Prepared lunches.
And tried to make sure Lily never saw how lonely I sometimes felt.
But I had stopped imagining a different future.
I told myself that was maturity.
Responsibility.
Acceptance.
Now a stranger with a broken Camaro had made me smile for no reason I could explain.
And suddenly the future felt less settled than I believed.
The next morning, I found myself remembering her voice.
Not her clothes.
Not the car.
Her voice.
There was something in the way she said my name.
A small pause.
A softness.
Like she'd been practicing it before we met.
I shook off the thought.
Then went back to work.
Two days later, she returned.
And she brought coffee.
She arrived shortly after nine on Thursday morning, carrying a cardboard tray with two cups and a paper bag from the bakery down the street.
I was standing near the garage door when the blue Camaro pulled into the lot.
She climbed out wearing a cream blouse beneath a tailored camel coat, black trousers, and low boots.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders.
She smiled when she saw me.
“Good morning.”
I smiled back before I could stop myself.
“Morning.”
She lifted the coffee.
“I promised.”
I laughed.
“You didn't have to.”
“I know.”
She held out one cup.
“But I wanted to.”
I accepted it.
Black coffee.
Exactly how I liked it.
She noticed my expression.
“Is that okay?”
“Perfect.”
She smiled.
“Lucky guess.”
Then she opened the paper bag.
“I also brought pastries.”
I looked toward the garage.
Marcus stood near the workbench pretending not to watch.
I raised my voice.
“Marcus!”
He appeared immediately.
“Yeah?”
“Somebody brought pastries.”
He looked toward the woman.
Then toward me.
His expression changed.
“Well, I'll be.”
I sighed.
“Don't.”
Marcus stepped forward with his most charming smile.
“I'm Marcus. The responsible one.”
She laughed.
“Mara.”