Page 48 of The Coffee Bar on Camellia Court

"What's a sleepover?"

The innocent question squeezed his heart. Of course she wouldn't know—when would she have had friends over for such a normal childhood experience, moving from place to place as she had?

"It's when people stay up late together, watching movies, eating snacks, and building pillow forts," he explained. "Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Lena nodded, her eyes round. "Can we build a pillow fort?" she asked, as if doing so ranked right up there with visiting Disneyland.

Alex chuckled. "We can do all of the above."

As they climbed the stairs to his apartment, Lena's hand in his, Alex realized that Melissa had been right about one thing: having a child in his life would change everything.

Alex welcomed that change with open arms.

21

Juno

Junosatinhercar outside church, fingers tapping on the steering wheel as she watched the last of the congregation filter out into the humid summer morning. Pastor Darren stood at the bottom of the front steps, sending off his parishioners with warm handshakes and smiles. Poor guy; she could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead from here. It was a blazing summer morning, even with the breeze blowing in off the lake.

His sermon today had resonated with her more than she'd expected—how forgiveness wasn't about changing the person who wronged you, but about freeing yourself from the burden of carrying that hurt.

"Forgiveness doesn't guarantee reconciliation," he'd said, his voice carrying through the small sanctuary. "It simply means you're no longer allowing that pain to dictate your future."

She'd thought immediately of Alex, and how the weight had lifted from her shoulders last night when she'd decided to move forward, to be the friend he needed. She felt lighter somehow, as if she'd set down a heavy load she'd been carrying for years.

Turning the key in the ignition, Juno pulled out of the church parking lot and headed toward her coffee shop. The Outback's air conditioning was a blessing against the July heat. She didn't open until one on Sundays—a compromise that allowed her to attend church, enjoy a causal lunch alone or with friends, maybe even a short nap, and still catch the afternoon crowd eager for respite from the summer sun.

As she rounded the corner onto Camellia Court, something caught her eye—a figure slouched in a chair at one of the bistro sets in front of her shop. Even from this distance, even after a decade, there was no mistaking his identity.

Her stomach dropped. Leonard Thomas. Her father.

Thankfully, he hadn't seen her, so Juno pulled into her usual spot behind the shop, her peaceful post-sermon mood evaporating like the morning dew. She took her time gathering her things, mentally steeling herself as she darted up the back stairs that led to her apartment on the second floor. So much for a leisurely lunch and a nap; there was no way she was going to let Leonard Thomas loiter outside her shop for the next two hours without knowing exactly why he was here.

In the bathroom, she pulled her beaded braids into a dark green scrunchy. She washed away her Sunday makeup and applied a much simpler look with a dark plum lip stain, waterproof mascara and some bronze eyeshadow, nothing that would smear or run as the day warmed up and the kitchen got busy.

"Stay calm," she whispered to her reflection, even as her pulse raced and her hands trembled. "He's on your territory. You owe him nothing."

She considered calling the police, just to have someone there in case things got out of hand, but the fact that Leonard was waiting out front and not shlepping around her backdoor made her feel a little less vulnerable.

Besides, she wasn't at all sure she wanted anyone knowing he was in town. She needed to get down there and tell him to go away.

She changed out of her sundress and into her uniform of jeans and a shop polo, then grabbed her keys and headed back out. She'd thought about going in the back door of the shop and watching him through the window for awhile, but the longer she put off speaking to him, the more nervous she was going to get.

With her face a carefully constructed mask of indifference, her shoulders back and her chin high, Juno rounded the building to the front of her shop. Her father turned when he heard her footsteps, and she felt a flicker of bitter satisfaction at the surprise that crossed his face.

"Juno," he said, pushing away from the window where he'd been peering inside, his hands cupped around his face. He'd aged considerably in the years since she'd seen him. His hair was now more gray than black, his face lined and weathered, and his once-imposing frame was now slightly stooped, thinner. But his eyes, dark and unreadable, remained unchanged.

She didn't respond, simply moved past him to unlock the door. "I'm not open until one," she said over her shoulder, her voice impressively steady. "You'll have to come back then if you want coffee."

Leonard stepped forward, not quite crowding her but close enough that she could smell the slight hint of cigarettes clinging to his clothes. "I didn't come for coffee."

Juno turned to face him, one hand on the door. "Then what did you come for?" Her tone was cool, professional. The tone she reserved for difficult customers—polite but distant.

"To see you." Leonard removed his cap, and she was startled to see how thin his hair had become. In some places, she could even see his scalp shining through. "To talk, if you'll hear me out."

Warning bells rang in Juno's mind. In her experience, when Leonard Thomas wanted to talk, trouble wasn't far behind. But standing in the doorway of the business she'd built, in the town she'd reclaimed as her own, she found she wasn't afraid of him anymore. Just wary.

"Five minutes," she said after a long pause. She pushed the door open, the familiar aroma of coffee beans and baked goods a comforting counterpoint to the tension tightening her shoulders. She turned and held the door a little wider, not so much as an invitation but as a statement of control. He was on her turf and she made the rules here.

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