Page 2

“You’re lovely.” Carlos tucks his notebook into the front pocket of his apron, his words more sincere than I deserve.

I blink back to the present and out of my boulder, redheaded dream. “I don’t know about lovely. I’m okay.”

“You’re more than okay. You’ve got so much going for you,” says my waiter friend who truly doesn’t know all that much about me. I mean, except for my drink order and what I like to read. “What do you do again?” Carlos narrows his brow and sits in the chair across from me. He folds his hands together on the table, studying me, like a patient, determined uncle.

“Um.” I swallow. “I’m sort of in between jobs. But I’ve always wanted to teach.”

Carlos leans back in his seat and nods. “See? That makes sense. You’ll be a great teacher. You’ll be painting rocks with five-year-olds every day and changing the world before you know it.”

I scoop my hair behind one ear, tracing my fingers over the scar at my temple once more. “I was thinking secondary education. Maybe English or History.”

“I can see that too. Though you might have all those teenage boys crushing on you.” Carlos winks, chuckling to himself. “Let me know if you think of a good day and we’ll arrange a meeting with Partida.”

I do want to visit with her.

That doesn’t mean I will. I’m very aware that my anxiety may get the best of me. Panic attacks and I are tight these days. But I promise to look at my calendar—my very open calendar.

I watch him walk two tables down and ask the redheaded man if he’d like anything else. The man leans near my friend and says something so low, I can’t hear a thing. That feels unfair. I’m pretty sure he was privy to Carlos’s and my entire conversation just now.

He gives Carlos his credit card and my friend turns for the indoor part of the café. When the man looks my direction, I’m startled enough to hold eye contact. He smiles once more, this time right at me. Gosh, it’s a nice smile. Then he nods as if we’re in some old Audrey Hepburn movie and we’re greeting each other across a crowded room.

In fact, we are outdoors, and besides Carlos, it’s very much just the two of us.

Still, pulse thrumming, I nod back. Then I slink into my chair and put my nose back in my book.

Five minutes later, Carlos is at my side. I look up at him, refilling my cup, and in the process, I notice the redhead has left. He was so quiet. I didn’t even hear him go. I’m alone again.

Alone. Again.

“Your brunch is taken care of, Miss Rosie.”

My forehead furrows. “What? No.” I shake my head. “Carlos, you can’t do that. Save your money⁠—”

“It wasn’t me.” He winks conspiratorially, then glances back at the redhead’s empty seat.

Two

I shove my hands into my pockets and peer across the street at the Sugar Pine Café.

Sliding into the cab of my Audi, I inhale and count to myself. One, two, three.

I spend a lot of time breathing these days. Listening to my breaths, counting my breaths, holding my breath, not holding my breath, focusing on my breath. Apparently breathing is vital to one’s mental and physical health.

My fingers curl around the spine of my book until my knuckles turn white. I drop my gaze from the café front, close my eyes, and breathe.

My eyes open a sliver, and I see just the spine of my book. Brothers in Ash and Iron.

She made me read this book. Long ago. She told me it would change how I thought about loyalty and forgiveness. She was right.

I flip to my one dog-eared page and read aloud: “A man may be loyal to his flag; he still must decide where his heart belongs.” It was my favorite quote. She told me to highlight it. I told her she shouldn’t graffiti inside a hardback. She looked at my dog ear and told me I shouldn’t deface perfectly good books.

I smirk with the memory and wipe away the tear it produces.

Clearing my throat, I sit up straight, start my car, and drive away.

Callum and Fran only live ten minutes from the café. I make it there before my throat has a chance to stop aching. I sit in my car a minute longer, letting the sting subside.

I’m halfway up the walkway when Fran opens the door. She tilts her head, her brown bob touching just the top of her left shoulder. “How did it go?”