Chapter 22 Espresso
ESPRESSO
MORGAN
I Can’t By Caitlyn Smith (Ft. Old Dominion)
The smell of coffee hits me the second I step into the kitchen.
I freeze, eyes narrowing at the sleek new espresso machine sitting on the counter—my recent splurge, my tiny rebellion, something just for me. The used portafilter, the stray grounds, the splash of dark liquid on the drip tray—someone got to it first.
Christian leans against the counter, shirtless, cradling a cup of espresso.
Like we’re in our old brownstone. His chest is leaner than I remember but no less familiar, the smattering of hair trailing down his taut stomach, dipping below the waistband of his jeans—and for one breathless second, I remember when things were good.
The late mornings. The whispered jokes. The way his hands used to find my waist as I made breakfast.
I shake the memory off, hard. Because this isn’t Brooklyn, and nothing’s the same. This kitchen, this condo, this life I’ve carefully rebuilt piece by piece since the divorce—it’s mine. And here he is, casually invading it.
“Finally got yourself one of those fancy espresso machines you always wanted,” he says, raising the cup in a mock toast.
“The one you talked me out of getting,” I remind him, a hint of resentment in my tone as I grab a mug of my own.
“Because the place you liked was on your way to work,” he says, smiling like that should settle it.
“No. It was convenient…” I stop myself before I fall down a rabbit hole. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You should put a shirt on,” I say. My condo feels smaller with him in it, the air charged with memories I’ve worked hard to pack away.
“Oh.” He shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re right.”
“Why are you here?” I ask, pulling together Hazel’s stuff for the day, focusing on the routine to keep my hands steady.
“I told you last night.”
“Why are you really here?”
His smile dims. “I wanted to see my girls.”
I exhale hard. “I’m not your girl anymore.”
“Come on, Morgan. We were married. We share a daughter. You’ll always be my girls.”
I’m about to snap when Hazel’s little feet pound down the hall.
“You’re still here!” she shouts, launching at him.
He catches her, spins her around, and she giggles like it’s Christmas morning. And just like that, the sharp edges of my frustration dull. It’s hard to hate him when she loves him so much.
“I thought I dreamt you!” she says, breathless.
And that? Hurts in a way I don’t have words for.
“Of course I’m still here,” Christian laughs, shrugging it off.
“Did you see my butterfly wings?” Hazel bounces over to the coffee table, our little project from last night abandoned when Christian walked through the door.
“They’re beautiful, Peanut,” he says, taking a seat on the couch while Hazel lifts up the designs.
“Are you coming? Is that why you’re here?”
“Coming to what?” He looks to me to explain and I brace for the shame to flood through me.
“My ballet recital,” Hazel says. “Mommy can’t go, but you’ll be there, right?”
And there it is, right on cue.
“You’re not going?”
“It’s the same night as the showcase I’ve been working on for months,” I tell him, the familiar guilt rising like a tide.
“You’re coming, right?” She bounces on her toes, her little tongue sticking out excitedly.
He looks to me for support, but I don’t give him any. As much as it pains me, I can’t help him. I can’t even help myself.
“When is it?”
Hazel shoves the flyer at him.
“I’ll see what I can do, Peanut.” He tussles her hair.
“I thought I told you to get dressed twenty minutes ago,” I say, trying to sound like I have it together. “We have to check out the new preschool today.”
“I thought I could spend the day with her,” Christian offers, hopeful.
Hazel lights up. “Yay! No school!”
I rub my temple. “We can’t just change plans because you decide—” I look at Hazel, bite my tongue as the fight starts to ebb out of me. “I set this up for today.”
“Can’t you move it? I just got here. I want time with Hazel.”
“I can’t drop everything because you decided to make a surprise appearance.” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I’m still reeling from finding him in my kitchen, using my things, undermining my plans.
“I wanna stay with Daddy!” Hazel shrieks, bouncing in his arms.
I close my eyes. Pick your battles.
“Fine. I’m rescheduling for tomorrow.”
Christian’s about to say something, but I cut him off. “Hazel, get dressed, please.”
She pouts but listens, padding off.
“How long do you plan on staying?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.
“I’m not sure. I guess that depends…” His gaze flickers around the condo. “If I’m welcome.”
I sigh. “Of course you’re welcome.” I start tidying up, wiping counters that don’t need it. “Was the guest room okay? Enough blankets?”
“It was fine.” He watches me, then reaches out, resting his hands lightly on my arms. His cologne, familiar and infuriating. “Morgan—”
Hazel barrels in. “Can we go to the park?”
I glance at the clock. “I need to go.” I hesitate, looking between Hazel and Christian. “Are you gonna be okay with her?”
“Of course,” Christian laughs. “I’m her dad.”
“I know.” I grab my bag. “But you’re not from here. There isn’t public transportation.”
“I have a rental car and GPS. We’ll be fine. Right, Peanut?” He puts his arm around her.
Hazel beams. I head for the door.
“I’ll be home at five,” I pause, my hand resting on the door handle, “seven at the latest.”
“Some things never change,” he teases but it lands square in my chest.
“I’ll be home at five,” I say sternly.
“Morgan?” Christian stops me. “What do I feed her for breakfast?”
* * *
I sink into my chair, the city stretching out beyond the glass, and for a second, I sit there, trying to breathe. Christian showing up last night was enough. But finding him this morning using my espresso machine like nothing’s changed? Like we’re not a few thousand miles and a divorce apart?
I don’t have the mental capacity this morning to go over the budget like I’d planned, so I call Ava.
She answers on the second ring, voice dripping with mock drama. “You’ve reached Ava Ramirez—model wrangler, professional chaos coordinator, and miracle worker for a boss who keeps forgetting I’m not a magician. How can I help you today?”
I huff out a laugh, despite myself. “You forgot my only link to sanity.”
“Oh, right. I’ll have that added to my business cards.”
“Hollow Reign is coming in this morning. I’ll walk them through the designs and get you their measurements after they meet with the tailor this week in L.A.”
“You didn’t call to talk wardrobe.”
“How do you do that?” I sigh.
“Add psychic to my business card too,” she laughs.
I exhale, leaning back. “Christian’s here.”
“As in, sign on the dotted line, you are now an ex-husband, Christian?”
“I walked into my kitchen this morning, and there he was. Shirtless. Drinking my coffee.”
She makes an exaggerated sound. “Not the espresso machine.”
I exhale slowly. “This place just started to feel like home, and then he shows up and I don’t know…
” I trail off, the reality of his presence still sinking in.
For months I’ve been carefully building this life, this sanctuary for Hazel and me, and now he’s here, rearranging things with his easy smile.
“Oh, honey. Well, Christian was always dangerous with his shirt off. He could sell virtue at a strip club with those abs.”
“Ava,” I groan.
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not helping.”
“Okay. Well, what does he want?” Ava asks.
I rub my temples. “I don’t know. He just showed up. Hazel’s over the moon, and I don’t know how long he’s staying, and I’m pissed he didn’t ask. And I’m worried about her, because of course her recital is on the same night as the showcase. The universe has it out for me, I swear.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What do you mean? I’ve been planning the showcase for months. I have deals planned that hinge on its success. I can’t go to the recital. It’s impossible,” I explain.
“How did Hazel take it?”
“Classic four-year-old tantrum with a guilt trip to last me well into my forties.” I pinch my forehead.
“Tell me I should have kids again,” she teases, and I actually laugh.
“It’s not the kids you have to worry about. It’s the ex-husbands you need to avoid,” I laugh.
“Slow down, I need to have a date first before you start loading me down with ex-husbands.”
“Of course Hazel asked Christian to the recital.”
Ava makes an exaggerated gasp noise. “Is he going?”
“Who knows. One thing is certain, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces. Again.”
Ava softens. “You always do.”
“And I’m tired, Ava.” My voice cracks a little. “What else is going to come crashing down? The showcase has to succeed for Left Turn to stay viable.” I pause because I don’t want to think about it.
“Speaking of the showcase, how’s elevator boy?” Ava asks, like she’s been waiting to get there.
I laugh. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Morgan—”
I can’t keep anything from Ava, plus I need someone to ground me because I feel like I’m about to fly off a cliff.
“There was this night,” I admit, closing my eyes.
“At the club we had this moment and it’s like I finally saw him as the same kid I grew up with.
Like the mask of a power executive came off, and he was Dylan again,” I recall.
“And?” Ava prods.
“I let him—God, I let him finger fuck me like a teenager in a dark hallway of a club. I don’t know who I am with him.”
She’s quiet for a beat.
“Okay, first of all, I’m gonna need the full story in detail later. And second, good for you.”
“Ava.”
“No, seriously. You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your back, and if someone makes you feel alive for five minutes, take the damn five minutes. Just… don’t get lost in it. Don’t let it mess with your head.”
“It’s too late for that,” I mutter.
“Morgan, you’re the most responsible person I know but sometimes you need to let go. Just keep your eyes open,” she reasons. “And tell Christian to keep his damn shirt on.”