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“Get a room, you guys!” Simone, my fiery-hearted and fiery-haired best friend, calls out as she enters. “We get it. You’re in love.” She rolls her eyes but gives me a sly wink. “Morning!”
“Morning,” I say, giving Grant a quick squeeze before pulling away. A squeeze that says, Later.
Simone grins, then takes in the explosion of baked goods behind me with a raised eyebrow. “Jen’s been busy.”
A man enters the café, and I don’t have time to answer Simone because I’m slipping behind the counter to take his order. With a receding hairline and long, lanky limbs, he looks like any other middle-aged man in need of caffeine. But there’s something in the way he glances around the café, like he’s looking for someone but he’s not supposed to be here.
“Can I help you?”
“Uh…” He glances at the chalkboard menu behind me, then at the multitude of grinders and coffee carafes on the counter at my back. “Black coffee?”
“Comin’ right up.” I smile brightly, glancing briefly at Grant, who still looks ready to throw me over his shoulder and take me away. Blushing, I pour a black drip coffee for this customer and try to wrap my head around the fact that I’m getting married again.
It scares me, obviously. My first marriage was such a disaster, such a slow stripping of my confidence and sense of self that committing to a man again makes the primal part of my brain blare in fear. But Grant leans a big boulder shoulder against the wall, his full lips teasing into a smile as he scrubs his scruffy jaw with a wide palm, and the fear subsides.
He loves me. I love him. His daughter loves us. Our little family is more than I could have ever hoped for.
The man takes his coffee and drops it at a table before putting his jacket on the back of a chair, then wanders past Grant—giving him a quick glance and a wide berth, probably because Grant has about fifty pounds more muscle than he does—and ducks to the bathrooms.
That’s when the café doors open again, and Lottie, Trina, her kids, Candice, and Blake come barreling through. The kids are seven and nine, and they recovered from their illness this week and are now begging for a muffin from the overflowing basket by the till.
Lottie corrals them to a table while Candice tilts her head up to Blake for a kiss, and Trina lets out a long sigh and leans against the counter. “We ran out of coffee. Do you do intravenous drips here, or no? I need it in my bloodstream like, now.”
Grinning, I take her order as Sven gets to work.
Then, I watch in slow-motion as the man in the bathroom returns to the main space. He spots Lottie first, and freezes. Lottie takes a step as if to shield Toby and Katie from him, a look so fierce on her face that I already know something is wrong.
It’s him. It’s Kevin. It’s the asshole who shamed her for breastfeeding her own damn kid in her own damn house.
Then Trina sees him, and she goes rock solid too.
Then it’s Candice’s turn to freeze.
Blake frowns, following her gaze to the balding man at the mouth of the bathroom hallway.
“You’re not due until tomorrow,” Lottie growls.
The man puts his hands up as if to placate her. “I had a day off. I thought I’d come down early.”
His voice makes the two kids turn around, and Katie launches herself at him. “Daddy!” She wraps her little arms around his stomach and looks up at him with stars in her eyes. “You’re here! Are you staying? Toby and I got a cat! His name is Mr. Fuzzles and he likes catnip. Don’t worry, I change his litter box and everything.”
The man frowns. “Why doesn’t an adult do that?” He finally lifts his gaze to Trina, who somehow goes even more immobile. “You let her handle a cat’s excrement? No wonder they got sick.”
“They didn’t get sick from doing chores, Kevin.” Trina’s voice is flatter than I’ve ever heard it.
“It’s okay, Daddy, I ate lots of soup and now I’m all better. Toby too.”
My eyes flick to the little nine-year-old boy, who’s still sitting at the table, staring suspiciously at his father. He stands up, glances at Trina, then at Katie, as if he wants to go to his mother but doesn’t want to leave his sister behind. My heart spasms. What a beautiful, protective boy.
I clear my throat, but Simone throws me a glance from the opposite side of the café, shaking her head.
Trina takes a step forward. “You can’t have them until tomorrow.”
“Not even for ice cream?” Kevin says, looking at his daughter.
“Ice cream! Ice cream!” Katie screams, jumping up and down and turning to Trina. “Please, Mom?”
“You haven’t even had breakfast, Katie.”
