They both watch me in a way that suggests they’re prepared to wait me out.
I glance toward the counter. Nancy, one of my part-time waitresses, is handling a small line at the register with practiced ease, chatting with a couple of early regulars. The café hums softly around us, alive but unhurried.
“I’m fine,” I repeat, quieter now. “Daisy is good. She’s doing good in school. Business is… good.”
For some of us, good is as good as it gets. We don’t all get wonderful. And that’s just… good.
“Gigi told me Daisy asked why you don’t date,” Selena says.
I shoot Gigi a look that silently tells her she’s a traitor.
She smirks unapologetically. “It came up.”
“She’s curious.” I sigh. “That’s all.”
“And?” Selena prompts.
“And I told her the truth,” I say. “That I’m not interested in dating anyone.”
That’s only partly true. But it’s the version I’ve lived with long enough that it almost feels real.
The truth is, I haven’t gone on a real date since Daisy was born. Not because I couldn’t. Not because no one has asked.
But the idea of letting someone into our carefully balanced life felt like tempting fate.
I’ve already lost love more than once. I know what it costs. I’m not willing to risk it again.
The bell over the front door jingles, cutting through the low murmur of conversation.
I don’t turn right away.
Something in my chest goes tight, instinctive and uninvited, like my body recognizes a presence my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
I see Gigi’s expression change first. The way her brows lift, just slightly. The way her gaze flicks past me, then back, cautious.
Selena follows her line of sight, curiosity blooming into something more alert.
That’s when I know. It’shim.
I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first heard he was back in town.
I turn slowly.
Brendon stands just inside the door, shoulders broader than I remember. His presence fills the small space. He’s dressed simply: heavy jacket, knit cap, dark jeans. But there’s a swagger and confidence that he naturally wears in the way he carries himself.
Brendon.
For a moment, time doesn’t matter. The café goes quiet. As if the world has sucked in a breath and doesn’t quite know how to let it out.
I stay where I am. Hands wrapped around the empty coffee pot. Feet rooted to the floor.
He doesn’t see me at first.
He steps up to the counter, nods at Nancy in greeting, and orders a coffee to go. His voice is low, calm, polite. Deep and familiar in a way that makes my stomach do a bellyflop.
Then he glances toward the windows.
Our eyes meet.
