Donna drew in a steady breath, trying to recenter. The day would be hard enough without a macabre trip down memory lane.
In over three decades, she’d only been back home—could she even call it that?—a handful of times. The first visit had been an unmitigated disaster, a relapse for the record books. She’d been so ashamed, and still was when she allowed herself to think about it. The subsequent visits were for her daughter, to make amends and reconnect. The trips never got easier, and she could barely believe she was considering staying for an indeterminate amount of time. That was, as long as Cassie didn’t mind.
She winced, recalling Marc’s hurt and anger when she’d not only turned down the promotion but asked for time off. His entire demeanor had shifted. He’d ranted about how he couldn’t believe she would throw away her future and how he regretted investing in her professional growth. To add insult to injury, he admitted his business partner had wanted to hire someone else for the management position, but that he’d personally vouched for her. Every word felt like a knife twist. She seemed destined to continually disappoint. In the end, he’d asked her to cover her next few shifts until they could rearrange the schedule, then collect her final paycheck. In one conversation, she’d lost a supposed friend, a dream promotion,andher job.
After all that, what if Cassie didn’t want her to stay? What if she had to return to San Francisco, to the apartment she’d lent Steph—with strict rules to check in every evening and attend daily AA meetings—and a job she no longer had?
Her heart started to hammer. The seat belt seemed to constrict, cinching tighter across her chest. Suddenly feeling trapped, she struggled to release the clip with her trembling fingers. Once free, she leaned back against the headrest, expelling a pent-up breath, and her gaze fell on a wooden sign.
Jack’s Diner.
Underneath, in smaller print, it read: Patio Seating and Bar.
Her mouth watered, triggering an all-too-familiar urge. Well-rehearsed thoughts swam through her mind.Just one drink. One small sip to calm my nerves. One glass to forget.
Except, it was never just one.
She pushed through the heavy oak door, welcomed by the tangy, smoky scent of barbecue. Marc would’ve had a conniption at the simple rustic interior with mismatched plaid and leather upholstery, but the handful of customers dotting the cozy booths looked happy and content.
Swallowing the lump lodged in her throat, she strode toward the bar.
“Welcome to Jack’s.” The bartender had the kind of wide, friendly smile that deepened the creases around his eyes and mouth, softening the rough edges marked by his slightly crooked nose and the jagged scar along his jawline.
“Thanks.” She perched on the leather barstool, sitting halfway on the edge.
“What can I get for you?” He set down the glass he’d been drying and tossed the dish towel over his shoulder.
As their eyes met, she couldn’t help noticing his were a blueish-gray, like the sky after a storm.
“Root beer, please.”
“Bottle or glass?”
She bit her bottom lip, wavering, then asked, “Can you put it in a tumbler? On the rocks. I mean, with ice.”
He cast her a curious sideways glance then grabbed a short, stocky glass. “Coming right up.”
She watched as he prepared her unusual request, feeling self-conscious. But sometimes, merely feeling the smooth, familiar contours in her hands helped ease her anxiety. And right now, she had ample reason to worry.
She hadn’t thought through her plan at all. She had no job, no place to stay, and no clue if Cassie would welcome her presence. Somehow, despite her appalling parenting, her daughter had become the most kind, compassionate, and forgiving person Donna had ever met. But although she always made her feel welcome, a weekend visit wasn’t the same as an indefinite one. What if she’d made a huge mistake coming here? And perhaps even more worrisome, what if her past collided with her present, causing irrevocable harm?
Her hands shook as the bartender passed her the soda.
“Are you okay?” His voice—a velvety baritone—carried a hint of concern.
“Yes, thanks. Just a bit nervous.” Why was she tellinghim? She downed a quick gulp before she could say anything more, wincing as the carbonation burned the back of her throat. Not quite the same as whiskey, but it still had a kick.
He nodded in the amiable, understanding way befitting most bartenders.Empathetic earmust be in the job description.
“Let me guess.” He studied her for a moment then speculated, “You’re visiting family and you don’t always get along.”
She cracked a smile. “You’re pretty good at this.”
“Comes with the territory.” He returned her smile, and she once again observed how it transformed his entire face, elevating his objectively attractive features to downright handsome. Was he forty-nine? Fifty? Maybe a little older? And why did she suddenly care?
“I’m visiting my daughter,” she blurted, running from her unwelcome train of thought. “I’d like to stay for an extended visit, but I haven’t asked her yet. She doesn’t even know I’m here. We get along, but…” She trailed off, not sure how to explain their complicated history. How did you tell a perfect stranger that you used to be a drunk who didn’t deserve her daughter’s forgiveness?
“You haven’t always,” he finished for her, putting it simply.
