“Mr. Larkin,” Rowan says. “Mrs. Larkin.”
Mom’s smile softens. “Hello, Rowan. It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, ma’am, it has.”
The silence after is awkward enough to taste.
“We were just finishing up,” I say quickly, hand tightening around my purse strap.
Dad ignores me. “I hear you’re back in town for good.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got yourself a nice place out on Route 8. Heard you’ve been fixing it up.”
Rowan gives a slight nod. “I have. Needed a project.”
Dad’s quiet for a moment too long. “Lot of folks remember your dad,” he says, tone even. “That trailer park had more trouble than tenants.”
Rowan doesn’t flinch. “Yeah,” he says, “he left a legacy, alright.”
Dad studies him, but there’s no malice. More like…the caution of trying to decide if he’s looking at a new man or an old shadow.
“I’m not him,” Rowan adds, meeting Dad’s eyes directly. “Wasn’t then, and I’m sure as hell not now.”
“No?” Dad raises an eyebrow. “Apple usually doesn’t fall far from the tree, son.”
“No, sir. But sometimes it rolls a hell of a long way downhill before it takes root.”
Rowan’s hand finds mine under the table, his thumb brushing across my knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to him.
He glances at me, and there’s something in his eyes—old wounds, maybe, but no bitterness. “You don’t need to be.”
Dad exhales and scrubs a hand over his jaw. For a second, I think he might say something cutting. Then his eyes slide to me, and something in his expression shifts.
“You seeing him?”
I clear my throat. “I am.”
Mom places a gentle hand on Dad’s arm. “David, let’s not interrogate them in the middle of a coffee shop.”
“I’m not interrogating anyone. Just talking.”
“You’re doing that thing with your jaw,” she says sweetly. “The thing that makes people nervous.”
I bite back a surprised laugh. Mom catches my eye and winks before turning her attention back to Rowan.
“It really is good to see you, Rowan,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “You are always welcome at our table.”
Dad makes a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and asigh, but he doesn’t contradict her. “Well,” he mutters, “guess we’ll let you get back to it.”
Rowan dips his head in acknowledgement before my parents move toward the line.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Rowan reaches across the table, taking my hand in his. “Hey, look at me.”
