Chapter 7
SEVEN
ABBY
Not wanting to worry about the future or the pass, I press all thoughts of everything out of my head as I pull his head back down for a kiss.
Brendon’s hands slide up my sides, caressing my curves and coming to cup my breasts. I arch against his hard hands, and his thumb slides over my nipple, sending a fresh ripple of desire through me.
I moan into his mouth.
“Do you like that?” he asks between kisses, applying more pressure through the thin fabric of my shirt.
I nod.
“Should I keep going?”
“Please.” It’s the only word I can say as he removes my clothes and places his hands immediately on mine.
When his lips find my nipple, I want to cry out. I want to scream. But I don’t.
My daughter is sleeping down the hall. And she doesn’t need to walk into what’s happening here.
Instead, I bite my lip as his tongue and lips toy with nipples while his fingers find the apex of my thighs.
My fingers slide into his hair. Gripping tightly as the first tremblings of ecstasy shoot through me. Fast. Like lighting.
My first non-self-induced orgasm in years flows through me hard and fast. Twisting and turning my world upside down.
As my legs wobble, Brendon rises, lifting me once again and carrying me to my bed.
The aftershocks are still flowing through me as he removes his clothes. His eyes are steady on mine. But I can’t resist looking at his body.
The last time I saw him like this, his figure was still more boy than man. Oh, he’d had chiseled muscles thanks to his years of playing every sport.
But now he’s all man. A dark smattering of hair on his chest. Healed scars showing a lifetime lived serving his country.
I shake off the pang of sadness that shoots through me and I reach for him. He settles between my thighs. His condom-covered cock presses against me.
“Abby,” he whispers, cradling my cheek in his palm. “You’re like heaven.”
My heart aches at the words. We’re getting a little too close to breaching the wall I still have built around my heart.
So I do the only thing I can. I raise my hips and take him into me with one thrust. He fills me completely. Stretching me. Filling my body and my heart.
And as we move together, my name whispered on his lips, I focus on the pleasure he’s stirring inside of me, instead of the emotion growing in my heart.
If I let myself think about it too closely, I’ll panic.
So I don’t.
Instead, I focus on the small things. The manageable things.
The way the café smells like cinnamon and espresso and warmth when I unlock the door in the morning.
The way the bell above the door sounds exactly the same as it did ten years ago.
The way Brendon’s truck is already parked outside when I arrive, like he belongs there.
That last thought is dangerous.
I shove it aside and flip the sign to OPEN, telling myself this is just logistics. He offered to help with the loose shelving behind the counter. I said yes because it needed to be done and because I trust him with a drill more than I trust myself.
That’s it.
Nothing more.
He’s in the back when I come through, sleeves rolled up, toolbox open at his feet. The sight of him in my café hits me harder than it should. This place has been mine for years now. I built it from early mornings and second jobs and stubborn refusal to quit.
Letting him into it feels intimate in a way I didn’t anticipate.
“Morning,” he says, glancing up with a smile that still feels like a secret meant just for me.
“Morning,” I reply, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
He straightens, stretching his arms over his head, shirt tugging up just enough to be distracting. I avert my eyes immediately, annoyed at myself.
“You sure this is the only thing you want fixed?” he asks. “Because I noticed the back door sticks a little.”
I sigh. “You noticed that?”
He shrugs. “I notice things.”
I think of the way he noticed Daisy’s breathing on the ambulance. The way he noticed my hands shaking before I noticed myself.
“That door has been sticking for months,” I admit.
He grins. “Lucky for you, I’m very good with stubborn things.”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Careful.”
He laughs, low and easy, and the sound settles into my chest like something warm.
The morning rush hits soon after. Regulars trickle in, exchanging greetings, commenting on the weather. Brendon keeps to the back mostly, fixing shelves, adjusting hinges, staying out of the way but somehow present in every corner of the space.
I catch people noticing him. Curious looks. Speculative smiles.
Gigi comes in mid-morning, sunglasses perched on her head, scarf loose around her neck. Her eyes flick immediately to Brendon, then to me.
Oh no.
She waits until I bring her coffee, then leans in conspiratorially. “Is that who I think it is?”
I hiss under my breath. “Lower your voice.”
She grins wider. “So it is.”
“Gigi.”
“I’m not judging,” she says cheerfully. “I’m observing.”
From behind us, Brendon clears his throat. “Morning.”
Gigi turns like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life. “Hi. I’m Gigi.”
He smiles politely. “Brendon.”
She offers her hand. “I’ve heard… stories.”
I glare at her.
He shakes her hand anyway, amused. “All good ones, I hope.”
She tilts her head, assessing him openly. “Depends who you ask.”
I set the coffee down harder than necessary. “Gigi.”
She laughs and raises her hands. “Kidding. Mostly. Abby deserves good things.”
Her gaze lingers on him for a beat longer, something unspoken passing between them. Then she sips her coffee and lets it go, mercifully.
When the rush dies down, Brendon joins me behind the counter, handing me a rag.
“You missed a spot,” he says lightly, nodding to a smudge of espresso grounds.
I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“Only when invited.”
I wipe the counter, then glance at him. “You didn’t have to come help today.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply.
That’s becoming a pattern.
By the time Daisy gets off the bus that afternoon, the café is quiet again. She bursts through the door like a small hurricane, backpack thumping against her side.
“Mom!” she calls. Then she spots Brendon and skids to a stop. “You’re still here!”
He crouches automatically, arms opening. “Hey, kiddo.”
She launches herself into him without hesitation. He catches her easily, laughter bubbling out of him like it belongs there.
My chest tightens.
She pulls back, holding up a paper triumphantly. “I finished my project!”
“That was fast,” I say.
“I worked on it all weekend,” she replies proudly. “I added an ending.”
She turns to Brendon, eyes shining. “Do you want to see?”
“Absolutely.”
They sit at one of the tables, heads bent together, Daisy pointing animatedly at her pages. I busy myself behind the counter, pretending not to watch.
I fail.
Brendon listens like every word matters. He nods, asks questions, praises her spelling. When she finishes, he smiles at her with something dangerously close to awe.
“This is incredible,” he says. “You did such a good job.”
Daisy beams. “I want to read you the last part.”
“Okay.”
She clears her throat dramatically.
“‘My hero is brave and kind,’” she reads, “‘and he makes people feel safe. He saved me and he helps my mom and he makes us laugh.’”
I swallow hard.
Then she looks up at him and smiles, soft and unguarded. “I like when you’re here, Dad.”
The word lands like a gunshot.
The café goes utterly still.
Brendon freezes.
I stop breathing.
Daisy blinks, confused by the sudden silence. “What?”
“I—” My voice catches. I grip the counter, my pulse roaring in my ears. “Daisy, honey—”
Brendon gently sets her down, his hands steady even as his face goes pale. “Hey,” he says softly. “Why don’t you go wash your hands? We’ll talk in a minute.”
She hesitates, looking between us, sensing something she doesn’t understand. “Okay,” she says finally, backing toward the bathroom.
The door clicks shut.
The silence that follows is unbearable.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, panic flooding every vein. “She didn’t mean—she doesn’t—”
“I know,” he says quickly. “Abby, I know.”
But the damage is done.
My chest feels tight, my thoughts spiraling. Images crash through my mind unbidden — Daisy crying if he leaves, Daisy asking where he went, Daisy learning too young that people don’t always stay.
I can’t do this to her.
I won’t.
“I can’t let this happen,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I can’t let her get attached to someone who might leave.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not planning on leaving.”
“You don’t know that,” I say, my voice shaking. “We don’t know anything. And I can’t risk her heart like that.”
Hurt flashes across his face, quick and sharp. Then it’s gone, replaced by something more dangerous: resignation.
“I never wanted to hurt her,” he says quietly.
“I know,” I whisper. “That’s what scares me.”
He steps back, giving me space I didn’t ask for but suddenly need. “Maybe… maybe I should go.”
The word go echoes painfully.
He grabs his jacket, his movements controlled, too controlled. “Give her a hug for me.”
My throat closes. I nod because I can’t trust my voice.
At the door, he pauses, turning back once. “For what it’s worth,” he says, eyes steady, “I meant it when I said I’m not here to disappear.”
The bell jingles softly as he leaves.
I slide down against the counter, my legs giving out beneath me, and press my hand to my mouth to keep the sob in.
In the bathroom, Daisy turns on the sink, humming softly, blissfully unaware that the word she just said might have changed everything.
And all I can think is that I’ve just proven I still don’t know how to let this love stay.