Summer placed a hand on Ava’s knee to stop the jiggling.
“I know what you’re thinking, Ava. We’re going to the café. I promise he’s not here. He never works on Mondays. He’d rather spend his days off with—” Summer stopped. “I mean, he has better things to do with his day off. Come on.”
Ava pushed down her anxiety and reluctantly got out of the car. No time like the present to stop avoiding the past.
Summer looped her arm through Ava’s, hauling her across the street to the café. Sweat formed on the palms of her hands, her nerves getting the better of her as they approached. Ava tried giving herself a pep talk.
You are a grown woman. You can walk into your ex’s business. He won’t even be there.
Summer reached for the door. The bell jingled above, announcing their arrival. It was too late to turn back now. They’d already drawn attention.
As they stepped across the threshold, her childhood memories rushed back. The café even smelled how she remembered. Her eyes darted around the dining area, seeking the familiarity of her past while cataloguing everything new. She was so caught up she didn’t even glance at the counter.
She should’ve glanced at the counter.
“Shit,” Summer swore. She turned stock still, bringing Ava’s perusal to a halt.
“Wha—” Ava stopped as she caught sight of the man behind the counter. Because, of course.Of course, he would be there when Summer had sworn he wouldn’t be.
Ava’s chest tightened at her first glimpse of Owen in ten years. And when their eyes met, the comforting aroma of coffee suddenly made her stomach turn.
“Ava?” he asked.
Chapter 2
The Early Bird Café
If he said anything else, his words faded into a buzz as their eyes connected.
Time had been kind to Owen Fowler. In her mind all these years, Owen had remained the twenty-two-year-old guy with messy brown hair and a charming smile. The guy whose chocolate-brown eyes gazed at her like she hung the moon. That image shattered, replaced by an older version with broader shoulders and longer hair. Hair long and thick enough to pull into a bun at the nape of his neck. His face was less boyish and more angular and firm with age.
He looked good.
Shehatedhow good he looked.
She glanced down at her dusty leggings and Beatles t-shirt, which she’d taken out of her father’s closet because it smelled faintly of booksand his woodsy aftershave. Insecurity swamped her. She looked like a mess.
Before she could form a response, the bell above the café entrance jangled, and the door opened. Warm summer air floated across her face, and she heard the unmistakable sound of a kid’s laughter.
“Dad, guess what we saw?”
Wait.Dad?
A shaggy-haired kid, the spitting image of Owen, dashed to Summer’s side. Ava pulled free of Summer’s grip on her arm and stepped back, putting distance between them.
“Hi, Aunt Summer. Are you working? Want to come with us to the lake?”
“Woah, slow down, squirt.” Summer chuckled and threw an arm around his shoulders. She squeezed him to her side while sending Ava a concerned look. Her eyes widened in apology.
The door opened again, revealing another woman. She adjusted her baseball hat containing a riot of brown curls and stopped on the kid’s other side. She ruffled his hair, much to his chagrin, based on the exasperated huff he let out.
Ava’s mind raced to catch up with what she was seeing.
Owen had a child.
Afamily.
In the few instances when she’d let her thoughts turn to Owen, imagining him with a family never crossed her mind. How incredibly short-sighted of her.
