Page 2 of The One that Got Away

Lisa’s smile radiated warmth as she scribbled down the customer's order, her pen dancing across the notepad in a familiar rhythm. The rich aroma of coffee beans ground and brewed to perfection filled the air, mingling with the sweet scent of cinnamon from the freshly baked pastries on display. She chatted about the weather and the local high school's upcoming football game, her voice a soft melody above the gentle hum of conversation and clinking dishware.

"Make sure you try the cherry scone, Jerry. Baked them fresh this morning," she said, her eyes crinkling with genuine affection for the regulars who were as much a part of this place as the worn wooden counters.

Her attention flitted between the customer and the kitchen doorway where Ethan and Abigail hovered. Their laughter was a bright counterpoint to the morning’s stillness, and Lisa felt a surge of love for the beautiful chaos that was her life.

Once Jerry settled at his usual table by the window with a contented sigh, Lisa seized a lull in the influx of patrons to slip into the back office. The tiny room was a quiet haven, bathed in the muted light filtering through blinds caked with sawdust—a testament to Oliver's late-night woodworking.

She eased into the chair, the leather creaking under her weight, and opened the ledger with hands that bore the evidence of her labor; faint stains of coffee and varnish intermingled on her skin. Her brow furrowed as she traced the columns of numbers, each digit an anchor in the tumultuous sea of their financial reality.

The figures weren't adding up the way they needed to. Each entry was a reminder of dreams so daringly chased and the precarious edge on which they now balanced. Lisa reached for the calculator, pressing the buttons with a determination born of necessity, but the stubborn math refused to yield more promising results.

It didn’t look good.

A knot tightened in her stomach, an all-too-familiar guest whispering of looming challenges. They had come so far and worked tirelessly, yet the path ahead was shadowed with uncertainty. She let out a measured breath, trying to will away the anxiety that clawed at the edges of her resolve.

Outside, the world continued to turn, the café a living entity that thrummed with energy and life. But in the quiet sanctity of her office, Lisa Montgomery faced the daunting truth of their situation, armed with nothing but a ledger and the unwavering spirit that had carried her through storms before. If things didn’t change, they’d have to close the café within six months.

The odds were against them.

The office’s silence was punctuated by the soft clicks of the calculator, a metronome to Lisa's deepening frown. She didn't hear him approach, but she felt the change in the air as Oliver's presence filled the doorway.

"Hey," he said gently, his voice a balm to her fraying nerves. His hand found hers, rough from hours spent shaping wood, yet his touch was tender as it enveloped her smaller, work-worn fingers.

Lisa looked up, her eyes meeting his. There was an ocean of concern in his gaze, an echo of the sea he so missed.

"It'll be okay, Lisa," he said with a conviction that belied the fear she knew lived in his heart. "We've weathered worse."

She allowed herself a moment, just one, to lean into his strength. The familiar scent of sawdust and coffee on his shirt was grounding, a reminder of the life they were building together. Her shoulders, hunched in apprehension, relaxed incrementally under the weight of his reassurance.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above the hum of the refrigerator in the corner. She squeezed his hand, finding solace in their shared warmth and the silent promise that they were in this together. Yet she had never told him just how bad it actually was.

The sudden wail of their baby shattered the quiet, a piercing siren that spoke of hunger or perhaps a bad dream. Lisa's eyes closed briefly, the sigh escaping her lips carrying the weight of exhaustion. A night broken by cries and a morning filled with worry had taken its toll.

"I've got her," Oliver said before she could rise. He released Lisa's hand and strode toward the small cot tucked in the corner of the office. With practiced ease, he lifted Julia, cradling her against his chest as he murmured soothing words.

Lisa watched them; the sight was a fresh wave of love warming her chest. With his untamed hair and tired lines that had started to mark his face, Oliver was a portrait of paternal devotion. He caught her eye over the top of Julia's head and winked, a silent message of solidarity.

"Going for a walk," he mouthed, already wrapping Julia in her blanket. The stroller, always ready by the door, beckoned.

"Fresh air will do her good," Lisa called softly after them, her voice steady despite the chaos of her thoughts. She turned back to the ledger, the numbers still demanding her attention, but the edge of panic had dulled. The door chimed as Oliver left, the sound mingling with the fading cries of their youngest.

Alone again, Lisa drew a deep breath, the lingering touch of Oliver's hand a talisman against the tide of worries. They would make it through, somehow. They had to—for their family, for their dreams, for the love that bound them together against all odds.

The doorbell's gentle chime cut through the quiet hum of the cafe, a sound that usually heralded the comfort of routine. But as Lisa glanced up from the ledger's relentless figures, her pulse skipped erratically. The silhouette framed in the doorway wasn't one of their regulars; this was someone new, someone unexpected.

Sunlight glinted off delicate features and cascaded down a waterfall of dark hair, setting the woman aglow like some ethereal visitor. Beside her, a young boy clung to her hand, his wide eyes scanning the room with innocence. He was flicking curiously around the space, taking in the quaint ambiance of mismatched chairs and the smell of fresh coffee.

"Can I help you?" Lisa asked, tucking a stray wavy brown lock behind her ear, her voice steady despite the surprise of these unexpected visitors. Were they tourists?

The woman offered a tentative smile, drawing the boy closer to her side. "I'm looking for Oliver Thompson," she said, her voice resonant but carrying an undercurrent of nerves.

"Oliver's not here right now," Lisa replied, her heart beginning to thump erratically against her ribs. She could feel the weight of the woman's gaze, intense and searching. "Can I take a message?"

"Please," the woman hesitated, glancing down at the boy before locking eyes with Lisa again. "Tell him Ava was here. And Daniel. You know what? Do you mind if I wait? We’ve come a long way to see him."

Lisa felt the air grow still around her, the bustling sounds of the café receding into a distant hum as she pieced together the puzzle before her. She remembered Oliver's stories of a love lost, the woman who left him without a goodbye, without a reason. The same woman he had mourned the loss of, and that had made it hard for him to get involved again out of fear of abandonment once more. Now, they flashed through her mind, and here she was, the embodiment of his past, holding a child's hand.

"Of course," Lisa managed, her voice a touch softer than intended. "Why don't you come in and sit down? It might be a little while before he gets back."

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