It’s here. I seriously cannot believe it’s finally here, after wanting this for so long, but the grand opening of Memory Lane Café is just an hour away. I’ve been up since four a.m. after a restless night of trying to sleep, getting on my Kindle when I couldn’t, checking off mental lists and stressing that I may have forgotten things. My display case is filled with blueberry, chocolate chip and morning glory muffins; apple-cinnamon, onion and poppyseed bagels; raspberry streusel squares; oatmeal and whole wheat bread. I have three kinds of coffee ready to brew, and iced tea and hot tea and lemons to slice. Jack put up my whiteboards on Thursday, and I was so excited writing out the menu for the first day, my hand kept shaking so I had to redo it about six times.

You’d think I would have been so busy these past few days, I wouldn’t have had time to think of Damon.

And you’d be wrong.

He crept into just about every waking moment, and a lot of my sleeping ones, too. I wanted to text him, call him, see him, but I knew that if I did any of those things, we’d end up in bed. And I feel like we should put that on hold—maybe indefinitely, as much as that idea rips me apart inside. Because if I don’t see this working out between the two of us, it doesn’t make sense to complicate things by getting intimate. When I’m with him physically, I feel like I’m under some sort of spell, and honestly, it scares the shit out of me because I don’t want to let him go. But given the relentless pressure from his mother, and knowing what’s at stake for him—I’m coming to the sinking realization that I may have to.

Enough gloom and doom for right now. I need to focus on one major thing Damon made possible—where I’m standing at this moment.

Maddie got me a Google Home for a café-warming gift, and I have big band music playing to go along with the retro vibe. I grab a dishcloth from under the sink to wipe off a smudge on the display case, then go to the coffee makers to turn them on. I hug myself, feeling the thrills of anticipation spiraling through me as I scan my shop. Jack had helped me hang the vintage, black and white photographs: two from Mom—Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Gregory Peck as Atticus in To Kill A Mockingbird—and one of my favorites from Dad—the ending scene of It’s A Wonderful Life. When I unwrapped it, I immediately started bawling like an idiot, thinking of my previously intact family when my parents were married, and then again when I realized it still is a wonderful life.

Courtesy of Damon, I have a beautiful Boston Fern draped over a marble-topped plant stand by the windows. I put the gorgeous ficus plant I received from my brother Wilder in a sunny corner and added a strand of twinkle lights.

And on my counter beside the register, there is a stunning floral display from Damon that was delivered yesterday, with a card that said simply, You got this, Sprite. I can’t help but wonder if he meant more than just the café.

So everyone is excited for me—everyone except Stu and Lou, who blatantly ignored me my whole last day yesterday. I was surprised to feel a little guilty, cleaning out my desk and walking out of there for the last time. But driving away, the guilt was quickly overtaken by euphoria—the kind of euphoria a prisoner must feel after serving the last of her sentence.

And now, it’s time to begin my new life. I take a deep, deep breath before I go to the door and turn around the sign to OPEN.

There are people, and I know most of these people. My mom is there first, beaming with such pride it makes my eyes fill. I hug her as she enters, and there’s Dad right behind her.

“I heard there was this new place in town and thought I’d check it out,” he says, grasping me by the shoulders and squeezing gently, smiling and smiling. “I’m so proud of you, Lane,” he murmurs, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “This is a great early birthday present for me, seeing you so happy.”

I’m brimming with such gratitude I don’t think it could get any better, and then I see someone walking toward the door, and I realize that yes, it can.

Damon’s eyes are smiling at me before he does. It’s an absolutely beautiful morning, but it seems even brighter right now. He’s looking casual and maddeningly sexy in a sage green golf shirt, jeans and loafers and hangs back to wait for me to finish chatting with my dad. I hold open the door for him, suddenly feeling guilty and pretty stupid, honestly, that I’ve prevented us from seeing one another.

He steps in, along with a slight breeze that carries the scent of him right into my nostrils and underpants. He looks like he’s uncertain of whether or not he should hug me, and this makes me feel even worse, so I stand on tiptoe to put my arms around his neck in a quick embrace. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

His words make my heart seize. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

I swallow, finding it difficult to look into his eyes. They seem to be searching for something, like he’s trying to find an answer to fix everything.

Oh, how I want you to find that answer, Damon!

“Thanks so much for the beautiful flowers.”

“You’re very welcome, Sprite.”

His gaze and the use of my nickname are warming me all over. I turn before I spontaneously combust, and there are my parents are in front of the counter, looking at me with bright, expectant faces. They want to meet Damon. More guilt clutches at my heart, because they’re going to be happy and excited about this and have no clue that our relationship has an expiration date.

I’d better get this over with, especially since my main role right now is supposed to be playing the part of a business owner instead of a girlfriend.

“Mom...Dad...I’d like you to meet Damon Cavanaugh. Damon, these are my parents, Annie and Jerry Brewster.”

“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Brewster. And may I say thank you for raising such a wonderful daughter who is beautiful inside and out.”

Mom is immediately taken. “Well, thank you so much, Damon. Please call me Annie. And we are very proud of our Laney.”

Dad shakes Damon’s hand and appears equally as impressed. “Great to meet you as well. Delaney’s very special, but you seem to already know that.”

“I certainly do, sir. And the more I get to know her, the more special she becomes.”

Did someone just turn the heat up in here, orrrr…

Jesus. He has me all kinds of flustered. His eyes are on me again, and I’m glad that I need to excuse myself and hurry behind the counter as a few more customers come in—a young mother with a toddler, two older women with gray hair and kind eyes. I ring up their orders as my parents sit at a high-top table watching me and smiling, which makes me feel a little like a fourth grader who’s just nailed her science project. And also, they’re sitting together??

Damon gets a large black coffee, raspberry streusel square and morning glory muffin. He’s taking out his debit card, and I wave my hand at him. “Boyfriends eat for free,” I tell him.

“Nope. I’m paying. These look delicious, by the way. Although I definitely prefer eating them in the owner’s personal residence.” He grins at me as he walks away.

The first two hours are busy—I wrap up bagels, fill more little plastic containers with cream cheese, brew more Carrabassett coffee, and silently berate myself for not making more chocolate chip muffins which are rapidly disappearing. But..there’s a learning curve with this.

A little after ten, Jack and Madeline come in the door as I’m wiping up the drips from the coffee makers. I’ve come to love the little jingle the bells make.

“Hey, girlfriend...we wanted to give you a little time to settle in before we showed up. Everything looks absolutely perfect! And you’re so busy. How’s it been going?”

“It’s been great. No major snafus, thankfully.” I turn to Jack. “And Mr. Decker—I haven’t gotten a bill yet from you.”

“No. And you won’t.” He’s grinning slyly.

“You can’t do that! I have money to pay you. There was quite a bit in materials, too. Seriously, please give me the bill.”

“It’s already been taken care of.”

“But you can’t—” And then I realize. My God. “Damon is paying for it, isn’t he?”

“You didn’t hear it from me, Lane.”

“How sweet is he?” Maddie looks around the café. “Where is Golden Boy, anyway? I thought for sure he’d be here.”

I sweep my gaze around the room. Ugh. I never saw him leave, but there were quite a few people who came in after him. There’s a jab to my heart that I try to ignore. “He was here...he must have snuck out when I was waiting on customers or something. I’m sure he’ll be back later, though.”

I hope.

I feel Maddie studying my face, and damn that she knows me so well. Thankfully, the door jingles again, and this time, it’s my little brother—although little isn’t the word anyone would use to describe him. I leave the counter to go greet him. Mom and Dad are still here, and they get up from their table to follow me. 

“Hey, sisto! Long time no see.” Wilder gives me a wide grin and scoops me up in a bear hug.

Annnd cue the stares from the single women and married women and gay men...pretty much anyone with a pulse. Even though he’s my brother, it’s hard not to notice the reaction Wilder Brewster gets when he walks into a room. He is absolutely magnetic—not only his physical appearance, with his height, broad chest, rugged good looks and piercing green eyes, but his personality. He could get a nun to leave the convent. He’s cornered the market on the outdoorsy, mountain man vibe...there’s a free spirit, fresh air quality to him that makes you think campfires and s’mores and rushing streams. He’s more comfortable in plaid flannel shirts, jeans and hiking boots, but let’s just say he cleans up really, really well. At a family wedding last year, he commanded about as much attention as the bride. The photographer even gave him her card and wanted him to model for her. I’m sure she wanted him to do other things with her as well, but Wilder is very careful about getting involved with women and mostly doesn’t. His relationships are scattered and fleeting—he is definitely not the settling down type, but then again, he’s only twenty-five, and I think Mom and Dad splitting up has made him even more cautious, just like it did me.

But for right now, it’s like we’re a nuclear family again, with the four of us standing together and feeling that unspoken bond stemming from sharing Christmases and first days of school and apple picking. I like it.

Just like I knew he would, Dad starts in on Wilder’s hair. “I’ve got to know, bud—what is it they call that style?”

My little brother reveals his perfect white teeth. “Man-bun, Dad. Do you like it?”

“Hell no.”

We’re all laughing. I’ve never particularly cared for the man-bun, but Wilder can definitely pull it off. He likes to wear his sandy-brown hair in different ways, depending on his mood or what he’s got going for the day—when it’s down, it’s shoulder length and wavy.

“I think you look very handsome, Wild-man.” Mom, as usual, coming to her baby’s defense. She stretches herself up to give him a hug. “What do you think of your sister’s new place?”

“Love it. Great ambiance. Smells awesome in here, too. And by the way, I’m starving.” He walks over to the display case and asks for a poppyseed bagel and iced coffee. I thank him for the ficus plant and point it out while I’m getting his order.

“You’re welcome. Hey, is your guy here? I wanted to meet him.”

I feel that little jab again, both from guilt that my family doesn’t know the real story and because Damon left. “He was here, but he had to leave. Hopefully, you can meet him another time.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. But with tourist season kicking off this weekend, I won’t be around much.”

“Like you ever are?” I tease.

“Ouch, D. But true. Got to traverse the great state of Maine doing my thing.”

Wilder’s “thing” is running his company called Experience ME. He’s basically like a Maine guide, showing tourists all our state has to offer, like climbing Mount Katahdin, canoeing the Allagash, skiing Sugarloaf Mountain...even accompanying a lobsterman for the day’s haul. From what I can gather, he’s making bank doing it.

Maybe the success of my younger sibling can rub off on me. And with the way the first day has been, that just might happen.

Amanda comes by on her way to the restaurant, has green tea with a blueberry muffin, and declares that my muffin is the most delectable, moistest muffin she’s ever had. And also how she’d eat my muffin every chance she could. I’m trying not to crack up but tell her in my sternest voice that this café is G-rated.

And just like that, the day is over. There was a steady stream of customers—some I knew, some I didn’t—and they all were so complimentary and kind. I loved that a father and son stayed to play chess, and that there were young mothers gathered around one of the tables with their babies in their laps (I made a mental note to order a highchair and booster seat).

I loved the whole day.

I’m sweeping up and singing along with Frank Sinatra when I hear the jingle of the door, realizing that I forgot to switch the sign to CLOSED.

It’s Damon. With Tucker.

“Okay to come in with the pup? I’m not violating any health code, am I?”

“Probably. But it’s Tucker.” I lean the broom up against the counter and bend down to pet that precious black dog. Who happens to be wearing a bow tie. “What is this?” I’m smiling as I look up at Damon.

“It’s a special occasion for a special person.”

“That’s very sweet of you. He looks so dapper.”

“He does.” Damon takes off the leash, and Tucker goes cruising for crumbs.

“And speaking of sweet, Jack told me he wasn’t billing me for the renovations.”

“Very nice of him.”

“Damon. I know it’s you. And you didn’t need to do that...you shouldn’t. You’ve done so much already.”

He waves his hand in the air. “No big deal. I just thought you should save your money if you want to do any more renovating down the road.”

“Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. I’d ask you how the day went, but I don’t even have to—I can see it all over your face.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Yep.” His grin fades, replaced with an expression I have come to know all too well. “You’ve got this glow about you. You’re practically neon. And it’s sexy as fuck.”

Abruptly, he turns and walks toward the door. I am totally confused. Is he leaving?

No. He is not leaving. He is pulling down the shade on the door, the blinds on the windows. Oh my God, he’s not thinking…

He’s walking toward me with purpose. “I think we need to christen this place.”

My God, he is.

“Oh no you don’t. You wouldn’t.” Shaking my head, I start backing away from him, even as I realize it’s pointless. Even as I realize he’ll have his way. Even as the thrills begin to burst inside me. That thing I thought about how it would be best not to get intimate? Doesn’t seem to be a thing anymore.

“Oh, I would, Sprite. And I’m going to.” Determination sharpens his features.

The tone of his voice changes, and he unbuckles his belt. Just that motion makes my knees rubbery and weak.

“Get at the end of the counter and turn so you’re facing away from me.”

I do it. I have no clue why I’m doing it, except for of course, I do. Because I want him.

The granite is freezing against my arms. I’m trembling, waiting for him to give me another order. Craving it.

“Bend over. Hands on the counter, and don’t move. I’m taking your pants down.”

I suck in my breath as the cool air swirls around my bare legs and bottom, kicking off my Danskos and stepping out of my pants once he has them all the way down. I feel his hands on my ass, stroking lightly, then squeezing. I hear him sigh.

“Don’t move,” he says again. “I want to feel how wet you are.”

Jesus Christ. I try to keep my legs from shaking as he pushes his finger inside me. It slides in easily, and he adds another finger.

“Spread your legs, Delaney.”

I do. He pushes his fingers in and out as I start breathing harder. It feels so good, and I’m imagining that it’s his cock.

I don’t need to imagine for long.

He withdraws his fingers from my vagina and lightly tickles my clit until I groan. I could come right now. Right this very second. I clench my teeth so I won’t. His touch makes me stand up on my toes.

“Bend over more and push that gorgeous ass out toward me, please.”

I do as he asks, and then he’s not touching me anymore. I can hear the faint sound of a zipper, then the ripping of what I assume is a condom packet. A few seconds more—I tense up, anticipating—and then I feel the big head of his cock at my opening.

“Brace yourself, babe—I’m going to fuck you hard. And I’ll make sure you come before me.”

Fucking God...I am dripping wet. He places one hand at the back of my neck, gripping firmly as he jerks his hips forward and plunges into me. I cry out, spreading my arms out on the counter and holding on, glad we’re at the end where there’s solid wood, because with the force of these thrusts, I could imagine glass breaking.

I’m tightening around him as he pounds. It hurts a little because he’s going in so deep, but God, I love it...and he’s in a rhythm where he does a few shallow thrusts to stimulate my G-spot. Few shallow—then deep—it’s like three for me, one for him, and oh, Christ...I’m coming.

I grip the edges of the granite, silently thanking Jack for making this thing so secure. I never imagined I’d be fucked on it, but this is one of the most intensely erotic experiences I’ve ever had. I feel my pussy walls pulsing around him as my orgasm peaks. He’s moaning, and my name has never sounded so good. His cock feels like warm steel inside me, and after a few more vigorous thrusts, he climaxes.

We’re both breathing hard as we come down from our orgasmic highs. Damon slides out of me and kisses my upper back once, twice, before heading into the bathroom to clean up. Slowly, I pull up my pants, marveling that a great day just turned amazing. Funny how that always seems to happen, with him.

Tucker ambles over to me, ears flat and eyes gentle. “Big black dog,” I murmur to him, petting his head, “what am I going to do about your dad?”

He waves his tail at me.

I honestly don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. But I do know one thing.

I’ll never look at that counter the same way again.