“Well, tell us all the details,” Joyce singsongs, leaning forward eagerly. “Don’t leave anything out.”
So I do. I tell them everything—well, almost everything. I tell them all about my time with Logan—the basketball games with his teammates’ wives and girlfriends, the farmers’ market, the bike with the pink tassels, the talks, the meals, and the games. I gush over the beautiful firsts I never thought I’d get to experience. I share more than I ever have, and it feels good to be able to. Before, there was so little about my reality that I could reveal.
I talk about how deeply I’ve fallen for him, how fast it happened, and how different it feels from anything I’ve known before.
With Preston, everything happened quickly, too, but his love was never real. What I have with Logan is steady and safe. I’m learning to let go of the notion that something so good has to come with a price.
Joyce reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Oh, sweetheart. You deserve all of it. Every bit of happiness.”
“I’m just so happy for you,” Bob says gruffly, clearing his throat.
Billy appears then, carefully balancing a tray with four drinks. He sets them down with visible relief, and Joyce immediately takes a sip.
“Perfect, Billy,” she says warmly even though her smile is forced. “You’re getting so good at this.”
He beams and hurries back to the counter.
“Well,” she sighs, “he tried. That’s all one can do.”
I take a sip of my latte and have to fight a grimace. I’m not sure what he put in the cup, but it wasn’t honey.
After a while, Joyce takes her barely drunk coffee and stands, collecting our full cups. “All right,” she says, “I think I’m going to go rescue Billy and remake these.” She looks down at the offensive drinks in her hands. “Plus, I think you two could use some catching up without us old people eavesdropping.”
“You’re not old,” Layla protests immediately.
“Not at all,” I agree.
Joyce smiles, her expression soft. “That’s why you’ll always be my favorites. But seriously—enjoy each other. We’ll catch up more later.” She heads toward the counter, and Bob rises to follow.
“It was good to see you, kid,” he says, squeezing my shoulder as he passes. “Real good.”
Once they’re gone, Layla leans across the table, her expression shifting from joy to something more serious. “So… what’s going on with you-know-who? I can’t even say his name without wanting to punch something.”
“Honestly?” I lower my voice instinctively even though Preston isn’t here. “He’s stayed away. I haven’t had any contact with him since I left.”
Her shoulders drop in visible relief. “Oh. That’s good. That’s really, really good.”
“I know. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? For him to show up or find a way around the restraining order or…” I shake my head. “But nothing. Radio silence.”
Layla studies my face. “Do you think he’s really going to stay away?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Part of me thinks he’s just biding his time. But another part of me…” I pause, letting myself hope. “Could it be that things are actually working out? That I get to just… be happy?”
“Yes,” Layla says firmly, reaching across to grab my hand. “Yes, Tessa. You absolutely get to be happy. You’ve earned it.”
I want to believe her.
And for the first time in my life, I think I actually might.
Joyce returns a few minutes later with a fresh honey latte, this one no doubt perfectly made. She sets it down in front of me with a satisfied smile.
“There,” she says. “That’s more like it.”
I take a sip, and it’s perfect, exactly how I remember. “Thank you,” I say, warmth spreading through my chest. “For everything. Not just the coffee.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You know where to find us.”
Layla walks me to the door, pulling me into one more tight hug. “Come back soon, okay? And not in another month. I need my girl around more.”
