Chapter 6
“Imight be going to the AdVantage Summit!” Sophia bounces up and down like she just found out Beyoncé was coming to town.
“Chloe thinks her company has an extra pass that she can get for me. Like, this is big. Huge. One of the biggest advertising events in Chicago. All the players will be there. Isn’t that awesome?
” She beams at me, waiting for my reaction.
The truth is, I don’t think it’s awesome at all. But ever since my conversation with Lexie two weeks ago, I’ve tried not to push Sophia about staying on at the café. Nonetheless, the topic remains a silent undercurrent.
I can do my usual and lecture her on how terrible I think the corporate world is, or I can keep my mouth shut and not ruin her excitement. Choosing the latter, I make myself nod as she continues to chatter while I finish an order with deliberate focus.
“Are you listening to me?” she huffs.
“I’m listening, Soph.” I hand her Mrs. Walters’ order. “Please take this over to her.”
Despite Sophia having her sights set elsewhere, she still dials it in when she’s here.
I watch her approach Mimi Walters and get a smile that isn’t seen that often.
Mimi was one of the first to complain about our “new-fangled coffees,” stubbornly sticking to her guns, but it was Sophia who got her to be a little adventurous and try a hazelnut latte. Now, it’s her drink of choice.
When Sophia comes back, her shoulders are slumped, her excitement deflated.
Because of me.
I finish loading the bean hopper and turn to her. She’s absently wiping the counter, circling in the same spot.
“I’m an ass,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
She faces me. “No, you’re not.”
I arch a brow.
“Okay, maybe just this much.” She pinches her finger and thumb together, a sliver of space between them.
“Look, Soph, I know I should be excited for you, and I promise I’m working on it. This is your dream, and instead of cheering you on, I’m . . . booing from the sidelines.”
“You’re booing?”
“Not literally. The point is, I want to encourage you, not hold you back. I’ll get better at it.”
“How come you’re saying this now?”
“Lexie said some things that got me thinking. I don’t want this to come between us.”
“That could never happen,” she says, echoing Lexie’s reassurances.
“We’re like, attached for life. I don’t want you thinking I’m turning my nose up at running the café with you.
What you’ve built here is ah-mazing, but my heart’s set on working at a top-tier advertising firm.
They have huge creative budgets, and I’d have the chance to climb my way up to an executive role. ”
While other kids were watching the Disney Channel, Sophia was glued to Mad Men and The Pitch, drawn to the glamor of advertising. So, as much as I want to protect her from the corporate big bad wolves, I have to let her make her own choices.
“I get it,” I say. “Just never let anyone dim your light, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I hope the ticket comes through for you,” I add, showing my support.
“Really?” She throws her arms around me, nearly knocking me off balance.
“Jesus, Soph.” I steady us and hug her back. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Yes, it is,” she insists. “So I have Lexie to thank for this?”
“Pretty much.”
“Invite her to my birthday dinner,” she says, pulling back.
“What? Why?”
“Introducing her to your family lets her know you want to be more than friends.”
“She already knows that. But ten non-dates later, and I’m still stuck in the Friend Zone.”
“Maybe you need to come on stronger; give her a little push.”
I shake my head. “I’m not crossing her boundaries. She’s had enough people disrespect her choices and what she wants. I won’t be one of them.”
“You’re right and such a good guy.” She pats my cheek. “But invite her anyway. I feel like it’ll be good for both of you.”
“Based on what?”
“Women’s intuition.”
I make a face, and she laughs. “Your baby sister’s gonna be twenty-two. Let that sink in.”
There’s a clutch in my chest as I look at her, all grown up. The trip from the little girl I used to sing to sleep to the young woman planning her life hadn’t taken nearly long enough.
But it’s here, which means I have my own life to lead. And it’s no surprise that Lexie fills those thoughts.
For the past two weeks, we’ve seamlessly slipped into a daily rhythm. We have morning coffee dates at our table and never run out of things to say. It’s all smiles and easy laughter.
Then there are the long evenings that stretch into long nights, filled with quiet walks and snowmobile rides. I took her to the graffiti tunnel, where she went from drawing to drawing, analyzing every detail and honoring the work like it was the Art Institute.
On our trip to the dunes, she marveled at the vastness of Lake Michigan and the peacefulness of its shores.
“Considering how much you like water, why didn’t you ever learn to swim?” I’d asked.
“My parents didn’t see the value. They sent me to deportment classes and etiquette training. I learned skills that would make me . . . presentable.”
I thought about how different our upbringings were. “That must have been tough. Did you ever get to just be a kid?”
“Not in the traditional sense. But I’m fortunate to have all that I do and grateful for the opportunities they gave me,” she said, like a script she was used to reciting.
It gutted me that nowhere had she listed love, affection, or fun. “It’s not too late to learn how to swim.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“I could teach you. There’s an indoor pool at the rec center.”
“I’ll think about it,” she hedged and shifted the focus from her. “You must miss being out there.” She indicated the lake.
“I do. But Dice and I managed to go kayaking last month. You haven’t experienced a cold like that until you hit those icy rapids. It’s a rush.”
“You really are an adventurer,” she observed.
“I can be. I haven’t climbed Mount Kilimanjaro or parachuted out of a plane, but they’re on my bucket list.”
“You have a bucket list?”
“Yeah. You don’t?”
“No, but I have a Fuck-It playlist if that counts.”
“Oh yeah?” That piqued my curiosity. “What’s on it?”
“Tons of songs, but the highlights are “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child, “So What?” by Pink, “Not Ready to Make Nice” by The Chicks, and “Control” by Janet. It’s an eclectic mix that I compiled for this trip.”
“Great choices. Like a middle finger to whatever is holding you back.”
“Exactly.”
“Then maybe instead of a bucket list, you need a fuck-it list.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked.
“Doing things just for the hell of it. Like, have you ever made a snow angel?”
“No.”
“What? That’s a critical rite of passage. Let’s do it.”
“Right now?” she asked, incredulous.
“Sure.”
“I’ll feel ridiculous.”
“That’s the point. Come on, live in the moment.”
“Okay, fine,” she relented.
Lowering to the ground, we lay down, side by side, and I started waving my arms up and down through the snow.
Lexie was hesitant at first, not used to being silly, but soon, she began mimicking my movements.
Her laughter rang out. The unguarded sound, pure and sweet, was like discovering the perfect piece of music.
But the night that comes back to me most often was at the retirement home.
I perform there once a month—just a few songs on my guitar for the residents.
Lexie had joined me, her camera in hand, quietly capturing moments most people wouldn’t notice: Mrs. Henley’s trembling hands as she clapped and Mr. Thompson’s eyes brightening when I played an old Nat King Cole tune.
Then there was Lexie herself. She wasn’t just taking pictures—she was there.
I watched her tuck a blanket around Miss Annabelle’s shoulders, comb her hair, and lean down to say something that made the old woman smile.
Later, when I saw the photo—Miss Annabelle, serene and peaceful—it felt like more than a picture. It was Lexie’s gift; she saw beauty most people miss entirely.
She’s still cautious, but with me, she’s growing more open. Every day, she trusts a little more. However, that damn boundary line is still a wall between us, and the more time we spend together, the blurrier that line gets for me.
I knew I’d fall for her. I just hadn’t expected it to feel quite so intense or happen quite so soon.