Chapter 15
Seth
The bell over the coffee shop door had barely finished ringing before I regretted walking in.
The Beanery smelled like cinnamon and espresso, warm and inviting, but the place was already buzzing. Regulars were swapping stories, tired contractors hunched over their mugs. I wanted caffeine, not conversation. Just a black coffee strong enough to keep me upright through another twelve-hour day.
“Black coffee,” I told the owner, Evie, if I remembered right, my voice rougher than I meant.
But of course, Madison had to be behind the counter.
“We have a menu, you know,” she said, hip cocked like she was waiting for a fight. “Some people like lattes, or tea, or literally anything that isn’t sludge in a cup.”
Typical Madison Cole. I’d forgotten how quick she was with her mouth, how easily she could ignite a spark under my skin.
“Sludge is what keeps me going.” I shot back.
She rolled her eyes and poured the coffee anyway, sliding the mug across the counter a little too forcefully for my taste. “One sludge, coming up.”
I caught it before it skidded too far, wrapping my hand around the warm ceramic. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Her nickname came out sharper than I intended. Old habits. Old sparks.
And then I heard it.
“Uncle Seth!”
Olive’s voice carried clearly across the shop. Every head turned my way. My spine went rigid.
The four-year-old was perched at the back table, crayons scattered around her like confetti, chocolate muffin crumbs smudged her cheeks. She waved at me with the confidence of someone who didn’t care that she’d just broadcast something I didn’t know how to handle.
Uncle Seth.
The title hit harder than I’d admit. I’d been called a lot of things in my life, boss, architect, pain in the ass, but never Uncle. Never something that tethered me to someone else in that way.
The shop was still too quiet. People were watching, waiting for my reaction. Madison’s cheeks flushed, her eyes wide and defensive, like she was ready to apologize or snap, depending on which way I responded.
I should’ve brushed it off. I should’ve corrected the kid, laughed, said something to deflect. That would’ve been the easy way out. Instead, I felt the corner of my mouth betray me. A smile, small, reluctant, but real, tugged at my lips.
“Hey, kiddo,” I said, lifting my mug in her direction.
Olive beamed at me, then turned back around, coloring like she’d just won the day.
And maybe she had. Because the truth was, I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at me the way that kid did, like I was safe, steady, worth trusting.
I took a long sip of coffee, ignoring the flutter in my chest. Grumpy.
Detached. That was my role here. Madison Cole’s storm had already landed on my property.
I couldn’t let her daughter’s sunshine undo me, too.
But as I leaned against the counter, listening to Olive hum to herself, I had the sinking feeling I was already losing that battle.