“Lyla?” Talia’s voice rang through the kitchen at the coffee shop.
“One second,” I called from the walk-in refrigerator. My voice was scratchy. I’d come in here hoping the cool air would quell the burning in my throat.
It was inevitable that I’d have to tell my family Vance was gone, that he’d left this morning. But I’d hoped it would be Mateo or Knox or Griffin who’d come to the shop first. It would be easier to tell one of them to disseminate the news.
Unlike my sisters, my brothers wouldn’t want to talk about my feelings. I didn’t want to talk about my feelings. They were too raw.
Maybe I’d get lucky and Talia would want to spend her lunch hour talking baby names. Fingers crossed.
Steeling my spine, I grabbed a block of muenster and the butter, then carried them to the prep table before setting them down to hug my sister. “Hi.”
“Hey.” Talia was dressed in blue scrubs, her pregnant belly round and adorable. We’d each pulled our dark hair into a ponytail today, and people always said that we were easier to tell apart when our hair was up.
“Want some lunch? I was just going to make myself a grilled cheese.”
“Sure.”
I was grateful for the task of cooking. It meant I didn’t have to make eye contact. My sister would see too quickly that I was barely holding it together.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Much.” I sliced two pieces of cheese.
“What was wrong?”
“I don’t know. I just felt sick.”
“Did you have a fever?”
“Um, no?”
“What were your symptoms?” This was the problem with having a doctor in the family. Doctors asked questions, and good doctors, like Talia, could tell the difference between a fake illness and an actual illness.
“I was kind of sore. Like body aches? I think I overdid it on the hiking.”
Her stare burned into my profile. I didn’t need to look at her to know her eyes were narrowed. That she could hear the lie in my voice.
“Lyla.”
“Yeah?” I walked to the shelf and took down a loaf of bread.
“Vance is gone, isn’t he?”
Shit. That didn’t take her long to figure out, did it? My shoulders slumped. Then I nodded, keeping my back to my sister. If I said the words aloud, if I looked at her, I’d cry.
And by some miracle, I hadn’t cried. Not yet.
Not from the time I’d left Vance in my driveway. Not through my entire morning routine. I’d fought the tears like a warrior. But this was a battle I’d lose. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. The tears would come in a devastating wave.
Just not yet.
They’d have to wait. I had to get through my workday first. I had to make grilled cheese sandwiches.
“Are you all right?” Talia asked.
No. Not even a little bit.
I shrugged, returning to the table. I found a serrated knife and began slicing the loaf. “I always knew this would happen.”
“Did he say anything about coming back? Maybe staying?”
I loved my sister, but God, did we have to talk about this right now? I shook my head, the fire in my throat blazing hotter than ever. “It’s not like that. I’m not . . .”
“Not what?” Talia put her hand over mine, forcing me to stop cutting.
“I’m not the right shade of blue.”
Deep down, I knew that the reason Vance left had nothing to do with me. But the doubts were creeping in, crippling and heartbreaking. Would he have stayed for another woman?
Talia’s eyebrows knitted together. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” I slid my hand free of hers and set the knife down, moving to turn on the cooktop.
“You don’t want to talk about this right now, do you?”
I shook my head.
“Okay.” She went to my office, wheeling out my desk chair. Then my beautiful, happy sister spent the next thirty minutes talking to me about baby names while she ate her sandwich before going back to work.
As the day wore on, the exhaustion from a sleepless night began to take its toll. My bones felt too heavy. My muscles weak. But somehow, I persevered, and when I finally turned the lock on the front door and flipped the sign to closed, I breathed a sigh.
I reached for the light switch, dousing the shop in shadows. The streetlamp outside cast its white hue through the front windows. Normally, that light would scatter, barely brightening the front third of the shop. Tonight, it was like a spotlight shone directly on the empty table and chair by the window.
Vance’s chair.
A sob escaped my throat. I gave in to the burn in my throat. And tears began streaming down my face.
The war was over. So I stopped fighting.
Instead, I buried my face in my hands and cried for the man who’d changed my life. The man I loved.
The man who’d walked away.
