“Mom, please sit with us,” Tate pleads, swinging his legs under the table.
Jules stiffens. “I have to work, bud.”
“But Sarge and Connie are here,” Tate says. “Just for a minute?”
Her fingers tighten around the apron at her waist. She doesn’t want to. I can tell by the way her jaw tenses, the way her body is coiled like a spring.
“Please,” Tate tries again, softer this time.
She exhales through her nose. I already know—she won’t do it for me. But for him?
Jules lets out a slow, controlled breath. “Fine,” she murmurs, sliding into the seat beside Tate.
He grins, triumphant.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had French toast,” I say, breaking the thick silence.
Tate groans. “Dad usually eats egg whites. It’s so gross.”
Jules forces a smile for Tate’s sake, but her hands stay curled in her lap, her posture stiff.
“Not today,” I smirk, spearing a bite of French toast.
Silence settles over the table, thick and uneasy. Jules shifts in her seat, eyes darting around the coffee shop like she’s looking for an escape. I don’t know why she’s acting so strange, but Tate is starting to notice.
“When your mom and I were in college,” I say, nudging the conversation in a different direction, “we used to go to this little diner near campus and have ice cream for breakfast.”
Tate’s blue eyes go wide. “No way.” He whips his head toward Jules. “Mom, what kind did you get?”
Jules exhales, her lips twitching at the memory. She tries to fight the smile, but I see it in her eyes. The fondness,the warmth. “Vanilla with hot fudge and the biggest dollop of whipped cream.”
“And rainbow sprinkles,” I add.
Her gaze flicks to mine, and for a split second, we’re back there—two kids, reckless and in love, sharing sundaes in a worn booth, her laughter the only thing I ever wanted to hear.
But then, her expression shifts. Her smile fades. Her shoulders curl in slightly, like she’s trying to protect herself from the memory.
And I lose her again.
Tate pouts. “You never let me have ice cream for breakfast.”
“That’s because we don’t want your teeth to rot out,” I tease.
Tate giggles, but Jules doesn’t react. Instead, she crosses her arms over her midsection, holding herself together.
My chest tightens. “You okay?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
She swallows, nodding once. “Yeah.”
She’s lying.
I know her too well. The way her fingers press into her arms, the way she won’t meet my eyes. It’s all too familiar.
Last night, when I held her in her apartment, she didn’t flinch. She let me in, even if just for a moment. But this morning? It’s like night and day.
What changed?
I follow her gaze across the café, and the second her eyes settle on her brother, I have my answer.
