Page 40 of Everything We Give

I regarded the menu on the wall. The selections were bland and ordinary compared with Aimee’s Café. “No, thanks. I’ve had my share today.”

“That’s right. You’ve got an unlimited supply at your fingertips.” James leaned on his forearms and peered at the contents of his cup. “I never had the chance to tell you, but I’m proud of you.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “For opening your own restaurant.”

I nodded, absorbing the compliment. James had been the one who’d encouraged me, but at the time, I’d been afraid of venturing out on my own.

“Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot to me. Did you notice my logo?”

“I did. That was a rush sketch. I didn’t mean—” He abruptly stopped and took a long drink of coffee. He set down his cup, his expression turning sad and regretful. James had been in a hurry to leave for Mexico.

“I can draw you a better logo.”

“I like the one I have.” I didn’t want to change it. The logo with the coffee cup and swirl of steam represented everything I’d been through to get where I was today. From making the decision to go out on my own to opening the additional locations. If I opened them.

But there was something I should change about the Los Gatos location.

“I’m thinking about taking down your paintings. Do you want them?”

He shook his head. “Keep them. They’re yours.”

“I can’t.”

His brows lifted. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.” I had to do more than tell Ian I’d moved on from James.

He smirked. “Send them to my mother.”

“Your mother? She hated your paintings.”

“Why do you think I told you to send them to her?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re terrible.”

“Would you believe she used to be an artist?”

“No way.”

“She was.Is.”

“She paints?”

James nodded.

“I can’t picture that.” But his talent had to have come from someone.

“I couldn’t either at first.” His gaze turned inward, but he didn’t elaborate. I knew there was a story somewhere in there, but it wasn’t mine to hear. Not today.

“Do you really want me to send them to her?” I asked, double-checking.

“No, I’m kidding. Box them up and ship them COD to me.” He took out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you my address.”

I hesitated. Did I want James to have direct access to me? Did I want that with him?

Grow up, Aimee,I silently admonished. I’d block his number should he text me about anything other than shipping his art.

“Let me see your phone.” He gave me his device and I added my cell number to my contact. James had the café’s number. I gave him back the phone and he immediately sent a text. My phone pinged.

“Give me a heads-up when you ship them.” He placed his phone facedown on the table. “You look good. You cut your hair.”

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