Page 66 of Dream with Me

When I approach the barista, she smiles at me, and tension disappears from her face. Weird. I’d guess she’s maybe college-aged.

“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know who you are to him, but he’s been looking really stressed over the last two hours. I don’t think he should be alone.” She keeps her voice low, so Troy won’t hear. “Plus, he won’t eat. I even offered him free stuff, but he wouldn’t take it. We have soup, but he wasn’t interested.”

Gratitude for this thoughtful young woman fills me. Not everyone would notice or care about a stranger’s distress.

“Thank you for letting me know. Could I please have two large coffees?”—I pause and look at the display case—“Two of the cheese scones and a soup for each of us? Oh, and oyster crackers if you have them. He loves oyster crackers.” I smile at her.

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” She takes a minute to ring me up and prepare the coffee and scones, then turns back to me. “I’ll bring the soup out to your table.”

“Thank you,” I glance down at her name tag, “Ellie. Very much.” I pay with my card, throw a ten-dollar bill in her tip jar, and watch as her eyes widen. Then I take our coffee over to add sweetener and cream to mine before I return to the table.

I set the bag of scones and our coffees on the table, sliding the black one to Troy before sitting myself.

“Please eat a scone, Troy. Ellie’s very worried about you.” I give him a slight smile.

His brow furrows and his eyes fill with confusion. “Ellie?”

I take a sip of my coffee and swallow it. “Uh-huh. The barista, Ellie.”

Troy glances up over at the kiosk, and as he does, Ellie is walking over with a tray that has our soups on it. And a shit ton of oyster crackers—eight packs, to be exact. I hold back a grin.

“Thank you, Ellie.” I smile at her.

“You’re welcome.” She’s gone in a flash.

Troy eyes the food, then picks up a pack of oyster crackers and puts them in his soup before taking his first bite. “Is it me, or does this seem like an excessive amount of oyster crackers for two cups of soup?” It’s amusing, but I also know he’s avoiding the conversation.

We eat in silence, and when we’re done, I clean up our table and return to my seat.

“You shouldn’t have driven in this weather,” Troy says. He’s gripping his coffee like it will grow legs and run away if he loosens up.

“You did,” I whisper.

“That’s different, Shan. I... I felt like I needed to. It’s my last chance.” He turns his gaze down to the tabletop, not meeting my eyes.

I take a risk and reach across the table, wrapping my hand around his wrist.

“Well, I’m here because I want to be here. The kids are safe at the indoor waterpark with our family, and I didn’t want you to be alone.”

I slide my hand down to his fingers and gently pry them off the cup, then wrap that hand in mine. When I look up, he’s staring at our joined hands and doesn’t move at first. Then, when he does, he curls his fingers around mine. Somehow, despite everything we’ve been through, this moment is more intimate than anything I’ve experienced in a very long time.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Have you gone in to see him?”

Troy shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m not sure if I should.” His gaze meets mine. “He wrote me a letter, and I read it. Well... not at first. But then I had your dad read it and my counselor, too. They thought it might help me. So, I read it.”

An ache takes residence in my chest that he didn’t come to me to talk about it. I understand, but it still hurts.

He pulls his hand away from mine, and I hate the loss of connection, but then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He slides it across the table to me.

“You can read it if you want.” His voice is rough. I watch him, but he doesn’t make eye contact with me.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, staring at the table.

I take the next couple of minutes and read the letter. Twice. Then I fold it back up and slide it over to Troy. He puts it back in his pocket and then reaches for my hand again but stops inches from touching me.

“Is this okay?” he whispers. I nod, and he wraps his strong, rough hand around my much smaller one.

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