the success they’ve had with their business, although there were struggles at first. Having magical powers is not a guarantee of success.
Joe delivers our drinks, and I gratefully take a long pull of the beer. Something stronger would be even better right about now.
“Someone suggested we should do workshops,” Felise added. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“I don’t think we have time for that,” Magan says. “We’re busy enough.”
“Maybe one day,” I say.
“She’s always full of ideas,” Magan says with a teasing eye roll. “I have to be the practical one and say no.”
“You’re killing my creativity,” Felise snipes.
Joe and Cassie watch their daughters with fond smiles. And I feel that way too. This isn’t my blood family, but I care about them. Joe’s newfound daughter is blood, however.
And that could change everything.
5
Romy
My hands are sweating, my belly is a swarm of hummingbirds, and my jaw aches. I walk into Rooster Coffee Roasters and sweep the place with my nervous gaze. A man sits near the fireplace, alone. Is that him?
He looks up at me.
It’s him.
He smiles as he stands, but his eyes are shadowed with apprehension. This is nerve-racking for him too.
I move toward him. I have no idea how to address him.
“Romy?” he asks.
I nod.
“I thought so. You look like your mom.”
“I’ve been told that.” I attempt a smile, but my lips are stiff. I extend a hand to shake even though that’s weird.
He takes my hand in both of his, studying my face. “You’re even more beautiful.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Have a seat. I’ll get you a coffee. What would you like?”
“Um. I’ll have a cold-brewed coffee, please.”
“You bet.”
I set down my purse and covertly watch him as he approaches the counter to order. He’s a good-looking man—I’d say about six feet tall, and fit, with a short beard that’s silvery, his mustache still dark. His brown hair is silver at the temples, and his eyes are creased attractively at the outer corners.
He returns moments later and sets our drinks on the small table. He also bought two scones—my favorite kind, vanilla bean. “I don’t know if you’re hungry.” He takes his seat. “But I can’t resist these scones when I come here.”
“I love these scones.” Our eyes meet, and a smile tugs at my mouth. “Something we have in common.”
“Yeah.” He smiles too. “So. This is… strange.”
“No kidding.” I pick up my cup and take a sip. It’s strong and delicious. “I don’t really know how to do this.”
“Me neither.” His smile pushes up those eye wrinkles. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Yes.”
He gives off an air of assurance, of calm refuge. It settles me.
“Where do we start?” he says. “Should I tell you about your mom and me?”
“Okay.”
He tells me the story of how they met and fell in love. He tells me that he loved my mom’s kindness, how steady and trustworthy she was.
I nod, my straw between my thumb and forefinger. “Steady. Yes, she was definitely a rock.”
“She had to be, to raise you as a single mother.” He pauses. “I never knew about you, Romy. I swear.”
I believe him. I bob my head.
“She made her decision not to tell me, and I can only guess at her reasons.” He eyes me. “Did she talk to you about that?”
“No.” I suck on my bottom lip. “Talking about you was very clearly off-limits. She didn’t say that outright, but anytime I asked questions, she’d give me the barest info and shut things down.”
His mouth firms and he drops his gaze. For a moment he says nothing. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry that’s how it went for you. For a child who wanted to know her father.”
“I guess I’m sorry too then… for a father who never knew he had a daughter.”
Our eyes meet in shared understanding. My lips quiver into a smile.
“Tell me more about you,” he says.
I tell him about college, my career as a software designer, my friends, and my uncharacteristic decision to take the DNA test.
“Your half sister still hasn’t given us a good explanation of why she took the test.” He frowns. “But I guess I’m glad she did.”
We smile at each other again.
Then I talk about Mom and her ovarian cancer. How she fought so hard but in the end couldn’t win. I talk about our life as I grew up, Mom’s determination to be a good mom, all the things she did for me.
“She never married?”
“No.” I tilt my head. “She occasionally dated. It never turned into anything more.