Chapter 5
WORTH
Standing in the kitchen, I scroll through my inbox with one hand, mug in the other. Henson has already sent over the agenda for this morning’s meeting.
As I’m going over the information, a text comes in from my brother in the group chat I share with him and my best friend, Griffin, the company’s chief of operations and lead architect.
Henson:
Big day, boys. Meeting at 9. Bring your game faces.
Griffin:
I always bring my game face.
Henson:
Your “game face” looks like you’re at a funeral.
Griff grew up with me and Henson in Mid-Island Nantucket.
We built forts out of two-by-fours and shared every stupid childhood dream.
We even worked the same crews after high school, doing grunt work and learning the trade with our hands in the dirt.
When Henson and I decided to start W.H.M.
Construction, Griffin was the first call we made.
We didn’t just want him on board—we needed him.
It’s too early for this shit.
Henson:
Awww, morning Sunshine. Did you sleep okay or did your pillow not fluff to your liking?
Griffin:
Don’t poke the bear, Hen.
You’re both idiots.
Henson:
Love you too, big bro.
I scoff, toss the phone onto the counter and glance at the clock. Bri is usually halfway down the stairs by now, hair still wet from her shower, and muttering something about how I “micromanage breakfast.”
Her sneakers are by the door, laces half-untied the way she always leaves them. Her backpack is missing from the hook. Normally, I’d hear the faint thud of music leaking through her earbuds, or the bathroom door slamming shut as she rushes to grab her things.
But the house is quiet.
“Brianna! Let’s go, kiddo, we’re gonna be late!”
I stand at the bottom of the stairs, phone in one hand, car keys in the other, waiting for the familiar thump of her footsteps coming down or for her to yell and complain about the little time I’ve given her. But not today.
I try again, louder this time. “Bri, come on!”
Still no answer.
Irritation sparks in my chest. She knows we have to be out the door in a few minutes. I set the keys on the hall table and head upstairs, my socked feet barely making a sound on the hardwood.
Halfway down the corridor, I notice the bathroom door is shut. I knock lightly. “You okay in there?”
There’s a long pause and then, “I’m fine!”
I know my kid. She’s not fine. That’s her ‘leave me alone before I combust’ tone.
“Bri…” My voice softens. “Can I come in?”
“No!” The answer comes fast, almost panicked.
I straighten, my hand still resting against the doorframe. “What’s going on?”
“I—uh—” She stammers, stops, starts again. “Nothing.”
It’s the kind of nothing that screams something.
My mind stumbles for a second, flipping through every possibility until it lands on the one that makes the most sense. And then it hits me.
Oh.
She’s thirteen, wants privacy, and her voice has that edge of discomfort I’ve only heard a few times before.
“Brianna, honey… Do you need me to call Maggie?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, quieter, “No. It’s okay. I’m fine. We’ve… talked about this before.”
I lean my forehead against the door, eyes shutting for a moment. Guilt presses in hard. In these moments, Bri shouldn’t be on her own, having to be navigated by a dad awkwardly guessing through a closed bathroom door.
I do my best, and we have Maggie, thank God. But she can’t be here all the time to fill in every blank space where her mother should be.
My shoulders tighten. It’s hard not to picture my ex’s face—hard not to imagine her justifying walking away, abandoning her daughter long before Bri would need her most. My chest heats with anger.
Not now.
I force the tension out of my voice. “All right. You sure you don’t need anything? I can run to the store, grab whatever you—”
“I’m fine,” Brianna says again.
I wait another moment before saying, “Okay. Just know I’m right here. Always.”
The latch clicks, and the door opens an inch, then another. She steps out, face pink, eyes darting to the floor. My kid, who’s usually all sass and chatter, suddenly looks uncomfortable, embarrassed.
I pull her in for a hug. She fits under my chin perfectly, still small enough that I can wrap her up, still young enough to let me. Her arms tighten around me for a second longer than usual.
I should drop her off at school and head straight to the office. I’ve got that meeting with the team for a big project, the kind of deal most companies dream of locking down. But the rest of the day can wait. My brother and best friend can handle it on their own.
My daughter needs me.
I lean back enough to see her face. “Hey, we’ve got some time before school. How about we swing by that coffee shop we used to go to, grab a snack?”
Her lips twitch in a smile. “I’d love that.”
I’d cancel a dozen meetings just to see that smile.
“Grab your bag and meet me downstairs. We’ll make it a slow morning.”
Bri disappears down the hall, and I pull my phone from my pocket.
Won’t make it to the meeting. You’ve got it.
Before Henson or Griffin can respond, I fire off another message to Dre to clear my morning.
By the time Bri comes down, backpack slung over her shoulder, I’ve got my keys in hand and the front door open.
I’m already picturing the warm smell of roasted beans and that corner booth Brianna used to like.
That place has been sitting in the back of my mind for days now, though I haven’t bothered asking myself why.
It’s not because I’ve been thinking about that barista since I walked in there last week.
Or because I’m curious about the same woman who interviewed at W.H.M. and stole my breath away.
And most definitely not because I’ve been thinking about her more than I should.
When Brianna and I walk into Willow’s, I’m immediately hit with the heavy scent of coffee and fresh pastries.
“So what are you gonna have, Piglet?”
My eyes instinctively go to the bar, and I try to tell myself I’m not looking for Mya.
Memories of long, brown curls tumbling in every direction flash into my mind. Skin the warm shade of honey and bronze, like sun-kissed caramel. Mya looked… ethereal that morning.
And then, when she walked into W.H.M. for an interview a few days later...
The way I felt when I stepped into the boardroom was something I hadn’t let myself feel in years. Desire curled in my gut, where I thought I’d buried it for good.
It was dangerous and unwelcome.
“Dad.” Brianna’s voice cuts through the noise of my thoughts. “Did you hear me?”
I shake my head, dragging myself back to the present. “Sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?”
“A hot chocolate with whipped cream, please.” She repeats it slowly, like I’m hard of hearing. Then she smirks and nudges me in the side. “What’s got you so distracted, huh?”
I laugh, the sound loosening the knot in my chest. The awkward tension from earlier at the house has melted away, and seeing her tease me like this feels like a gift. I’m just glad she’s in better spirits.
“Got it, Piglet,” I say, ruffling her hair. She pushes my hand away with a laugh. “Want to wait for me at a table?”
Brianna nods and heads for the booth by the window.
I turn back towards the counter, stepping closer. My gaze sweeps the line of baristas again, but Mya isn’t there. Maybe she’s not working today. Pull yourself together, Miller.
Then I catch movement below the bar. A cascade of familiar curls, disappearing out of sight.
My brow furrows.
Did she just… duck under the counter?