza did know. After getting Cassie’s hopes up, Donna bailed on the program in less than forty-eight hours. The only silver lining in the ugly ordeal was that Cassie had received the huge $15,000 fee back, minus the thousand dollar deposit.
“I’ve thought about hiring a private investigator to find her,” Cassie admitted softly. “But then I wonder if that’s too extreme. What do you think? Have you ever thought about hiring someone to find Ben’s dad?”
Startled, Eliza flinched before quickly shaking her head. “No. Never.”
But then, Eliza didn’t need anyone to locate Ben’s father.
She already knew exactly where to find him.
* * *
Grant inhaled the stifling scent of out-of-date encyclopedias and lingering Old Spice, releasing the breath in a single, sharp exhale as he mentally prepared for the conversation ahead. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have arranged to have the video call with Landon Morris in his father’s office. The formidable walls lined with heavy oak bookcases closed in around him, and the pervasive ticking of the grandfather clock pounded in his ears. Grant hated everything about the imposing space, especially the massive mahogany desk and all the broken promises it represented.
“Hey, man. Long time no see.” Landon’s jovial grin filled Grant’s laptop screen.
Grant tried not to wince at Landon’s offhand comment. He realized skipping town at the beginning of the Morris Bio Tech project didn’t make the best impression. While he could pass off some of the more menial tasks to his team members, Landon expected Grant to work on the design personally. Grant couldn’t very well admit he’d barely even started.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I had to make a last-minute trip back home.”
“No worries. You can do your job anywhere, right? I trust you to get it done.”
Tugging on his collar, Grant forced a smile. “Great. I’ll have a preliminary design ready by the end of the week. I’ll send you a Google invite with the date and time of our next call.”
“Looking forward to it.”
They discussed a few more project details, followed by casual chitchat before saying goodbye.
Closing his laptop, Grant struggled to breathe, guilt pressing on his chest. He should be prioritizing this account. By now, his portfolio should be filled with dozens of sketches and watercolor paintings, ready to dazzle Landon with his creative, outside-the-box ideas. After all, that’s why Landon hired him. No one else combined classical art with high-tech design, cultivating a unique look that set his clients apart from the rest of their industry. Days ago, Grant couldn’t stop thinking about the project, dreaming up concepts that had even surprised himself. Now his thoughts were consumed by something else.
Or rather,someoneelse.
“Oh, you’re still here.” Stan paused in the doorway, hesitating as though unsure if he should enter or retreat.
“I just finished. I’ll get out of your way.” Grant stood, collecting his things.
“Wait.” Stan cleared his throat, a look of discomfort shadowing his features.
Grant raised an eyebrow, waiting for his father to continue.
Shifting his feet, Stan scanned the room as if looking for a topic of conversation tucked between the stacks of accounting textbooks. His gaze settled on an antique chess set resting on an accent table near the bay window. “Care for a game?”
“Of chess?” Grant couldn’t remember his dad ever asking him to play chess. In fact, as a child, he’d been forbidden to touch the heavy marble pieces.
“I have backgammon, too,” Stan offered. “If you’d prefer that.”
Grant scratched his jawline. What exactly was happening?
For a brief moment, he considered saying yes. But instantly thought better of it. He’d waited his whole life for his dad to show interest in him. Grant wouldn’t get his hopes up now. “Maybe some other time.”
