Dandelion Dreams (The Alphabet Sweethearts #4)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Andrew

I adjust my glasses and survey the usual Wednesday crowd at Novel Sips. Students are sprawled across the farmhouse table, Mrs. Peterson browses the mystery section of my combination coffee shop and bookstore, and Ted sips his usual Earl Grey latte while polishing his latest poem in the corner. Everything is exactly where it should be—the way I like it.

I'm reorganizing the spring drink specials menu when the door chime rings. "Welcome to Novel Sips," I call out automatically, not looking up from my task. "I'll be with you in just a?—"

The words die in my throat.

Emma Hawthorne stands in my doorway, sunlight catching her auburn hair the same way it did five years ago. She's wearing one of her flowing dresses, this one a soft green that matches her eyes, and my heart performs the same stumble-skip it always did in her presence.

But it's her companion that makes my coffee-steady hands shake. A little boy, no more than four or five, holds her hand. Dark curls—so familiar they make my chest hurt—fall across his forehead as he looks around the shop with wide eyes. Emma's eyes. In a face that's startlingly similar to the one I see in my mother's old photo albums.

"Hi, Andrew." Emma's voice is soft, careful, like she's approaching a wild animal that might bolt. Maybe she's right to be cautious.

I clear my throat, trying to find words past the sudden tightness. "Emma. This is unexpected."

Her free hand fidgets with the fabric of her dress—a nervous habit I still remember. "I suppose it is." She glances down at the boy, who's watching me with curious eyes. "This is Charlie."

Charlie. The name echoes in my head as possibilities I've never allowed myself to consider suddenly crash into reality. I grip the edge of the counter, grateful for its solid support.

"Mama, look!" Charlie points to the wall of children's books, where bright spines create a rainbow of possibilities. "They have Dragon Riders !" His excitement, his gesture, the way his whole face lights up—it's like looking into a mirror of my own childhood.

"Who..." I start, though I already know. The truth is written in every feature of his face, in the way he bounces on his toes just like my sister says I did at that age. But I need to hear it.

"He's your son, Andrew." Emma's eyes never leave my face, watching as the words land. "Our son."

Our son. The words echo in my head, competing with the sudden roar of blood in my ears. All these years of building a predictable life, of carefully organizing every detail, and now this. A son I never knew existed.

"They sure do have Dragon Riders , buddy." Emma's voice is gentle as she addresses Charlie, though her eyes remain fixed on me. "Andrew, I know this is a shock. But we need to talk."

I manage a nod, professional mask slipping into place even as questions crowd my throat. How? When? Why didn't you tell me? "My office is through here." My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't watching his carefully ordered life scatter like dandelion seeds in a strong wind.

"Charlie, honey?" Emma kneels down to his level. "Why don't you pick out a book to look at while Mama talks to Mr. Carter?"

"Can I get Dragon Riders ?" He bounces on his toes, all energy and innocence, completely unaware of the earthquake he's caused by simply existing.

"Of course." Emma straightens, brushing invisible dust from her dress. She walks over and grabs the book, still holding on to Charlie’s hand. "Okay if I pay for this on my way out?"

My nod is automatic. I lead them through the shop, hyperaware of the curious glances from regulars and my sister, who remembers Emma from before. Who probably sees what I see—the undeniable evidence of a shared past written in Charlie's features.

"Maggie?" I catch my sister's eye as we move deeper into the bookstore section. "Could you...?" I gesture to Charlie, unable to form a complete sentence.

Understanding floods her face. "Hey there!" She drops to Charlie's level with a bright smile. "I heard someone's interested in dragons. I'm Ms. Maggie, and I happen to be an expert in dragon books. Want to read this with me while your mom talks to Andrew?"

Charlie looks to Emma, who nods encouragingly. "Go ahead, sweetie. I'll be right back." She hands the book to Maggie, exchanging a small smile with her.

As Charlie follows Maggie to the children's section, I unlock my office door. The small space feels even smaller with Emma in it, her presence filling every corner with memories I've spent years trying to pack away.

I close the door behind us, watching as she takes in the neat rows of folders, the carefully organized schedule boards, the life I've built without her. When she turns to face me, there are tears in her eyes.

"Andrew, I?—"

"How old is he?" The question comes out rougher than intended.

"Four." She twists her hands together. "He was born in December. I tried to find you, but you'd moved, and your phone was disconnected, and?—"

"December." I do the math quickly, feeling the blood drain from my face. "You knew? Before you left?"

"I found out right after." Emma takes a step toward me, then stops when I flinch back. "Andrew, please. Let me explain."

Outside my office window, I can see Charlie sitting cross-legged on the story time rug, already deep in his chosen book. He turns a page with the same careful reverence I've always had for books, and something in my chest cracks open.

I have a son. A son who loves books and has my hair and Emma's eyes and four years of life I knew nothing about.

"Explain." I sink into my desk chair, suddenly unsure if my legs will hold me. "I think you owe me that much."

Emma draws a shaky breath, and I prepare myself for whatever truth is about to shatter what's left of my carefully constructed world.

Emma settles into the chair across from my desk, smoothing her dress with trembling fingers. The late afternoon light filtering through the window catches the auburn of her hair—so different from the dark curls Charlie inherited from me. How many other pieces of us are woven into that little boy?

"I didn't know." Her words tumble out quickly, like she's afraid I'll stop her. "When I left for Chicago, I had no idea I was pregnant. I found out three weeks later, and I tried to call you, but your phone was disconnected. When I came back to the apartment, there was a new family living there."

"Because I'd moved back here." The words taste bitter. "To Juniper Falls. Where we grew up. It wasn't exactly a secret, Emma."

She flinches at my tone. "I know. It's just that after everything that happened, I thought you wouldn't want to hear from me. And then months passed, and it got harder to figure out how to tell you, and?—"

"Harder?" The laugh that escapes me doesn't sound like my own. "Harder than finding out I have a four-year-old son in the middle of my workday? Than watching him walk into my shop with no warning?"

"You're right." She meets my eyes steadily, and I see new steel there, a confidence she didn't have five years ago. "I handled it badly. All of it. But Charlie's been asking about his father, and I couldn't—" She breaks off, running a hand through her hair. The familiar gesture sends an unwanted surge of memory through me. I remember lazy Sunday mornings, her hair spilling across my pillow, dreams we thought would last forever.

I force myself to focus on the neat row of sales reports on my desk. On facts. Numbers. Things that make sense. "So you decided to show up? After four years?"

"I didn't know how else to do it." She leans forward, and a hint of her old perfume—something floral and fresh, like spring mornings—drifts across the desk. "Look at me, Andrew. Please?"

Against my better judgment, I do. She's changed in subtle ways. There's a quiet strength in her posture now, a certainty in her movements that wasn't there before. The dreamy artist I fell in love with has grown into someone more grounded, more real. More beautiful, if I'm being honest with myself. Which I'm not.

"Charlie is amazing," she says softly. "He's creative and kind and so smart. He loves books—exactly like you. He makes up stories about everything he sees, and he never passes a dandelion without making a wish." Her smile, when she talks about him, transforms her entire face. "He deserves to know his father."

"His father." The words feel foreign on my tongue. "The father you didn't think needed to know about him for four years."

"I made mistakes." She straightens in her chair, that new confidence showing through again. "I know that. But I'm here now, trying to make it right. Charlie needs you in his life. And you—" She hesitates, then forges ahead. "You deserve to know your son."

I look past her, through the office window where I can see Charlie sitting with Maggie. He's gesturing animatedly about something in the book, his whole body involved in whatever story he's telling. Exactly like Emma used to do when she talked about her art.

"Does he know?" I force myself to ask. "Who I am?"

"He knows I'm here to talk to his dad." Her voice softens. "I didn't want to promise anything until I'd talked to you. Until I knew if you wanted to be part of his life."

The unspoken question hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. Part of his life. Part of their lives. After five years of carefully constructing walls around my heart, Emma Hawthorne has walked right through them, bringing with her a child who shares my blood and my love of books and her ability to turn my world upside down.

"I need time," I say finally, hating how my voice catches. "To process this. To figure out..." I gesture vaguely at the space between us, at all the years and hurt and complications.

She nods, standing slowly. "Of course. We're staying in town for a while." She pulls a business card from her purse and places it on my desk. "My cell number's on there. When you're ready to talk more."

I stare at the card. "Emma Hawthorne, Visual Arts Instructor," it reads. Another piece of her life I knew nothing about.

She pauses at the door. "Don't take too long? He's been waiting his whole life to meet you, even if he didn't know it."