Chapter 38
When Sophia opens the door the next morning, I can tell something has shifted. There are still shadows under her eyes, but the grief that clung to her last night seems lighter. She’s standing taller, her shoulders pulled back like she’s decided she won’t let this break her.
“Hey, Lex,” she says, letting me in.
“Hey.” I slip off my coat and follow her into the living room. A glass sits on the coffee table, its bubbly contents sparkling next to one of the romance novels I’d given her. This book I recall has a fiery protagonist who resembled Sophia. Maybe it was serving as inspiration to get her mojo back.
“How are you feeling?” I ask when we’re seated on the couch.
“It comes in waves. But I’m trying to ride them out. I’m going back to work tomorrow.”
“That’s great, Sophia, if you’re ready. Just don’t rush yourself. It’s okay to take your time.”
“I know, but I don’t like being down.” She pauses, then adds, “C said I might want to consider talking to someone, like a counselor or therapist.”
“What do you think about that?”
“I think it could help. Like you said, the more I talk about it, the less power it has over me.”
I nod in encouragement. “That’s absolutely right.”
“Do you want a drink or anything?” she asks.
“No thanks. I’m going to stop at the café, but I wanted to see you first and tell you something.”
“That your father’s Theodore Townsen?”
I blink, caught off guard, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. “I didn’t want to keep that secret from you any longer.”
“C told me this morning. He told me everything—about your father and my dad.” She tucks her feet beneath her and picks up her glass.
“I never knew my dad, so I can’t feel what C does.
But now I get why he was so against me working for a big company.
I told him he might want to talk to someone too. That’s a lot to carry all this time.”
“You’re a wise one, Miss Sophia.”
She gives me a small grin. “It’s your story that gave me this boost, or whatever.”
“My story?”
“Yeah, the way you stood up to your father for C. So, like, maybe I can do that too—take on Drew Marshall.”
“You definitely can! You already did. But if I can protect you from having to confront him head-on and still make sure he pays—would you want me to?”
Sophia tilts her head. “How would you take him on without me?”
“It wouldn’t be without you. It’s still your fight. But I’d like to keep your name out of the press and avoid dragging you into a public scandal.”
“Well, yeah, if you can.”
“I can’t promise it, but I’m discovering I can be pretty badass when I need to be.”
She laughs, another sign of her resilience. “That’s what C said. He loves you, you know? Like, really loves you.”
“I do know, and I love him, too. That’s why I want to give him time to sort through all this.
We both need it. I’ve been thinking about getting counseling myself.
I’ve never talked to anyone about having anxiety or why I let my parents control me.
I’m sure there’s loads to unpack. Some healing sounds good for all of us. ”
“Yeah, I think so too.”
We talk for a bit longer, an easy deepening of our bond. I hug her at the door, promising to be in touch. I stop off to see Eva, who embraces me with unconditional acceptance, and then I head to the café.
March is sliding toward spring, and the day is milder than it’s been since I first arrived.
The coast feels serene, the sun glints off the rippling lake in a way that makes the water look like it’s breathing.
Normally, I would capture this view with my camera, then sit on a big rock and just enjoy.
One of the many reasons I love this town.
The other is standing behind the counter when I arrive.
The sight of him still causes flutters in my stomach.
You’d think these unruly butterflies would have mellowed by now, but nope.
I watch him smile with a customer—Cass and her ten-year-old daughter, Riley, who’s interested in guitar.
I’d come in for one of our coffee dates and found him showing her some of the basics to get her started.
That’s who Chaz is—generous and kind. He happens to be gorgeous too.
Funny how I was afraid of him when we first met. I couldn’t imagine being with a vibrant, sexy man who made latte art, had the voice of a god, and oozed charm through his pores. Now, I can’t imagine being without him.
As I step forward, tugging off my gloves, he looks over, catching me in those vintage-brown eyes.
The air seems to shift whenever we’re near each other, a sense of awareness I can only describe as the crackling of electricity.
He watches me for a moment in that direct, all-consuming way before flashing his grin—all dimples, with an extra bit of punch that’s just for me.
“Hi,” I say, catching my breath as I give him a finger wave.
“Hey, Blue.” He uses the nickname deliberately, a not-so-subtle reminder that nothing’s changed.
But, of course, it has. We can’t just pick up from where we left off, as tempting as that is.
Chaz deserves time to process my truth, to be certain he can get beyond who my father is.
And frankly, I need him to do that. When he looks at me, I don’t want him to see the pain of the past but all the possibilities of our future.
We need to move forward untainted by the shadows of our history, building something that’s just us.
Cass and Riley stop briefly to chat with me on their way out, and I say hi to Jamar before sliding over to where my favorite barista is standing.
“I was hoping you’d come by,” he says. “Can you stay?”
There’s something deeper in his voice that makes his question feel bigger than just coffee.
“Not this time. I’m returning to Chicago.”
The smile lines around his mouth disappear, but he nods like he was expecting it. “When?”
“Now. I need to take care of things as soon as possible. I spoke to Sophia about it. She’s going to be okay, Chaz.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “And what about us?”
“We’ll keep.”
He frowns, the space between his eyebrows creasing.
“Time apart will be good,” I say. “To deal with our stuff, you know? That way, when we come back together—without any secrets or barriers between us—we’ll be free to give this our all.”
“How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” he balks. “I was thinking more like days. Or hours.”
I smile sweetly at his disgruntlement. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“You did not just say that.”
“I did. It’s trite but true.” I shrug. “Will you make me a latte to go?”
“Yeah,” he grumbles, reaching for a cup.
I resist the urge to arrange the sugar packs on the counter.
They don’t have to be perfectly organized—and neither do I.
Instead, I watch Chaz at work, his movements fluid and practiced.
The bandana tied around his forehead holds back springy curls, and tattoos peek out from the scrunched sleeves of his sweater.
I’ve seen him like this dozens of times in the last five weeks, and it never gets old.
He belongs here, surrounded by the hum of the café, even if this isn’t where he imagined himself when he dreamed of being a famous musician.
Life threw a tragic spoke in the wheel of his plans.
Instead of letting it make him bitter, he built something incredible—for himself and for Sophia. Maybe there’s a place here for me too.
Rayne Persaud, the director of tourism for Bayside, reached out to me this morning about a travel brochure.
Chaz had shown her my photos, and she wanted to discuss buying some of them.
Even a week ago, I would have doubted myself.
I would have thought my work wasn’t good enough.
Now, I feel excited about my first commission.
Chaz slides the finished latte across the counter. I glance down at the foam art—lips dusted with cocoa powder. Curious, I pull out the napkin tucked beneath the cup.
The words scribbled on it make me laugh out loud.
“Britney Spears. Really?”
“Really.” He leans over the counter, his voice dropping to a soft, teasing whisper. “In case you were wondering, I wasn’t just talking about the coffee.”
God, I’m going to miss this man. I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him to me for a quick, impulsive kiss, heedless of who’s watching.
“Two weeks,” he says, low and firm as I release him. “Be back, or I’m coming to get you.”