Chapter 6
Chapter six
Brynn
Iopen the door to Penny’s Café just before noon on Sunday, met with the din of conversation and the cozy scent of coffee and maple syrup.
The place hasn’t changed. Same chalkboard menu, same squeaky floorboard two steps in.
Like everything else in Cedar Falls, it feels more like stepping into a memory than a café.
Seeing Kate again has been a long time coming.
We’ve texted since the game—little things, surface-level—but sitting down face-to-face feels bigger.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
What if we’ve changed? What if her daughter doesn’t like me?
I want to believe we can pick up where we left off, but life has a way of shifting people apart while you’re busy looking the other way.
Still, I owe her this. And if I’m honest, I miss her more than I ever let myself admit.
I scan the dining room until I spot a tiny hand pointing from a corner booth. Kate sits beside her daughter, her face lighting up the second she sees me. She waves, her smile wide and undeserved.
As I make my way toward them, nerves gather sharp and quick. Evie watches me approach, her gaze cautious in that no-nonsense way kids have—already trying to figure out if I’m safe or strange.
When I reach the table, Kate leans in and gently nudges her. “Evie, say hello to Brynn. You remember her from the football game?”
Evie lifts her gaze. “Hello,” she whispers.
It’s soft, but it’s enough to loosen something tight in my chest.
“Hi, Evie.” I smile, keeping my tone light. “I like your dress.”
Kate stands and pulls me into a quick hug. “I’m so glad we’re doing this,” she says, settling back down and brushing crumbs off the table while rearranging a line of crayons in front of Evie.
“Me too,” I say as I slide into the seat across from her. “I’ve missed you. I’m sorry we lost touch when I moved.”
A server stops by and I order an orange juice—mostly for something to do with my hands. I tuck them under the table, hiding the slight tremble in my fingers.
“I’ve missed you too,” Kate says. “And don’t be sorry. I’m sure it was overwhelming, starting over in a new city.”
“It was,” I admit. “But I still should’ve called more. I think I told myself I needed a clean slate, but really, I was just avoiding how much I missed home. How much I missed you.”
Kate waves a hand, brushing it off. “Life happens. The important thing is you’re here now.”
She says it with such certainty, like the door never really closed—even though I know I was the one who locked it.
I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. I don’t deserve her grace.
When I left for Seattle, it wasn’t some grand, brave leap toward a fresh start. It was a slow retreat—a quiet unraveling that started long before I packed a single box.
Technically, I didn’t leave Cedar Falls.
I left my college town two hours away. But the real goodbye had happened earlier.
When things ended with Knox, when everything between us fractured.
After that, Cedar Falls felt too tight, too exposed.
Like the whole town could see the pieces of me I was trying to hold together.
So I kept my distance.
I told myself I was chasing something new, but really, I was running.
Running from the comfort of people who loved me in that suffocating, well-meaning way that made it impossible to breathe.
From the version of myself that had roots in too many places—this street, that diner booth, his bed.
From the ache of being known too well and the shame of not knowing who I was anymore without him.
And most of all, I was running from the fear that I’d never be enough for the life Knox was about to step into.
We all knew he would get picked up early in the draft.
The boy I kissed under the bleachers who would soon be wearing a pro jersey, and the spotlight that followed him felt blinding from a distance.
I couldn’t picture myself in it. Couldn’t imagine being the girl waiting on the sidelines, smiling for cameras, holding everything together while he chased greatness.
That wasn’t the life I wanted. Or maybe I just didn’t believe I was strong enough for it.
So I left before he could outgrow me.
Before he could realize that the girl with big dreams and a carefully scribbled five-year plan didn’t fit in the glossy pages of the life he was heading toward. I thought if I left first, it would hurt less.
Even now, saying his name is like pressing on a bruise.
The server returns to take our order, pulling me out of the spiral. I order more than I need, but Penny’s brunch never disappoints—and leftovers mean I don’t have to cook.
Evie’s busy organizing her crayons in a perfect spectrum, red to purple. Every so often, she peeks at me, then quickly back to her arrangement. I smile and give her a little wave. She doesn’t return it, but her mouth twitches like she might be warming up.
“She’s so big,” I say, turning to Kate. “I can’t believe I’m just meeting her now.”
Kate watches her with soft eyes. “I know. She’s four going on fourteen.”
“She’s beautiful,” I say honestly. “And clearly has a strong eye for organization.”
Kate laughs. “She takes her color-coding very seriously. Try switching the order and you’ll see chaos unfold.”
I glance between them, the question rising before I can talk myself out of it.
“So…can I ask something? You don’t have to answer. I just—who’s her father?”
Kate hesitates. It’s in the way her fingers curl around her coffee cup. Then she gives me a smile—convincing enough to pass, but not quite real.
“I’ll tell you everything. One day,” she says gently. “But today’s not that day.”
I nod, even though the curiosity tugs hard.
She gets up to grab napkins, and I look across the table at Evie. She’s been quiet, focused on extracting every blueberry from her fruit cup and lining them up like little soldiers.
I lean in. “Is this a blueberry inspection? Are they in trouble?”
Evie pauses, eyes serious. “This one’s mushy. He has to go.”
“Harsh, but fair,” I whisper. “We don’t negotiate with squishy berries.”
That earns me the tiniest smile.
“So what happens to him? Banished? Juiced? Sent to the fruit underworld?”
She giggles and pops it in her mouth like an executioner. “I ate him.”
I gasp. “Ruthless. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
She straightens in her seat, clearly pleased. “I have a good side too.”
“I can tell.” I lower my voice. “Let me guess. Your good side tells jokes and eats dessert before dinner?”
She nods. “And I can do a cartwheel.”
“Impressive. I peaked at somersaults in kindergarten.”
Kate returns just in time to catch the end of our conversation. “Are you recruiting her for a snack-fueled gymnastics cult?”
“Maybe,” I say, sipping my juice. “She passed the blueberry test.”
Evie grins and reaches for another berry, then picks up a crayon and slides it toward me.
“Draw something,” she says.
My heart folds in on itself a little.
Kate raises an eyebrow. “That’s a big deal. She doesn’t share crayons with just anyone.”
I pretend to dab a tear. “Truly honored. I’ve been granted access to the inner circle.”
Evie giggles. A peace offering, simple and quiet, from a child who sees more than she says.
I’m halfway through drawing a tragically bad cat—Evie kindly keeps her critiques to herself—when the bell above the door jingles.
Kate looks up, then freezes. Her eyes flick to me.
I already know.
Something in my stomach coils tight before I even turn. And when I do, I catch sight of Knox walking in.
Knox Dalton looks like sin wrapped in cotton.
Six-foot-two, all muscle, his Cedar Falls Football shirt clinging like it was made to honor every inch of him.
His jeans sit low, hugging thighs that should be illegal, and his ass—round, firm, rude—is the kind that inspires poor decisions and late-night confessions.
Brown curls peek from under his backwards cap. That scruffy beard of his shadows a jawline sharp enough to draw blood. He looks like a mistake I’d happily make again. Twice. Maybe more.
And then his eyes—warm, dark brown, the kind that know too much and say even more. Paired with that voice of his? Trouble. Always has been.
He doesn’t try to be hot. He just is. Effortless. Exasperating. Every woman within ten miles has probably imagined that t-shirt on her floor. I hate that I’m still one of them.
My traitorous heart stutters when his eyes land on me. For a second, neither of us moves. Then he nods. Not unfriendly. Just…controlled. That same damn nod he gave me at the game and at Gordy’s. Cool. Distant. Fine.
Cam, meanwhile, lights up. “Brynn!” He heads straight over. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
I stand and hug him. “Hey, Cam. Are you keeping Knox in line?”
“Trying. It’s a full-time job.”
I glance at Knox. He hasn’t moved. Just standing there, jaw tight, arms crossed.
Kate clears her throat. “Cam, want to sit?”
He shakes his head. “Just picking up food. We’re watching film at my place.”
The cashier calls out an order, placing a bag on the counter. Knox steps forward, pays in cash, then turns toward us.
“Kate,” he says with a nod. “Good to see you. Cam, you ready?”
Cam gives me a tight smile. “Catch you later, Brynn. Kate. Evie.”
Evie looks up smiling. “Bye, Cam.” He gives her a wink.
Then they’re gone.
I exhale slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath.
Kate watches me. “You okay?”
I fold the napkin in my lap. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She doesn’t answer. Just waits.
I cave. “I didn’t expect him to come in, that’s all.”
“Mmm.” Her tone is pointed. “I heard about Friday night. Sort of wild how you two keep crossing paths.”
“This is the best place in town for brunch,” I say with a shrug. “It’s not that strange.”
Kate gives me a look. “He looks good.”
“He looks...like Knox,” I reply, waving it off. “Same hat. Same arms. Same stubborn face.”
She laughs. “You used to like that face.”
“I’ve evolved,” I say.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious. I don’t see anything in him anymore.”
Kate arches a brow. “Really? Because you looked like you short-circuited when he walked in.”
I try to smile. “It’s not him. It’s just the history. Like muscle memory.”
But I know that’s not true.
He walked in, and some part of me I thought I’d buried came roaring back to life. I hate that I noticed how his shirt clung to his back. The way his stubble caught the light. The look in his eyes when he saw me.
I hate that I still want to know what he’s thinking.
Evie holds up my drawing with a frown. “This cat looks like it’s crying.”
I manage a weak smile. “Maybe it’s just having a rough Sunday.”