5. Ta-da #2
“Every day. However, I missed her more when she was here. The last few years, she’s been different.
Quieter. Withdrawn. When the place first opened, her voice would carry from the kitchen into the cafe, always singing a different song.
She’d dance around with a mixing bowl on her hip, whisking up her latest concoction, completely carefree.
Her laugh when I caught her lit up her whole face.
Nothing made her happier than running this bakery, and nothing made me happier than watching her soar. ”
He tugs at the hair net covering his beard, slipping it off and wringing it in his hands, visibly uncomfortable from the memory. I’m not expecting him to continue, but he lets out a long sigh and pushes on.
“I wish I’d noticed the shift in her sooner; maybe then things wouldn’t have gotten so bad. It took months before I realized she didn’t sing anymore. Instead of catching her dancing, it was her crying at the sink.”
I search my brain for the right words to say, but everything feels wildly insufficient.
I can’t imagine how hard that must be, watching his little sister struggle.
They’re obviously incredibly close. The fact he’s here, keeping this place running, keeping her dream alive, taking care of her kid like it’s not even a question—it tells me everything I need to know about what sort of man Owen McKay is.
“You can’t put that on yourself.” I move around the counter, resting my hand on his forearm, and squeeze gently until he turns his attention to me. “Delilah is getting the help she needs. She wouldn’t be able to focus on her recovery if the cafe and Annabelle weren’t in such capable hands.”
He covers my hand with his, the touch sending little sparks of electricity crackling along my skin, before he lets go and clears his throat behind a fist.
“What about you?” he asks, stepping back, a change in topic clearly needed. “Any siblings?”
“Only child,” I answer. “I was enough to put my parents off any ideas of trying for another. It would have been cool to have a younger brother, though.” Like having a built-in friend for life. Someone to love me despite all my flaws.
I don’t voice that vulnerability, however.
I’ve learned the hard way, in my twenty-four years, that people will take advantage of your slightest insecurity.
Not that Owen fits the usual mold—still, I’ve always been a terrible judge of character.
Truth is, I struggle with getting close to people.
Or, more accurately, I struggle with convincing people to let me get close to them.
While I crave connection more than I crave well…anything, somehow that deep want has never been quite enough. Intentions only get you so far, especially when they’re one-sided.
I did have a few friends back home. Although, hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, the word now seems a bit of a stretch.
I’m by no means an expert, but I imagine a friend would call if they hadn’t heard from you in a few weeks.
Apparently, I’m not worth a single text.
I’d be willing to bet a small fortune I don’t have that no one’s even realized I’m gone.
“And your parents? Have you let them know where you are?”
“No. They haven’t called looking for me either.”
I’m expecting pity when I catch Owen’s eyes, but I’m shocked to discover something closer to dismay. There’s a question there I’m not prepared to answer. At least not yet, not to basically a stranger. I pull in a deep sigh and shake my head. Luckily, he understands to leave that confession alone.
It bothers me more than I should let it, how unconcerned my parents seem to be.
Two days after I left, I got a single text from my mother asking if I’d be missing dinner a second night in a row.
The risk of cooking too much food was far more of a concern than the fact that her only child hadn’t been home in several days.
I’d thumbed out a quick response while blasting ninety down Route 90, something along the lines of Needed to get out of town for a bit. She’d only hearted the message, zero follow-up questions or attempts to contact me since.
She probably thinks I’m with Declan, and my parents have never hidden how they feel about him. Not because he’s a guy; homophobia would be too cliché. Because they thought the relationship was a waste of everyone’s time. Finley, men like him don’t settle for guys like you.
I’m not sure what hurts more: the lack of support or the fact that, ultimately, they’d been right.
My stomach twists painfully at the memory of his parting blow. How much rejection he’d been able to pack into a few short words. The look of abject horror on his face when I’d dared to call him mine.
We’re not boyfriends, Finley.
I hold back a broken laugh at how foolish I’d been. So silly of me to think the man I’d been sleeping with for two whole years could possibly want more. When has anyone ever wanted more?
What? Did you seriously think we were exclusive?
The oven timer dings. I push the thought back into a mental box labeled “things to never think about again,” moving on autopilot as I place the finished muffins on a rack to cool.
I’ve already spent more mental energy on Declan and my parents than they probably deserve.
I left home to get away, to maybe find the parts of myself I didn’t know were missing.
I can’t do that if I keep living in the past.
If anything, all of this has taught me one important lesson: I’ll never make the mistake of putting my heart on the line again.
But then Owen appears at my side, wearing an expression that says he can see right through me.
His voice is gentle as my eyes rise to meet his, sincerity cradling every word.
“I won’t push, Finley, but if you ever want to talk about it—or anything at all—I’ve got ears.
” He gives me that playful smirk that is quickly becoming my undoing.
“Just make sure I turn my hearing aids on first.”
The laugh and wink that follows has my foolish heart skipping, all too willing to make that same mistake over and over and over again.