Chapter Eight
Ben
I get to The Wandering Pint just after sunrise, breath puffing in the chilly morning air as I dig my keys out of my pocket.
Weekend breakfast services are the only times it’s worth opening early—locals drift in after the farmer’s market, hungover regulars crawl in for coffee, tourists wake up bright and early to grab a bite before wandering around town.
Lilly will be in soon, but I like a few moments to myself before the chaos starts.
I’m halfway to the door when I catch movement in my peripheral. The bakery next door opens, and Paige steps out into the light, her family spilling out behind her. Her mom is wiping at her eyes, and her dad, Donovan, has his arm around her.
Jason’s talking to Paige, but his gaze lands on me almost immediately.
I don’t even have time to curse silently. I’ve been avoiding both of them all week, not trusting myself around either of them after my fantasies took off last week.
“Benny,” he calls out, grinning like he’s caught me doing something.
I force myself to act normal and smirk. “Jay.” I give Gwen and Donovan a wave. “Morning, Gwen. Morning, Don.”
Paige’s eyes flick to mine, then away just as quickly. Her shoulders shift like she’s not sure if she wants to step forward or disappear inside.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Gwen says, already starting toward me like she’s going to pull me into one of her lavender-scented hugs. Donovan just nods, but the corner of his mouth lifts. “You opening early today?” he asks.
“Weekend breakfast,” I say. “Worth dragging myself out of bed for.”
Jason jerks a thumb toward Paige. “You taking advantage of my sister?”
For a moment, my breath catches in my throat, thinking he somehow knows about where my thoughts went last week in the shower. What I almost did.
But Jason just grins, clearly enjoying himself. “You gonna be some kind of slumlord?”
Paige groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Jason…”
“Oh, right. That,” I say and laugh shakily. I clear my throat and force a smirk onto my face. “Maybe I am.”
“What? I think it’s hilarious.” He looks at me, mock-offended. “You’ve been my best friend for fourteen years, man. You couldn’t give me a heads-up?”
“She told me not to,” I say easily. “Wanted it to be her announcement.”
Gwen reaches my side before I can respond again, wrapping me in a warm, familiar hug that smells like home. “Ignore them,” she says, patting my shoulder. “We’re thrilled for her. And it’s good to see you, honey.”
“You too,” I say, meaning it. “Feels like it’s been forever.”
Donovan steps forward, shaking my hand. “She’s got a good spot. You’ll keep an eye out for her, yeah?”
“Always,” I promise, glancing toward Paige. She’s standing a few feet back, watching us with that careful half-smile that makes my chest feel uncomfortably tight.
Jason looks between us, suspicion and amusement mixed in his expression. “Good. Because if she tells me you’ve been a pain in the ass, I’m putting your head through the bar’s jukebox.”
I chuckle, slipping my keys into the lock. “It’s digital, Jase. You’d just be buying me a new tablet.”
He smirks. “Fine. I’ll find something else to break over your head.”
Paige finally moves closer, her voice soft. “Come on, guys. I’m really getting hungry. Let’s go get that breakfast, huh?”
Jason’s face brightens like he’s just had the greatest idea of the morning. “You know what? We should just eat here,” he says, nodding toward the dark interior of the Pint like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re open, right?”
I open my mouth, already prepared to shut that down with a quick explanation—Lilly’s not here, the kitchen isn’t prepped, the griddle’s still colder than the beer taps. But before I can get a word out, the universe conspires against me.
There she is. Lilly. Strolling down the sidewalk behind them with her sweater zipped up against the chill of the morning, hands deep in her pockets, knit beanie pulled low. She’s whistling. Whistling.
Jason spots her too. “Right on time,” he says with a grin, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to rock me a step sideways.
I glance toward Paige. She’s trying not to look at me, but her arm brushes mine as she moves closer to the door. Gwen gives me a squeeze as she passes. Donovan offers a nod.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Sure. Come on in. Sit wherever.”
The door swings open, and they file in. Paige hesitates just inside, scanning the dim room. I can’t tell if the twist in my chest is dread or something else entirely.
Jason strides past her toward a booth. “We’ll take this one,” he calls over his shoulder.
Lilly comes in behind me, nods at the Richards family and heads right back to the kitchen to get it started up. She knows Jason as he hangs out here often. Gwen and Don have come in for dinner many times over the years, but Paige is pretty much unknown, having been gone the past few years.
Jason leans back against the seat, grinning. “Man, this is perfect. I haven’t had breakfast here in a while.”
I roll my eyes, heading for the bar to grab menus. “That’s because you’re in bed until noon, you bum.”
“Lies,” he says, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Sometimes I’m up by eleven-thirty.”
Gwen laughs and slides into the booth beside Donovan, settling in. “It’s nice to be in here before it’s full. Usually, we have to wait for a table.”
“You know you never have to wait here, Gwen. Just give me a call or text before you come, and I’ll boot someone’s ass out,” I say, setting the menus down. My eyes flick toward Paige without meaning to. The booth is a U-shape for families, so she’s in the seat across from Ben, next to Jason.
Her gaze is down, but I catch the way her fingers toy with the corner of the laminated page.
“Coffee all around?” I ask, forcing my tone into neutral territory.
Jason nods for the table, but Gwen leans forward. “Are you guys going to have those big cinnamon rolls? You know, the ones that are gooey and soft and covered in icing?”
I shake my head, real regret in my voice. “Sorry, not anymore. Brent used to make them, and he moved out of town a couple weeks back. He was the one who made those from scratch. Nobody else in the kitchen’s managed to replicate them.”
Gwen’s face falls just a little, but she recovers with a warm smile. “That’s a shame. Those were my favorite.”
Jason slaps Paige on the shoulder, causing her to send him a steely look. “Luckily, a bakery is opening up next door, huh? Would you look at that? Brent leaves, and my sister comes back to town. Could it be any more perfect?”
Paige shoots him a look sharp enough to cut glass, but Jason just grins wider, clearly enjoying himself.
“Hey, that is perfect,” Don cuts in. “Paige does make really good cinnamon rolls. We just had to turn to alternatives when she left for school.”
Paige rolls her eyes. “I didn’t abandon you, drama queen. I was in school. It was like two hours away, Dad.”
Donovan smirks, and it’s so much like Jason’s that it stops Ben short for a moment. “Two hours might as well have been the other side of the country for how often we saw you.”
Jason grins. “Well, she’s back now, and apparently right next door to my favorite watering hole.”
“I’m not your personal bakery,” Paige says, flipping her menu closed. “And I haven’t even opened yet, so stop promising people cinnamon rolls.”
The conversation drifts as I jot down their coffee orders and circle back with Lilly to make sure the kitchen’s warming up. When I return, they’ve moved on to debating omelets versus pancakes like it’s a life-or-death decision.
Jason is swearing the omelet is the king of breakfast because “it’s like six meals in one,” Paige insisting pancakes are the only correct choice, Don making a case for French toast like it’s a political debate, and Gwen rolling her eyes at all of them while taking no sides.
Something about the light and easy way they’re doing it—the light jabs, the overlapping voices, the mock outrage—makes me pause.
It’s so casual, so safe. The kind of argument that’s not really an argument. Just a friendly debate with fake heat between people who love each other. The kind of argument where everyone knows they’ll still be smiling afterward.
I never had that. Not once.
All my arguments growing up had been real.
Every raised voice with my dad had ended with slammed doors, grounded weekends, and cold silences.
And before my mom left, the walls in our house had been too thin to block out the fights—shouted words that cut, the crash of plates against walls, the sound of wails and slamming doors.
I shake it off and step closer to the table, forcing a smile onto my face before anyone notices. “Alright,” I say, tapping my notepad. “Who’s winning this ridiculous debate so I can actually take your order?”
“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easily,” Gwen says. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper catch-up. When you put our order in, you put yours in as well.”
I shake my head, already taking a step back toward the bar. “I can’t. I’ve got to help Lilly get the kitchen going and start setting up for lunch.”
Gwen gives me that steely look that I’ve seen her use on Jason more times than I can count. “Benjamin Hoffman, there is not a soul in here but us, and lunch is hours off. You’re sitting with us.”
I glance toward Lilly through the kitchen pass. She’s already cracking eggs, humming to herself, not looking remotely overwhelmed. My excuse crumbles faster than I’d like. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll just grab a coffee and—”
“Nope.” Gwen shakes her head, her smile never slipping. “A real breakfast. No excuses.”
Jason grins like he’s watching the best kind of train wreck. “Yeah, Benny. Sit down. Eat some damn food for once.”
I blow out a slow breath, knowing I’ve lost this round. “Fine,” I say, scribbling my own order at the bottom of the page. “Chef’s choice for me, a side of bacon. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Gwen says, leaning back in the booth with the satisfaction of a woman who always gets her way.
“Alright, what’s it gonna be for the rest of you?”
They rattle off their orders—Jason wants the breakfast burger, Don goes for a western omelet, Gwen asks for French toast with a side of bacon, and Paige chooses blueberry pancakes.
I scribble it all down, trying to ignore the way her shirt gapes and gives me a clear view down the front of it while standing over her.
I take the tickets to the kitchen, hand them off to Lilly, and when I come back, everyone has shifted slightly to make room for me—right next to Paige.
I glance at Paige, but she’s looking pointedly down, stirring her coffee cup.
I slide in beside her. The booth feels smaller instantly, the press of her hip against mine warm and very, very distracting.