Chapter 11 Alex
ALEX
Wednesdays had quietly become my favorite day of the week.
Leo was humming in the passenger seat, swinging his legs and occasionally stopping to announce some random penguin fact he’d picked up from a nature show. “Did you know penguins mate for life, Dad? But sometimes they steal each other’s rocks.”
I smiled. “Sounds complicated.”
“Love is complicated,” he said with complete seriousness, and I couldn’t even argue with him.
By the time we pulled into the community center parking lot, the late afternoon sun had turned the brick walls orange. Families were already heading inside, full of kids chattering, volunteers laughing, someone balancing a tray of cupcakes that looked doomed from the start.
Leo unbuckled himself and grabbed his bag. “Come on, Dad! We’re gonna be late!”
“You’re early,” I said, but followed him anyway.
Inside, the Penguin Project rehearsal was already buzzing with energy.
“Leo!” the director called, waving him over. “Your partner’s waiting!”
He darted away without a backward glance. I hung back near the door, my volunteer badge lanyard twisted between my fingers.
Part of me was scanning the crowd before I could stop myself.
No sign of Eleanor.
I told myself it didn’t matter. People get busy, maybe Ava wasn’t feeling well, but the faint pinch of disappointment in my chest said otherwise. I busied myself setting up chairs, setting out snacks, doing anything to look like I wasn’t not hovering hopefully near an entrance.
Then the door opened, and there she was.
Eleanor stepped inside, hand resting lightly on Ava’s shoulder. Her hair was pulled back today, loose strands curling around her face, and she wore a soft green sweater that made her eyes look even warmer.
My heart did a weird, traitorous thing, the kind of flutter you’d expect from a teenager, not a grown man with a mortgage and joint custody.
Ava spotted Leo right away and lit up, her hesitation fading as he waved her over to the group.
Eleanor watched her daughter go, that small, proud smile softening her entire face. When she turned and saw me watching, her expression brightened.
“Hey,” she said, walking over.
“Hey,” I echoed, trying to be casual. “You made it.”
“Barely,” she said with a breathy laugh. “We had a battle with socks that had seams that felt weird and an emotional support stuffed bat.”
“Ah, the usual pre-rehearsal chaos.”
“Exactly.” She glanced toward Ava and Leo. “They’re really good together, aren’t they?”
“They are,” I said. “Leo hasn’t stopped talking about her all week. Apparently, she told him the Grimm Reapers are ‘the most metal name ever.’”
Eleanor laughed, covering her mouth. “That sounds like her.”
We drifted toward the little bench by the doors, the familiar hum of the rehearsal behind us.
I cleared my throat. “So, how’s Ava adjusting? School going okay?”
“She’s . . . getting there,” Eleanor said, smiling faintly. “The Penguin Project has helped more than I ever expected. It’s like she finally has a space that fits.”
“That’s the best kind,” I said softly. “A place where you don’t have to explain yourself.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
We sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, watching our kids laugh together.
Then I said, before I could overthink it, “Would you maybe want to grab a coffee?”
Her head turned quickly, eyes widening just a little. “Oh.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s not a big thing. Just . . . coffee. To talk. No pressure.”
There was a pause, long enough for me to start regretting it, and then she smiled.
“I think,” she said softly, “I’d like that.”
Something light unfurled in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Great,” I said, grinning. “There’s a café next door. Belle works there sometimes.”
Her laugh was quiet, genuine. “Of course she does.”
We stayed on the bench for another few minutes, side by side, letting the music and laughter from the rehearsal fill the space between us. We stood and walked toward the door together.
The coffee shop was just next door, a little brick building that smelled like espresso and vanilla. The bell over the door jingled as we stepped inside.
And there she was, Belle, standing behind the counter with her apron tied crooked and her hair in a messy bun, humming along to the indie playlist overhead.
The second she saw us, her eyes lit up like a cat who’d just spotted mischief.
“Well, well,” she drawled, leaning on the counter. “If it isn’t my two favorite Penguins parents, in the most romantic caffeine stop in town.”
Eleanor flushed immediately. I shot Belle a look so sharp it could’ve stripped paint.
Belle blinked, all false innocence. “What? I meant the lighting’s nice. And the cookies are aphrodisiac-level good. Want one?”
“Belle,” I said flatly.
“Fine,” she said, smirking. “What can I get you, lovebirds?”
Eleanor laughed nervously. “Coffee, please. And maybe one of those magical cookies?”
“Coming right up.” Belle turned away, but I could hear her quietly humming Kiss the Girl under her breath.
I pulled out my wallet before Eleanor could even reach for hers.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said softly.
“I know,” I said. “But I want to.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “Thank you.”
Belle slid the coffees and two still-warm chocolate chip cookies across the counter with a wink. “On the house if you promise to name your firstborn after me.”
“Out,” I said, pointing toward the kitchen.
She laughed and disappeared through the swinging door.
Eleanor was still smiling as we found a small table by the window, the kind with mismatched chairs and a vase of fake daisies. The sunlight hit her hair just right, catching every shade of gold and copper.
I took a sip of my coffee. “So . . . are you from here originally?”
She nodded, stirring hers absentmindedly. “Yeah. Born and raised right here in Briar Glen.”
“Small world,” I said. “I moved here about ten years ago.”
“I left as soon as I could,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “But . . . life brought me back.”
I tilted my head. “Family?”
She hesitated, eyes flicking down to her cup. “Yeah. My mom. The Tremaines.”
Something in her tone made me pause. “Should I know that name?”
She groaned softly. “Probably. My family’s been here forever. Big donors, old money, old everything. Please don’t hold it against me.”
I smiled. “Noted. No judgment for your lineage.”
“Good,” she said with mock seriousness. “I left all that behind.”
I chuckled. “You don’t strike me as the type anyway.”
That earned me a small laugh, warm and genuine, and she seemed to relax a little.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Not exactly,” I said, leaning back. “I grew up a couple of hours south in a small town. Church on Sundays, church on Wednesdays, church for fun.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That sounds . . . intense.”
“It was,” I said, smiling faintly. “By eighteen, I thought getting married would solve everything. So, I did. At nineteen.”
Her eyes widened. “Nineteen?”
“Yeah,” I said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I was very sure of very wrong things.”
She tilted her head, curious but kind. “And now?”
“Now I’m sure of different things,” I said. “Like the fact that questioning what you were taught isn’t rebellion, it’s growth.”
Her expression softened. “That’s . . . really beautiful.”
I shrugged. “Mostly it’s messy. But I got a pretty great kid out of it, so I can’t complain.”
She smiled. “Leo’s wonderful. Ava adores him.”
“Yeah, he told me. Apparently, she thinks his tutu is ‘legendary.’”
Eleanor laughed. “That tracks.”
I hesitated for a beat, then added, “His mom and I still live next door. She’s remarried now to a woman named Mel. They’re both incredible. We share custody.”
Eleanor’s eyebrows lifted. “Ava actually told me that. She said Leo has one dad and two moms. She thought it was cool.”
“That’s because it is,” I said with a grin.
She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. “You seem . . . really happy.”
“I am,” I said honestly. “It took a while to get here, but yeah. Things are good.”
Something about the way she looked at me made the air shift between us. The world outside blurred a little, all warmth and low hums and the faint clatter of cups.
We fell into easy conversation after that. Books. The kids. The weird comfort of small-town life when you stop fighting it. Every minute stretched a little longer than it should have, easy in a way that felt rare.
Eventually, Belle reappeared, tapping her watch dramatically. “Hate to break up the coffee date, but rehearsal ends in five. Your tiny humans will come looking for you.”
Eleanor blinked. “Oh my god, I completely lost track of time.”
I laughed. “Me too.”
She gathered her cup, shaking her head with a smile that made something in my chest tighten. “Thank you for the coffee. And the cookie. And . . . the company.”
“Anytime,” I said quietly. “Really.”
We walked back side by side, our arms brushing just once, but it was enough to send a little spark through both of us.
And for a moment, it felt like the whole world was unfolding one little, sweet possibility at a time.