Page 49 of The Coffee Bar on Camellia Court

Leonard crossed the threshold, his gaze sweeping over the warmly lit interior with its polished wood tables and comfortable seating. "Nice place you've got," he said, hands fidgeting with his cap. "Real nice."

"Thank you," Juno replied, not warming to the compliment. She moved behind the counter—a physical barrier between them—and watched as he took in the gleaming espresso machine, the display case currently empty of the pastries she'd put out later.

"Been a long time," he ventured when she offered nothing more.

"At least ten years," Juno agreed, her expression neutral. "What do you want?"

Leonard sighed, the sound heavy with what might have been regret, though Juno knew better than to trust it at face value. He'd always been good at appearing contrite when it suited him.

"I've been sober for almost two years now," he said, meeting her eyes directly. "Working a program. Making amends where I can."

Juno raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying the implied question—would she allow him to make amends to her?

"I know I was a terrible father," he continued when she remained silent. "I—I was a monster. A man ruled by his vices." He paused, swallowing visibly. "And I know I did horrific things to you and your mother."

Juno had to clench her hand into a fist to stop herself from touching her face. How many times had she tended to her mother's split lips and black eyes? Her father rarely left any bruises on Juno, not during the school year, at lease, but how many times had he struck her, his big, open palm cracking against her cheek, the impact sending her lurching backwards? She forced herself to maintain eye contact, refusing to show how much the memories still affected her.

"Is there anyone looking for you?" she asked bluntly.

Leonard blinked, thrown by the direct question. "What?"

"Is there anyone after you?" she clarified, her voice still level. "Are you running from something—or someone—that might follow you here?" The real question hung unspoken between them:Are you bringing trouble to my doorstep?

"No," he said, shaking his head firmly. "No, nothing like that. I've been clean, Juno. Honest work, honest living. I would never bring that kind of trouble to you." His eyes, so like her own, held a pleading sincerity that she found herself wanting to believe despite her better judgment.

"I'm—I'm looking for work," he added, twisting his cap in his hands. "Something steady. I've been doing odd jobs, construction mostly, but nothing permanent. Folks are wary about giving a guy like me a real job." He gestured vaguely around the coffee shop. "I could help around here. Clean. Stock. Whatever you need."

Juno nearly laughed at the audacity. After everything, he was asking her for a job? But beneath her indignation, she heard Pastor Darren's barrel-chested voice:Forgiveness is messy and uncomfortable and it often asks more of us than we think we can give. Forgiveness might even ask us to consider extending second chances, third chances, or more. It's what Christ does for us every time we let him down, and boy oh boy, do we let him down again and again and again, amen?

She thought of Alex, of how he'd come to her just two nights ago in search of some kind of reconciliation with her, of the way he was trying to forge his way with Lena now.

Of how she'd decided just last night that she would support him in that journey, despite her own misgivings. If she was willing to give Alex a second chance, did that mean she should offer her father one, too?

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, the question surprisingly free of venom. "I've heard this spiel a thousand times before."

Leonard nodded slowly, as if he'd expected this. "True enough." He met her gaze steadily. "I can't prove anything to you with words. Just time and actions. But I'm asking for a chance to try."

Juno crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, weighing her options. Though every instinct screamed against it, she couldn't deny there was a part of her that was curious about what had happened to him over the last decade, what had finally motivated him to get clean, if he really was sober and repentant.

"I've got some time before I open," she said finally. "I was going to make myself a sandwich; you want one, too? Maybe you can give me the rundown of what you've been up to, especially the last few years." She gestured toward the other end of the counter where there were several stools for patrons to use. "Have a seat."

Relief washed over Leonard's face. "A sandwich would be great."

"This isn't a yes," she warned, moving behind the counter. "But I'm willing to listen.""

Leonard nodded, settling cautiously onto a stool as Juno assembled two simple turkey sandwiches. She placed one in front of him along with a glass of water and a bag of kettle chips, then sat down across the bar from him, maintaining a careful distance.

"Two years sober. Tell me about that," She took a bite of her sandwich.

Between bites, Leonard launched into his story, describing rock bottom, a stint in rehab, and the journey through the twelve steps. Juno nodded, made acknowledging noises where appropriate, and asked pointed questions when his narrative grew vague or contradictory. She didn't soften toward him, but she did notice that his hands remained steady, his eyes clear, none of the telltale signs of the addict she remembered.

When they'd finished their sandwiches, Juno brewed a pot of coffee and offered him a couple of her peanut butter cookies. An hour passed as Leonard filled in the gaps of his life. When he finally seemed to run out of things to say, Juno glanced at the clock.

"I should get ready to open." She stood and gathered their dishes.

Leonard rose quickly. "Thank you for listening. And for lunch."

Juno studied him, still undecided. Finally, she spoke.

---