Chapter Thirty-Four
CECE
CeCe pulled into her private parking spot in the small courtyard behind the café, her thoughts lingering over Abby’s words from earlier that day. What had she said about love? It’s worth cultivating, whatever the cost.
Her friend had made the claim with such heartfelt conviction, CeCe couldn’t help comparing Abby’s outlook with her own reticence toward any emotional risk.
A romantic future with Jayce finally floated within her reach, solid and tangible and oh so tempting. She could still taste his lips on her own and feel his fingertips cupping her face, firm and intentional, driven by an all-consuming desire she’d only ever experienced in her dreams.
Did she dare take the next step despite all the uncertainty? The answer had seemed so clear last night, before the doubts of daylight had crept in, threatening her fragile confidence. Especially considering he’d left so abruptly and still hadn’t called.
Mired deep in her thoughts, she trudged to the side entrance of the café, her heavy footsteps traversing the habitual path in the dusky haze of twilight. As she reached the dimly lit door, the streetlamps flickered to life, illuminating the shadowed alleyway.
That’s when she noticed the shrouded figure leaning against the side of the building.
The man straightened when he spotted her, his angular, stubbled features silhouetted in the soft amber glow of lamplight.
Her chest swelled, strangling her breath. Struggling to process the strange apparition, she blinked several times, waiting for the vision to vanish.
“Hi, chouquette.” The familiar yet foreign voice triggered a deluge of memories, like a beloved childhood melody unlocked from deep within her subconscious.
“Dad?” she asked warily, not trusting her own eyesight. How was it possible? She wanted to throw herself in his arms, to hug him tightly and never let go. But he couldn’t be real. Her brain simply wouldn’t accept such an outlandish scenario.
“You look nice.” His warm, wistful gaze slowly took in her appearance, as if he could picture his little girl behind the grown woman wearing a simple blue sundress, her unruly curls twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“Thank you. You look—” She faltered, still adjusting to the shock.
The man standing before her looked exactly the same as she remembered, even though she hadn’t seen him in several months.
Somehow, her father never aged. Or was it simply because she still looked at him with the eyes of youth, trapped in the past?
“Like I was buried alive?” He finished her sentence with a wry grin, making light of his traumatic ordeal as he brushed dust from his wrinkled khaki pants.
“Don’t remind me.” Her throat tightened, the worry still fresh in her mind. “I thought—” Once again, words failed her. She wanted to say, I thought I’d lost you . But, in so many ways, it felt as though she’d lost him long ago.
“I know.” He grimaced, his features etched in empathetic apology. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
“Have you seen Mama?” She still couldn’t wrap her head around how or why he’d materialized on her doorstep.
“She knows I’m here. But I came to see you first.” He hesitated, shuffling his feet. “May I come inside so we can talk?”
For a moment, CeCe merely stared. He’d come to see her first? So they could talk? Surely, she had to be imagining the surreal exchange. “Sure,” she said at last, unlocking the door in a daze. She stepped aside, so he could enter first.
As he slipped past her, she inhaled earthy notes of soil and sandalwood.
The strong urge to hug him struck her a second time, but she didn’t act on the impulse.
They hadn’t hugged since her childhood. She used to bury her face in the curve of his shoulder, her little hands wrapped around his neck.
She’d felt so safe, so content. Now, all these years later—after decades of emotional distance—she had no idea how to initiate something as intimate as an embrace.
And even if she did, how would he react? Would he hug her back?
She led her father into her apartment, trying to recall if he’d ever stepped foot inside her home before.
Only once, that she remembered, shortly after she’d bought the café.
The previous owner had offered her a generous arrangement that had allowed her to pay off the purchase price in installments over a ten-year period.
Partly because she’d worked as a dedicated employee since high school, and partly because the owners were eager to retire near their grandchildren in Michigan.
As she’d given her parents a tour of the café and upstairs apartment, excitedly detailing all her hopes and dreams for revamping the run-down space, she’d been so proud to show her father what she’d accomplished at such a young age.
Not many women ran their own business before the age of thirty.
But rather than extoll his praise, he’d spent the afternoon glued to his phone, distracted by updates from the team at his latest dig site.
At the memory, a surge of disappointment threatened to resurface, but she stifled the unwanted sentiment. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be wonderful. Thank you.” His gaze swept her apartment, surveying the cozy, mismatched furniture and eclectic decor, including her framed vintage Star Trek artwork. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” She filled two water glasses in the kitchen, strangely nervous as her father settled on the couch. What did he want to talk about?
From his perch on the opposite armrest, Spock raised his hackles, eyeing the intruder with a skeptical scowl.
“Still as friendly as ever, eh, Spock?” Her dad tried to pet the frosty feline, but Spock hissed, and he withdrew his hand.
CeCe stifled a laugh at the cat’s overprotective behavior. She may be willing to mend fences with her father, but Spock was slow to forgive.
She handed her dad a water glass then sat beside him on the couch, a cushion’s distance between them.
Spock nudged her arm as if to ask if she was all right. She scratched his head in response. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” she told her dad tentatively, “but what are you doing here? How are you here?”
He sipped his water then smiled. “It’s amazing how quickly you can get somewhere in a private jet.”
“A private jet?” she repeated, still not understanding.
Her father’s eyes twinkled. “That boyfriend of yours sure knows how to travel in style.”
“Boyfriend?” Nothing her father said made any sense. “Wait. Are you talking about Jayce ?”
“I sure hope so. Unless you have another boyfriend with a private jet I don’t know about.”
CeCe gulped her water, trying to wrap her head around the news. Jayce had flown to South America to see her father? Why hadn’t he told her?
“I deduce from your expression that you weren’t apprised of his plans?” her father asked.
CeCe shook her head, reeling as another realization struck her.
With Jayce in South America, he’d missed the award ceremony in Los Angeles.
And his meeting with the producer. Her heart squeezed at his selflessness, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about such a generous gesture.
Touched? Grateful? Guilty? Distressed by how much he’d sacrificed for her sake?
“What did Jayce tell you?” she asked, wondering what had possessed him to do something so drastic—and potentially detrimental to his career.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” CeCe balked. “He traveled all that way and said nothing ?”
“He asked me a question.”
CeCe raised both eyebrows, silently indicating she expected further explanation.
Her father set his glass on the coffee table, his countenance solemn. Shifting on the cushion to face her, he met her gaze. “He asked me what went through my mind the moment the excavation site collapsed.”
“I don’t understand.” CeCe frowned. “Why did he need to hop on a plane to ask you that?”
A knowing smile teased the corners of his mouth. “There may have been a bit more to our conversation, but I’ll leave the rest for Jayce to tell you. For now, all you need to know is Jayce’s question made me reassess my life in a profound way.”
“How so?” she asked cautiously, not daring to hope.
“They say when a person faces their final moments on earth, their life flashes before their eyes. Most notably, their deepest regrets,” he said.
“I expected my greatest regret to be related to my work—that I have yet to make the one career-defining discovery. Instead—” His voice cracked, his formerly rich, smooth baritone now a rough, dry croak, as if he’d swallowed sand.
“Instead,” he said again, with considerable effort to keep his words from warbling. “My one and only regret was that I hadn’t spent more time with you and your mother. That I may never get another chance to see your face or hear your laugh.”
A burning sensation tickled the back of her throat. She sipped her water, but it didn’t help.
“I realize I haven’t been much of a father to you over the last several years,” he continued, his gaze glassy.
“I’ve been absent. Distant. I told myself there would be time.
That I could dedicate myself to my work now—that I could leave my legacy—then settle down with you and your mother.
I convinced myself that you were happy. That your mother was right, and you were both better off here, where you belonged. That you didn’t need me.”
CeCe felt her own tears swell, and she blinked hard, determined to fight them off. Her father’s words weren’t a surprise—not after her recent conversation with her mother. And yet, hearing them aloud stung more than she expected.
“I’m sorry, chouquette. I should have fought harder to stay connected, to be in your life.
I’ve missed so much. I’ve missed you .” He attempted a small, sad smile.
“I’ve always considered myself a wise man.
But it took a young man half my age to reveal an obvious truth: I’d already found my two greatest treasures. And I’d foolishly left them behind.”
At his words, a tear escaped the corner of her eye and slid beneath her glasses, tumbling slowly down her cheek.
“My work is a part of who I am,” he continued softly.
“And I believe it’s a God-given passion.
But I also believe He’s called me to be a husband and father, first and foremost, and I’d lost sight of that calling.
It’s time I rectify that mistake.” He placed his hand on the cushion between them, palm facing up like an olive branch.
“I dig up the past so the things we learn from history can inform and shape the future—a better future. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to build a better future with you. ”
For a moment, CeCe studied his open hand through her tears, tracing every callous and scar. Each one told a story. A story of a man she barely knew. A man she desperately wanted to know. Now, she’d have her chance. And she knew exactly who to thank.
She slid her hand into her father’s.
His fingers folded around hers.
She wasn’t sure who moved first, but she found herself in his arms, her cheek cradled in the same comforting curve of his shoulder she recalled from all those years ago as a child. How was it possible that even as an adult, she still fit as perfectly in his embrace as she did in her youth?
For the next two hours, they worked on mending their relationship, chatting about anything and everything.
When she finally walked him to the door to say good night, her steps felt lighter.
He said he’d be spending a few days in town before heading back to Peru, but he planned to return in two months for a longer visit.
For the first time in years, she actually believed he’d honor his word.
After bidding him good-night—with plans to bake together in the morning, just like old times—she turned to head back inside.
A stack of papers sitting on the welcome mat caught her eye.
Her breath hitched.
Jayce’s screenplay! Had he finally finished it?
She scooped the script off the doormat and scurried inside.
Plopping onto the couch, she quickly flipped to the final pages.
Her heart racing with unfettered curiosity, she eagerly devoured each line, picturing the vivid setting of the café’s kitchen in her mind as the character, Alvera, narrated the scene in voiceover.
INT. THE UNCOMPLICATED CAFé – KITCHEN – DAY
CHLOE and JUSTIN kiss, sealing their commitment to one another.
A POT BOILS OVER on the stove behind them.
Unnoticed, ALVERA steps in and switches off the burner, a gentle smile on her face.
ALVERA (V.O)
And so it was that the complicated became uncomplicated once more.
She lifts a tray perfectly plated with an affogato and slice of coconut cake , previously prepared by Chloe.
ALVERA (V.O.)
Not safe or simple. But straightforward.
She exits the kitchen and walks toward a CUSTOMER seated at a cozy corner table.
ALVERA (V.O.)
An understanding that love— real love—casts out fear.
GENTLE RAINDROPS dapple the windowpane as Alvera sets the tray before the customer.
ALVERA (V.O.)
And when the storms come, we can face them
with faith, fortitude, and, if we’re lucky,
a creamy affogato and slice of coconut cake.
Alvera turns toward the camera.
She breaks the fourth wall and SMILES.
ALVERA (V.O.)
At least, that’s how we do it here
at The Uncomplicated Café.
She WINKS.
FADE TO BLACK.
With the giddiest grin—the kind that made her cheeks hurt in the best possible way—CeCe reread the last page, savoring each soul-quenching sentence.
Chloe had chosen love over the safety of Alvera’s spell. She’d weighed the risks and still offered her heart, without restraint.
CeCe couldn’t help drawing a comparison to Abby’s words from earlier, and the similarities made her laugh.
Spock mewed, nudging her hand, as if he wanted to be let in on the joke.
“God must think I have a pretty thick head,” she said with a smile. “He’s laying on the life lessons a little heavy today.” She scratched Spock behind the ears. “To be fair, I have been a bit dense.”
Spock mewed again in agreement.
CeCe chuckled. “Point taken. No more waffling. It’s time to be brave and tell Jayce how I feel.”
Spock purred his approval.
“How should I do it?” she asked, continuing to stroke his fur. “Have any bright ideas?”
To her surprise, he hopped off the couch.
“Some help you are,” she huffed.
Ignoring her, he swatted at an index card lying on the ground.
Cece frowned. How did that get there?
As she plucked the card off the carpet, her heart skipped. She immediately recognized Jayce’s handwriting. The card must’ve fallen out when she’d hastily rifled through the screenplay.
Meet me at Lighthouse Cove after your shift tomorrow. I’ll bring lunch.
Her mouth went dry. Lighthouse Cove. Their special spot. The spot where she’d planned to confess her feelings all those years ago, but Jayce never showed.
“Okay, God,” she murmured. “Message received.”
She knew what she needed to do.
If only she could predict the outcome.