Chapter 8
Henry
Ben is asleep by eight-thirty, worn out from his exciting day of scraping his hand and meeting his “new mom.” Definitely his words, not mine, and I’ve given up trying to correct him.
Kids get something in their head and it’s hard to get them to think otherwise, and honestly, he’s got me thinking I’d like what he wants.
I’m lying in my own bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the day. The way Willa smiled at me in the truck. The way she lit up with Ben. The way she said yes to the Valentine’s event without any hesitation.
My phone is on my nightstand, and I keep checking it like a teenager, hoping she’ll text again.
She doesn’t.
But that’s okay. Because tomorrow morning, she’ll walk through the door of my bakery, and I’ll hand her coffee, and maybe our hands will touch again.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something real.
Something lasting.
Something that could heal us both.
I fall asleep with a smile on my face, and when I dream, it’s of sapphire eyes and a smile that makes me believe in second chances.