I took one of the strawberries and bit into it. “You might be right.”
“Also,” she added, “if they don’t go away, you can tell me. Or Grandma. Or Lois. Lois is a good listener, but she does fall asleep.”
Lois let out a long, dramatic sigh on cue.
Tilly nodded. “See?”
The drive to school was calmer, lighter. Tilly hummed along to the radio, making up lyrics about waffles and backpacks. When we pulled up, she hopped out, adjusted her jacket, then leaned back in through the open door.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“You did a good job today. Quiet eggs are good too.”
My chest warmed in a way that felt dangerously close to tears. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Then she ran off toward the building, waving once over her shoulder like she always did—confident, certain, completely unaware of how much she carried me with her.
I waited until she was inside before I drove away, the quiet returning—but softer now, buffered by strawberries, loud sad thoughts, and the steady reminder that even on hard days, I was someone’s safe place.
I drove to the Pennywhistle on autopilot. Everything felt too quiet. Too tight in my chest. Like the part of me that had started to stretch toward something good was curling back in.
My grandma met me at the door with a wary glance and a full coffee pot in hand.
“Dining room is half full. I put the cinnamon rolls in the warmer, and Nancy is handling refills. You okay, sweetheart?”
I gave her a tired smile. “I’m fine, Grandma. I’ve got it.”
She squeezed my arm. “He’s in booth four.”
I didn’t have to ask whohewas. I spotted Graham the second I turned around—sprawled across the booth like he owned the place, stirring his coffee with deliberate slowness while eyeing the morning crowd like they were there for him.
My gut tightened. The Pennywhistle always felt like home. Until he walked in.
I slid behind the counter, poured myself a mug, and walked over to his booth.
“Coffee’s good,” he said, glancing up with that glossy, insincere smile. “Not as trendy as what you get across town at the Coffee Cabin, but it has that old-school charm.”
I didn’t answer. Just stood there until his grin faltered.
Finally, he set his cup down and leaned back. “Trouble in paradise?”
My jaw clenched. “You need something, Graham?”
He shrugged. “Breakfast. And maybe to offer a little friendly advice.”
I didn’t respond.
“You know, Eliza gets pouty when she doesn’t get her way. Makes things complicated. It might be good to keep a little distance. I saw her pull up to the Coffee Cabin on my way here. She had that look about her. Familiar.”
I set my coffee down carefully. “You done?”
“Not yet.” He picked up his mug, like this was casual. Like he wasn’t twisting knives under the table. “It’s a small town. People remember what they hear. Just saying—being too close to her might not do your reputation any favors.”
I leaned down, hands on the table.
