Page 7 of Small Town Daddy

"Look, Marcus," Brett said, his voice gentle. "I'm not trying to push you. I know you’re not gonna drop dead. That’s not the point. But I can see you’re lonely. I can feel it. I hate seeing you like this, you know?"

I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "I know you mean well. It's just . . . complicated."

More complicated than my brother could know.

I glanced at Brett, his earnest face so open and unburdened. Sometimes I envied his ability to wear his heart on his sleeve,to dive headfirst into life without the constant second-guessing that plagued me. But I'd learned early on that vulnerability could be a weapon turned against you.

I turned away, busying myself with a nearby display of screws. The cool metal between my fingers grounded me but couldn't stop the flood of memories. Emily's laugh, bright and carefree. The plans we'd made, dreams of a future that now felt like a cruel joke.

"You okay?" Brett's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Yeah," I lied, arranging the screws with unnecessary precision. "Just thinking about inventory."

But I wasn't. I was thinking about the night Emily had shattered everything.

"I thought I'd grow into it," she'd said, her voice so casual it felt like a slap. "But it's just not me. I was wrong."

The dismissal of something so deeply personal, so integral to who I was, left me reeling. I'd opened up, shown her the most vulnerable parts of myself, and she'd treated it like trying on a new outfit.

"Marcus?" Brett's hand on my shoulder startled me, brought me back to reality. "You sure you're alright?"

I forced a smile. "Just got lost in thought for a second. No big deal."

I lied to him, just like I’d lied to myself so many times.

It was a big deal. The biggest. The memory of that night still stung, making me question everything. Had I been a fool to believe her? To think someone could truly understand and want that nurturing dynamic I craved?

The longing for a connection where I could let down my guard, where being protective and caring wasn't seen as overbearing or old-fashioned. I'd hoped Emily was that person, someone who understood that my need to take care of others was as much a part of me as the color of my eyes.

"Listen," Brett said, his voice low. "I know things ended rough with Emily. But not everyone's like that."

The thing is, he didn’t know. No one knew what had really happened between Emily and me. I’d told my brother the same thing I’d told everyone—that we’d drifted apart.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. How could I explain the fear that had gripped me? The worry that I'd open myself up again, only to be laughed at, dismissed?

How could I ever explain the person that I was?

"Thanks," I managed finally. "I just . . . I need to focus on the store for now. You know?"

Brett squeezed my shoulder. "I get it. Just don't shut yourself off completely, okay?"

I met his gaze, seeing the genuine concern there. "I'll try," I promised, meaning it despite the doubt that gnawed at me.

As Brett headed for the door, I called out, "Hey, thanks for the coffee. And . . . you know, for caring."

He grinned. "What are little brothers for?"

Brett paused at the door, his hand on the handle. "Oh, by the way," he said, turning back to me. "I saw Lucy Bennett at The Daily Grind this morning."

My head snapped up, surprise jolting through me. "Lucy? She's back in town?"

"Yep," Brett nodded. "Seems she's here to sort out her dad's place after he passed."

A flood of memories hit me. Lucy, the girl next door with her wild auburn curls and mischievous grin. I hadn't thought about her in years, but suddenly I could picture her clear as day, always with that sketchbook tucked under her arm.

"Damn," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "That's tough. Her dad was a good guy."

Brett leaned against the door frame. "Yeah, she looked pretty overwhelmed. Mentioned something about renovations."

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