He never opened himself up to another woman again.
Being alone had never bothered me, but recently, I’d wondered what having someone by my side would be like.
Someone like Josie.
“Good morn—” I began to say, reaching out to her side of the bed.
It was cold.
Empty.
“Josie?” I called her name, but there was nothing. It was eerily silent in my home. The sky was overcast, letting in a grey gloom even though it was nine in the morning—a jarring contrast to the brilliant blue skies of yesterday.
I padded over to my door, noticing it was unlocked. I peeked my head outside, noting her car was gone. Maybe she’d just run into town. I’d taken Josie to the small coffee shop off Main Street the first morning she’d been here, and she’d demanded we go back every morning since.
But on my way back to the bedroom, I noticed a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter. My heart thundered in my chest as I fought the overwhelming sense of dread threatening to take over.
Balling my hands into fists, I stepped closer and read the hastily written scrawl.
I’m sorry.
- J
josie
. . .
One Year Later
“Hey, Daddy,”I said, cradling my phone between my ear and shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
I cringed when I’d seen my dad’s name flash across my phone, knowing today was the worst day to be running late. In my defense, I hadn’t known my old coffee machine would choose this morning to finally die, thereby forcing me to stop at the nearest café for my caffeine fix.
I really wanted an energy drink, but Ellis thought they were unhealthy and didn’t like me drinking them.
My dad’s gruff voice greeted me on the other line. “Can’t an old man check up on his daughter?”
“Not today, no. Now tell me what you need.” I mouthed my thanks to the barista at the counter as they handed me my order.
The Brews Brothers coffee shop was always busy, but there was a different energy this morning. It could’ve just been my own nerves and frazzled nature getting the best of me. Most of the seats were filled, and it’d taken me five minutes longer than I’d expected to get my order.
Five minutes I didn’t have.
“Well, you’re late,” my father said. I heard the shuffling of something in the background, a sign that he was searching for something to keep his hands busy and mind occupied on anything other than what he had going on today. “It’s not like you to be late.”
“My coffee machine died, so I had to stop and get my caffeine. Rest assured, I’m in my truck and on my way.”
“We have coffee here,” he grumbled.
I couldn’t stop the inherent gagging noise I made when thinking about the sludge my father called coffee. “That shit is swill, Daddy. You’re the only person who likes it.”
“That’s a lie. The boys like it fine.”
I didn’t have the energy or the heart to tell him that the ranch hands had hidden a single-serve maker in the breakroom so they didn’t have to drink the pot Dad brewed each morning.
It’d become a rite of passage anytime we had a new hire to watch them fill their cup and spew it across the concrete floor after the first sip.
But there was no arguing with Dad about his coffee. He and I’d had that conversation many, many times. “Alright, well, I’ll be there shortly. Is there anything you need from town?”
