I grab the cake, plates, forks, and raspberry sauce, then head back into the dining room. Tate is looking at Jules the way I used to, like she’s the sun and the rest of us are just lucky to be in her orbit. And maybe that’s what wrecks me the most. He doesn’t remember when we were happy together. He doesn’t know what it felt like when she used to look atmethat way. Maybe I want another chance for myself. But more than that? I want my son to know that love doesn’t always have to end in regret.
I watch them for a second, soaking it in.
I have made a lot of mistakes where Jules and I are concerned. But I’m done making them. She can keep building walls, but I’m not going to be afraid to tear them down anymore.
I set the cake down and clear my throat. “Who wants dessert?”
Chapter Eleven
Jules
“I ordered a half-caff, half-decaf latte with oat milk and a dash of cinnamon sprinkled on top,” a woman in a sharp black power suit announces as I place a to-go cup on the counter.
I nod. “That’s what I made for you.”
“You call this a dash of cinnamon?” She gasps, ripping off the lid like I just served her mud water.
I glance at the foam. A perfectly reasonable amount of cinnamon stares back at me.
“Yes,” I say simply.
She scoffs. “A dash is alight dusting.This is a quarter-size sprinkle.”
I take the cup from her with a tight-lipped smile. “Let me fix that for you.”
“Good,” she sniffs.
Behind me, Connie lets out a dramatic eye roll. Most of the time, customers are friendly, but every once in a while, we get aSarah.And I’m not sure if Sarah is just having a bad day or if her personality is permanently set tohigh-maintenance,but coffee is supposed to bring people joy. It’s supposed to make the morning a little less… whateverthisis.
I remake the half-caff, half-decaf oat milk latte and, because I’m feeling just a little petty, I sprinkle the tiniest amount ofcinnamon. So tiny, I can barely see it myself. I snap on a lid and hand it back.
“Anything else I can get you?” I ask sweetly.
“Let me taste it first,” she replies, lifting the cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.
Taste.
The word hits me like a sucker punch.
Corbin’s lips trailing down my stomach, his voice husky against my skin.
“I want to taste you, Jules. It’s been so long.”
Heat rushes up my face. I clear my throat, willing the memory away.
Sarah hums in approval, finally satisfied with herlight dustingof cinnamon, while I try to remember how to breathe.
“I guess it’s alright,” Sarah finally says before her phone starts ringing. Without another word, she waltzes out of the coffee shop, already caught up in another conversation.
Connie watches her go, then shakes her head. “Why are some people so…” she trails off, searching for the right word.
“Unhappy?” I supply at the same time she says, “Rude.”
We share a look, and I let out a heavy sigh.
“You seem tense, boss.” Connie props a hand on her hip, her gaze sharp with concern.
I glance around the café, making sure no customers are within earshot, then lower my voice. “Honestly? I’m stressing out.”
