“Oh, it is 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Hayes,” Evie jumps off her stool and walks toward me. “Em and Hayes. Sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.”
Mom laughs at my little sister. “Evie. Knocking it off.” Then she turns to me. “Honey, I just want you to know, no matter what, I’m happy for you. Hayes is a good man. And this thing between the two of you has been averylong time coming.”
“Annnnnd, I’m leaving.” I grab a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and head for the door before I combust into festive, mortified flames.
But Evie is quicker. She blocks my escape and puts her hands on my shoulders. “I’m happy for you, too. Really. I haven’t seen you this…youin a long time.”
Emotions swell in my throat and if I’m not careful I know I’ll burst into tears. “It feels good,” I whisper. “Hayes feels good.”
“I bet he does—ow!” She yelps as Mom flicks the back of her head.
I laugh and shove my feet into my boots.
Evie leans against the doorframe, a smirk teasing her mouth. “You should text Loverboy and tell him to bring that cute butt by after his shift.”
I snort. “Please, you already know he’ll be there. Maybe you should text Gideon.”
Her cheeks flush. The thrill of a moment of victory excites me.
Mom’s brows go up. “Evie. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
Evie glares at me. I stick out my tongue.
“Turnabout is fair play, baby sis.” I wiggle my fingers in a wave. “See you at the cafe.”
The drive to Dockside Cafe feels different today. It’s hard to explain.
The roads are dusted with frost, the sky thick with clouds that promise more. The whole town has that pre-storm hush—the kind that makes you breathe slower, talk softer, look closer.
I park in my usual spot behind the cafe and step out of my car. With a deep breath, I unlock the door and step into the kitchen.
The diffuser and air purifier that Hayes set up in the kitchen during his little remodel have the whole place smelling just like a bakery should. Any traces of charred walls, burnt wires and fresh paint have been replaced by warm vanilla and peppermint.
With a full heart, I make my way through the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the cafe area and go through the motions of turning on all the lights and bringing the place to life.
I pull out a fresh, sealed bag of Dockside’s house-blend coffee grounds—our blend, the one Dad perfected years ago. The packaging crinkles under my fingertips, cool and smooth, the printed boatdock logo bright against the brown bag. Tearing the top open, I inhale its rich, warm, scent. A little nutty with that hint of caramel sweetness we’re known for.
I grab the stainless-steel bin from the commercial brewer, feeling its weight, its slight chill. It’s been scrubbed spotless, waiting for this exact moment. I pour the grounds in slowly, watching the dark, velvety mound rise, the aroma deepening. For a second, I close my eyes and breathe in, letting the memory wash over me—Dad teaching us both how “good coffee isn’t rushed,” how every scoop should be done with intention.
We were barely tall enough to reach the coffee pot, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t long until Evie and I were waking up early on the weekends and fighting over who would make the coffee for Mom and Dad.
I fell in love with baking the year before Dad died. Suddenly Evie and I had both found our niches. She made the coffee. I prepped dough for scones or buttery biscuits.
The memories come flooding back in an instant.
We were Dad’s pride and joy. Mom’s too.
I like to think he’s looking down on us now, smiling at how far we’ve come.
“We’re really doing it, Daddy,” I whisper to the heavens.
Evie comes bustling in a few minutes later, buzzing with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Oooo. Did someone talk to Gideon this morning on the way to work?” I tease.
She hums, “k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” under her breath with a playful smirk.
“Yeah, yeah,” I roll my eyes. “Now that you’re here, and the house blend is brewing, I’m going to get to work on some croissants for the morning rush.”
