Page 12 of Almost Ours
“You won’t be elbow-deep in dough just yet,” Benny said over his shoulder. “Today’s all about the front of house–register, coffee, a bit of cleaning. But I’ve got a feeling…” He paused dramatically, turning to flash me a grin. “You’ll be baking in no time.”
The morning passed in a blur of coffee and small town chatter. Benny kept things light, guiding me with patientinstructions and the occasional joke, while regulars came and went with easy familiarity.
“Morning, Benny,” came a deep, gravelly voice. “You must be Harper.”
I startled slightly, turning toward the counter to find a man standing there–tall, broad, and built like he could chop wood with his bare hands. He offered me a handshake, his weathered palm open and waiting.
I hesitated just a beat too long before taking it, my smile tight. “That’s me,” I said cautiously.
He chuckled, easy and kind. “Name’s Hank. Benny wouldn’t shut up about you yesterday–told half the town you were starting today and insisted we all be on our best behaviour.”
Benny popped up beside me with a wink. “Guilty. I just believe in giving a girl a proper Brookhaven welcome.”
“Throw in an extra one of those oatmeal raisin cookies today,” Hank said as Benny was already reaching for a cookie. He leaned casually against the counter, clearly comfortable here.
I watched as Benny moved with practised ease, pouring Hank’s coffee without missing a beat. They exchanged small talk, laughing about the weather and Hank’s old truck giving him trouble again. It was clear they’d had this conversation a hundred times before, the familiarity settling between them like an old habit.
Hank left with a wave and a casual, “See you tomorrow,” his departure as unhurried as his arrival.
I watched him go, my chest tightening with an unexpected longing. It wasn’t just the coffee or the cookies that brought people here–it was this. The routine. The small, predictable interactions that made this place feel like home.
This town ran on these connections, each exchange another thread weaving people’s lives together. And watching it made merealize how long it had been since I’d felt a part of anything like that. Since Connor and I had been a part of something steady.
At first, I felt like an outsider watching it all from the edges, fumbling orders and spilling coffee with jittery hands. By the time the lunch rush died down, I’d started to settle.
Benny wiped his hands on his apron and gave me a nod. “You did good today,” he said.
I untied my apron, draping it over the hook behind the counter, then reached for my coat.
“Same time tomorrow,” he said with a grin.
“Thanks, Benny,” I replied, the warmth of his words settling in my chest.
It was time to pick up Connor, and all I could do was hope his day had gone half as well as mine.
The school bellhad already rung by the time I reached the gate, the crowd of waiting parents thinning as kids poured out. Most had already reunited, their voices bright as they skipped toward home, and a few parents lingered for stragglers, chatting in soft tones and stamping their feet against the cold.
I slipped into a spot by the fence, my hands stuffed deep in my pockets as my eyes scanned the crowd. My stomach tightened with each passing second. It was Connor’s first official day–his first time navigating new hallways, new teachers, new classmates. What if Liam, the boy he’d clicked with yesterday, had changed his mind about being friends? Kids were unpredictable. Fickle. What if someone had asked why we moved and Connor hadn’t known how to answer?
I didn’t want him holding it all in. But I also didn’t want what happened to me–what happened to us–shadowing him here.
Then I spotted him.
He was near the front steps, backpack slung over one shoulder, his whole face lit up as he talked to Liam. They were both grinning, lost in some boyish story that made Connor’s hands fly through the air with excitement. Relief swelled so fast in my chest it almost hurt.
Beside them, stood a woman I hadn’t met–petite, with chestnut waves spilling from beneath a dark green Carhartt toque. Her jeans were tucked into worn boots, and her eyes crinkled with laughter. There was something effortless about her–warm, grounded. She looked about my age, maybe a little younger, and the way she placed a gentle hand on Liam’s shoulder told me she was his mom.
Connor saw me and beamed. “Mom! Over here!”
I smiled as I approached. “Hey bud, how was it?”
“Awesome!” Connor grinned. “Liam showed me everything and we got to sit next to each other in class. We even got extra recess!”
“That’s great,” I said, wrapping my arm around him for a quick hug. My eyes shifted to the woman standing beside Liam, who smiled warmly.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” I said. “Still figuring out how long it takes to walk everywhere here.”
She waved it off. “You’re fine. I’ve been thoroughly entertained listening to these two talk each other’s ears off. They’ve covered everything from favourite snacks to dream jobs to which teacher probably used to be a pirate.”
