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“Don’t push me away, sweetheart. Please. Talk to me. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Familiar voices traveled from a couple of tents down from theirs. Jess whipped her head around, and for the first time in five years, saw her father.
Her dad was doing his usual rounds, a lobster roll in hand. He cocked his head back and laughed at something the artist who was talking to him said. He looked exactly like she remembered; the same suede sandals, the same cargo shorts, the same frayed Cap’s hat with the original logo on his head.
Dakota stepped out from the tent, holding up an embroidered pillow to him, face beaming. Dad smiled, his shoulders melting as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bill, handing it to the artist in front of him.
The whole scene made her want to cry.
They waved goodbye to the artist and scanned the tents ahead of them, Dakota hooking an arm through their father’s.
Jess ducked behind the booth and sat on the pavement, the tablecloth blocking her from view.
“Jess,” Kevin hissed. Thankfully, he didn’t look down at her, not drawing attention to her spot. “You can’t keep running from this.”
She scooted closer to him and threw her arms around one of his legs like a child. “Please. Do this for me.”
He exhaled, and after a few torturous moments, she felt his body shift, his demeanor casual and at ease. “Mr. Valerie! Great to see you.”
“Good to see you too, my boy. And please…call me Logan,” he said.
Jess watched as Kevin reached out a hand and shook her father’s.
“Interested in a pastry? A jar of jam? If you buy a bike, you can get all three!”
“Now that’s a deal.” He chuckled. “Where are the Fletchers?”
“Either fighting or making out by their car, who knows,” Kevin joked.
“Is Jess around?” Dakota asked. The sound of her sister’s timid voice made her heart twist to a painful degree, like play dough in rough hands.
“She’s hard at work making more of these raspberry croissants back at the bakery,” he lied. “We’re expecting to sell a lot of them today.”
Jess ran her fingers down Kevin’s calf. He knocked her softly with his other foot.
A sad sigh was her father’s response. The silence was excruciating. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’ll take ten croissants, please,” he said.
Ten?!
“No bike to go with that?” Kevin teased, opening up a paper bag in front of him. He snatched the tongs and counted the croissants as he went. The bag wasn’t big enough for all of them, so he opened up another.
“You of all people know I already have one,” he said. “Thanks for helping me out the other day, by the way. It’s no longer making that god-awful squeaking noise.”
This time Jess squeezed his calf hard, digging her nails into his skin. He was at the shop?
Kevin coughed in response to her tight hold.
“A little oil always helps with that,” he replied. “Happy to give it a tune-up whenever you need it.”
“And will my daughter be hiding when I stop by?”
Her gut dropped. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
Kevin froze. “She’s not hiding.”
“That’s not what she’s doing over at the bakery right now?”
