Eliza
The smell of espresso had soaked into my hair, my clothes, and probably my soul. Currently, I was scrubbing whipped cream residue off the countertop while pretending that the walk-up window hadn’t just hosted the most painfully charming father-daughter duo in the entire state of Oregon.
Nate Winters. And his adorable four-year-old accomplice. And let us not forget the cutest chocolate lab in existence, Lois, who had barked exactly once, as if to announce their presence like a canine herald of doom—or romance, depending on how today played out.
I’d given him sass, naturally. That was the only language I spoke fluently. And he’d stood there with that easy grin, watching me with those infuriatingly gorgeous, kind eyes like he actually liked me. Not in a general, polite-customer kind of way—but in a way that made my pulse skitter and my brain short-circuit.
I couldn’t quit thinking about him. He might wear the flannel and jeans now, but there was something else there, something polished right beneath the worn edges. It didn’t help that he also wore an expensive dark grey Chesterfield coat over hisworn flannel, highlighting the clash of his two worlds. Broad shoulders and solid thighs, all quiet strength and devastating good looks, the kind that made my thoughts go pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. His dark hair had just the faintest hint of grey at the temples, and those sharp brown eyes, steady, intelligent, missing nothing, had lingered on me long enough to feel intentional.
The way he’d listened, really listened, head tipped slightly like he was filing things away. The quick, precise smile he’d used when I teased him, like he knew exactly how to play along and still come out ahead. He didn’t fumble his words. Didn’t rush. Spoke with the kind of easy confidence that came from knowing how to hold a room even when he was standing at a walk-up coffee window ordering hot chocolate with extra marshmallows for a little girl.
It was subtle, but the sharpness was still there, tucked neatly under the dad uniform and adorable beanie hat, waiting to be noticed. Sweet and sharp. Warm and wary. I shook my head, annoyed with myself, and turned back to the espresso machine, determined to think about literally anything else.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered to the espresso machine.
It hissed.
“Exactly. I don’t need this right now. Complications.”
I’d already let this slip through my fingers once. Nate had asked me out not long after he and Tilly arrived in Honeybrook Hollow—nothing flashy, just coffee, maybe dinner. I’d said yes, because I wanted to get to know him better. And then the holidays hit. The Coffee Cabin was nonstop, Nate was moving and learning how to navigate a whole new life, and we both got busy in the quiet, avoidant way that lets time do the hard part for you. The date never happened. We never talked about it. Wejust kept orbiting each other, pretending thealmostwasn’t still there.
The bell over the door jingled, and I glanced up to see my sister, Cara, striding in with a book in one hand and a bag from Something Sweet, our sister Piper’s bakery, in the other.
She breezed in, her energy as unmistakable as ever. Dressed like a sexy nerd—her thick-rimmed glasses perched perfectly on her nose, hair piled up in a messy bun, and underneath her winter coat, a fitted cardigan over a graphic tee—she looked like she’d stepped out of an indie rom-com. We’d always been told we resembled each other: same big eyes, strong brow, and the kind of stubborn chin that made people ask if we were sisters.
“I brought sustenance,” she said, holding up the bakery bag. “And distraction.” She grinned as she held up a book from her bookshop down the street.
“Is it the new one with the creatively appendaged alien?” I asked hopefully.
“Obviously.” She set the book on the counter. “Also, you looked like you needed backup. I came as soon as I could get away.”
“I’m fine.”
“Mmhmm, sure you are.” Cara slid onto the stool near the window and peered at me. “So. Tilly. Nate. Lois. I saw them walking here earlier. They come here often, don’t they? Don’t answer that. I already know they do.”
“They require caffeine and cocoa, just like the rest of town.” I pretended to wipe the same spot for the third time. “What about them?”
“Tilly and Lois are adorable. And Nate is…”
I waved a hand. “Don’t say it.”
“Nice? Kind? Good-looking in that hot, wholesome single dad way we all love? Everyone is calling him Hot Diner Dad now.You should hear the ladies talking in the store. Suddenly, single dad romance is my number one best seller. I wonder why.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Whose side are you on?”
“I didn’t realize there were sides.” She opened the bakery bag and pulled out one of Piper’s special, fancy macarons. “But since you’re making me choose, I’m on the side that thinks maybe you deserve something good. And maybe you should talk about your feelings because clearly you have some. I’m here for you. I wish you would talk to me. I was going to suggest?—”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m allergic to feelings. Pretty sure I’ll break out in a rash if I talk about them.”
“Fine, I’ll let it go. But if he’s interested in you, I say go for it. He’s a good guy, a real honest, good man. Grandma loves him.” She left it at that and didn’t push. She never did. That was why we were so close.
Growing up, I always knew I had four half-sisters, scattered across different corners of Honeybrook Hollow. Our grandparents were adamant that we wouldn't drift apart just because our family tree included our lying, cheating, snake of a father. They insisted we spend summers together, holiday breaks, random weekends, and the monthly Darlington Family Weenie Roast, determined that we would be true sisters—not strangers—no matter what. To them, having granddaughters who weren’t close like a real family was simply unacceptable, and their stubborn love stitched us together in ways none of us could have managed on our own.
However, even though I knew they loved me, I couldn’t help but feel I was the odd one out. Our father was still married to my mom, and they hadn’t let me spend as much time with my grandparents as the others did. Plus, they had all grown up in Honeybrook Hollow, while I had grown up in Portland. And don’t get me started on our age differences. Paige was forty, andPiper wasn’t too far behind. Lucy and Cara were thirty-two, and then there was me, the baby, at twenty-five.
My oldest two sisters, Piper and Paige, were unmistakable with their bright blond hair, while Lucy, Cara, and I had honey brown locks that caught the light in a softer, golden way. Still, no matter the shade, it was clear we were all cut from the same cloth—each of us bore our father's sharp cheekbones, wide-set eyes, and the kind of smile that could charm its way through a dozen family reunions. Sometimes, looking at my sisters felt like staring into a mirror that held pieces of a man we’d all inherited nothing but our looks from. Needless to say, none of us were in touch with him anymore.
I watched Cara nibble on one of the macarons, sunlight catching in her hair and reflecting off the window. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if I could just say the things swelling in my chest—if I could trust the world with the chaos inside my head. But old habits die hard, and vulnerability still felt like a language I couldn't quite speak. So I simply smiled, hoping she couldn’t see through it. No matter how much time I spent here, I still felt like a guest in their memories. They grew up here—together. I didn’t; that fact haunted me, maybe it always would.
