Page 112 of The Best I Never Had

He chuckles, running his lips down my neck. “You know I’d make it good for you.”

A screeching wail makes us jump apart, and we spot Camila at the entrance to the restaurant with her eyes narrowed on Owen. “Get your sneaky, poaching ass out of my restaurant. You can’t have her.”

Camila and Mira’s four-year-old, Riya, comes flying toward me, throwing herself into my arms with complete abandon, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that I’ll catch her. I’ll never get over how freely this little girl’s trust is given.

She presses her forehead to mine. “Mama said a bad word.”

“I heard,” I whisper back.

Riya beams up at me. “Hi, tía Tia,” she says, and the two of us dissolve into giggles.

My heart almost exploded the first time Riya called me Tia, the only other person besides Addy who calls me that. And when she got older and realized my nickname is Spanish for “aunt,” she started calling me tía Tia, laughing so hard each time she said it that her little body collapsed under the weight of her joy.

Owen lifts his hands, walking around the podium for his standoff with Camila, who’s still glaring at him like he’s public enemy number one. “So you no longer believe Thea should know all her options?”

She points an aggressive finger in my direction. “She’s my employee.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “She’s my wife.”

It’s been four years, but him saying those words still sets off a round of butterflies inside me.

“You can’t take her,” Camila growls.

“You can’t stop me,” he says, leaning against the hostess stand, all casual confidence.

When Owen started his bakery up here, it was a grab-and-go place. Mostly cupcakes and pastries. He did a lot of custom orders—wedding cakes and special events sent his way by Dawn—but there was no need for anything beyond a couple picnic tables out front.

News spread about his breakfast pastries, especially his incredible cinnamon muffins that half the town would gut each other over, and people started begging for a place to eat and enjoy a cup of coffee. A few weeks ago, he closed on a new location that includes a café space, and Camila became convinced he’s going to steal me away to run it.

I’d never leave our restaurant, and Owen knows that. I’ve built something special here. Camila and I started a monthly town dinner to bring people back up the mountain, where we set up massive communal tables so everyone can get together and gossip about Elk Ridge life. I’ve partnered with the vineyard on wine-pairing dinners that guests and townsfolk alike love. The restaurant is flourishing, and I’d never leave my baby.

But Owen can never pass up an opportunity to fuck with Cami.

I lift Riya up on my shoulders, stepping between the two of them. “Camila, please don’t murder my husband. And Owen, please stop riling up my boss. You know I won’t leave.”

“Oh, I will kill him, becau—” Camila cuts off as she processes my words. “Wait, you aren’t considering going with him?”

I set Riya down, and she immediately jumps into Owen’s arms instead.

I face Camila, planting my hands on my hips. “Oh, ye of little faith.”

“But last night, Owen said…” she trails off, narrowing her eyes on him. “You’re such a liar.”

She chases him out of the restaurant, and I hear his laugh echoing through the inn. I love how carefree he’s become since moving here. By the time I make it to the lobby, Owen’s standing near the front desk, holding a giggling Riya between him and Camila like a shield.

Camila snatches her daughter out of his arms and places her back on the ground. “I still don’t trust you. You’re lucky I don’t kick you out.”

“He’s here to meet Harrison and Addy,” I say, and Camila twirls to face me.

“The babies? I thought they weren’t coming until tomorrow!” Camila screams and, as if on cue, a matching scream floats in through the open front door.

Addy and Harrison’s oldest, Jackson, sprints in, tackling Riya in a giant hug. With only seven months between them, they’ve always been close. One of them demands a video call every other day, which is mostly just them pointing the camera directly up their noses and not speaking.

Addy comes in, corralling their sweet three-year-old and toddling two-year-old. Camila does her best Jackson impression and half tackles Addy in a hug, whose booming laugh turns into that perfect, ridiculous snort.

My heart swells, seeing the genuine love between them—how comfortable Addy’s become with all the Ellises in the past half decade—but I’m only so patient. I yank Camila off her. “Give me my sister, you hog.”

I wrap my arms around her and she squeezes back, so tight I don’t think either of us can breathe properly. “I’ve missed you, Tia.”