Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cooper
I settled into the creaky wooden chair beside Jack and cradled my steaming mug of coffee.
I let myself truly relax for the first time in weeks.
The mid-morning lull had descended over The Coffee Cove like a gentle blanket, leaving us with just a handful of regulars scattered throughout the shop—Mrs. Abernathy reading a romance novel in the back, two college students hunching over their laptops—and the familiar hum of quiet conversation mixing with the soft folk music playing overhead.
Sunlight streamed through the front windows and cast golden rectangles across the polished wood floors.
A deep sense of satisfaction settled in my chest as I surveyed my shop.
Shaw was behind bars, A Latte Love had been a resounding success, and, most importantly, the man sitting beside me was no longer just my temporary boyfriend but my future.
Jack looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks, his shoulders no longer carrying the tension of constant vigilance, his smile genuine and unguarded as he scrolled through something on his phone.
The crisis was over, business was thriving, and for the first time in a month, I could simply enjoy a quiet moment with the person I loved most.
The bell above the door jingled, and the sound sliced through my thoughts. Despite Shaw being locked up in jail, I was still jumpy. I kept expecting Ben, taunting me. Or Martin, brandishing his phone. But they’d slunk off in disgrace.
I glanced at the entrance—only for my stomach to flip violently, like I’d missed a step on a staircase. My parents walked in, with Ryan bringing up the rear. Their unexpected presence sent a jolt of anxiety through me.
I tensed instinctively, and my muscles coiled tight as old defenses kicked in. Jack felt the change in the air immediately and gave my knee a reassuring pat under the table. His fingers lingered on my thigh and offered silent support.
My mom was bundled against the February cold in a charcoal wool coat and pale blue cashmere scarf, her silver-streaked hair neatly pinned back in a chignon that hadn’t changed style in twenty years.
Dad looked out of place in his tailored navy suit, his tie loosened only slightly, like he’d had to be talked into leaving the office for this visit.
Ryan trailed behind them like a reluctant mediator and spotted us first. He offered a wave and a cautious smile, his eyes apologetic, as if to say, Sorry for the ambush.
My parents approached slowly, their footsteps measured, as if they were approaching a wounded animal. I stood out of ingrained habit, my body responding to years of trained formality before my mind could override it.
“Hi,” I said, tone neutral. The word hung awkwardly in the air.
“Hello, Cooper.” My mother looked at me with an expression I’d never seen before—a complex blend of concern, judgment, and barely restrained uncertainty. “We heard about the cyberattacks and the arrest.”
Dad cleared his throat. His fingers fidgeted with his watch strap. “We were glad you caught the hacker.” The admission seemed to cost him something, the words dragged from a man who’d spent a lifetime buttoning up his feelings behind starched shirts and corporate policy.
I nodded, unsure what else to say, the chasm between us too vast to bridge with casual conversation.
Jack stood beside me, his presence a steady hum at my side, a quiet strength that radiated outward without him saying a single word. I could feel his hand hovering near mine, waiting for a signal, respecting my space while letting me know he was there if I needed him.
My mother finally turned her attention to him. Her eyes traveled over him, assessing. “Jack,” she said. His name carried the weight of that disastrous meeting when my parents had walked in on our kiss.
“Mrs. McKay,” Jack replied with quiet politeness. His voice held none of the resentment he would have been justified in feeling. “Mr. McKay. Ryan.” He offered the simple acknowledgment of my dad without pretense, a peace offering.
“Cooper, after my visit on Valentine’s Day.” My mother took in the customers who were trying, and failing, not to stare at our family reunion. “I had a talk with your father.”
Dad nodded once and crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture defensive even as his words attempted conciliation. “I might’ve…misjudged the importance of a business like this.” Each word seemed reluctant, yet a beginning. A bridge.
I arched an eyebrow. Disbelief mingled with a flicker of hope that felt dangerously close to vulnerability. “You think small-town coffee shops have value now?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. Years of dismissal were not easily forgotten.
“I think,” he said slowly, weighing each word with the deliberation of a man unaccustomed to admitting error, “that any place where so many people gather and businesses rally around in a crisis…is clearly more than just a hobby.”
I blinked, momentarily speechless. That was the closest to a compliment I’d ever gotten from him, and it knocked the wind from my lungs more effectively than any physical blow.
“And we’re grateful to Jack,” my mom added. Her gaze softened as she looked between us. Something like understanding dawned in her eyes. “For his expertise. For saving your business.”
Jack shifted beside me. The subtle movement betrayed his discomfort with the praise. His fingers intertwined with mine, warm and achingly familiar. “That’s what you do,” he said simply, his voice rough with emotion, “for someone you love.”
The words hit me like a jolt of electricity straight to the heart and temporarily stole my breath. I turned to him. Warmth flooded my stomach and rose to my cheeks. Without thought or hesitation, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his cheek, the gesture as instinctive and natural as breathing.
My mother’s mouth curved up, just slightly, the barest hint of a genuine smile softening the careful mask she wore in public.
My father cleared his throat again and rocked back on his heels.
“Well,” he said awkwardly, his unease with emotional displays evident in every line of his body.
“I just want you to know…I can see you’re happy.
And that matters. I…approve.” The words were stiff, formal, but I could sense the effort behind them, the olive branch being extended across years of misunderstanding.
“I don’t need your approval,” I said honestly, the words firm but without the sharp edges that would have been there even a week ago. “But I’d like your acceptance.” I held my breath after speaking, surprised by my vulnerability, by how much I still wanted that connection despite everything.
Dad looked uncomfortable. His mouth twitched like he didn’t quite know how to form the words that might bridge the gap between us.
Something shifted behind his eyes—a softening, perhaps, or a recognition.
“I’m working on it.” Then he added, with unexpected dry humor coloring his tone, “And working on accepting that I won’t have any more grandchildren. ”
I grinned despite myself as genuine amusement bubbled up inside me. “Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean we can’t have a family.” The words emerged without a filter and surprised even me with their implication.
His eyes widened as if I’d just told him I was pregnant. Comical shock spread across his usually composed features. He made a strangled noise in his throat that was worth every moment of pain and tension that had led us here.
Ryan stifled a laugh as he watched our father’s worldview expand in real time.
Jack squeezed my hand. His thumb brushed across my knuckles in a gentle caress. “One thing at a time, baby,” he murmured, but the tender look in his eyes held possibility rather than dismissal.
Dad took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His shoulders dropped as he visibly centered himself. “Right. Well. Why don’t we get that lunch we were supposed to have during our last visit?” The suggestion was clumsy but sincere, a first step toward something new.
I motioned toward our table as relief washed through me. “Sit. I’ll have Jessica bring a selection of sandwiches.” The simple act of offering food felt deeply significant, a ritual of peace.
They all slid into seats, my father even taking the spot next to Jack without comment. Small miracles indeed.
As I walked toward the counter, the familiar floorboards creaking beneath my feet, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Jack loved me—had said it aloud, had proven it with every action when it mattered most.
My parents were trying—stumbling forward with halting steps, but moving in the right direction at last.
And I was still standing. Still here, still working, still fighting for the life I’d built with my two hands.
Maybe not everything was perfect. The anxiety over cyberattacks would linger for a while.
But sitting at that table, in the shop I’d poured my heart and soul into, with the man I loved beyond reason and the family who was finally starting to see me, really see me? It felt pretty damn close to perfect.
The past four weeks had been a journey of discovery that led Jack and me not just to each other, but to a love that felt as permanent and essential as breathing itself. Our deadline had come and gone, but what we’d built together was just beginning.