Page 78 of Tides of Discovery
“Cooper, after my visit on Valentine’s Day.” My mother took in the customers who were trying, and failing, not to stare at our family reunion. “I had a talk with your father.”
Dad nodded once and crossed his arms over his chest, the gesture defensive even as his words attempted conciliation. “I might’ve…misjudged the importance of a business like this.” Each word seemed reluctant, yet a beginning. A bridge.
I arched an eyebrow. Disbelief mingled with a flicker of hope that felt dangerously close to vulnerability. “You think small-town coffee shops have value now?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice. Years of dismissal were not easily forgotten.
“I think,” he said slowly, weighing each word with the deliberation of a man unaccustomed to admitting error, “that any place where so many people gather and businesses rally around in a crisis…is clearly more than just a hobby.”
I blinked, momentarily speechless. That was the closest to a compliment I’d ever gotten from him, and it knocked the wind from my lungs more effectively than any physical blow.
“And we’re grateful to Jack,” my mom added. Her gaze softened as she looked between us. Something like understanding dawned in her eyes. “For his expertise. For saving your business.”
Jack shifted beside me. The subtle movement betrayed his discomfort with the praise. His fingers intertwined with mine, warm and achingly familiar. “That’s what you do,” he said simply, his voice rough with emotion, “for someone you love.”
The words hit me like a jolt of electricity straight to the heart and temporarily stole my breath. I turned to him. Warmth flooded my stomach and rose to my cheeks. Without thought or hesitation, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his cheek, the gesture as instinctive and natural as breathing.
My mother’s mouth curved up, just slightly, the barest hint of a genuine smile softening the careful mask she wore in public.
My father cleared his throat again and rocked back on his heels. “Well,” he said awkwardly, his unease with emotional displays evident in every line of his body. “I just want you to know…I can see you’re happy. And that matters. I…approve.” The words were stiff, formal, but I could sense the effort behind them, the olive branch being extended across years of misunderstanding.
“I don’t need your approval,” I said honestly, the words firm but without the sharp edges that would have been there even a week ago. “But I’d like your acceptance.” I held my breath after speaking, surprised by my vulnerability, by how much I still wanted that connection despite everything.
Dad looked uncomfortable. His mouth twitched like he didn’t quite know how to form the words that might bridge the gap between us. Something shifted behind his eyes—a softening,perhaps, or a recognition. “I’m working on it.” Then he added, with unexpected dry humor coloring his tone, “And working on accepting that I won’t have any more grandchildren.”
I grinned despite myself as genuine amusement bubbled up inside me. “Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean we can’t have a family.” The words emerged without a filter and surprised even me with their implication.
His eyes widened as if I’d just told him I was pregnant. Comical shock spread across his usually composed features. He made a strangled noise in his throat that was worth every moment of pain and tension that had led us here.
Ryan stifled a laugh as he watched our father’s worldview expand in real time.
Jack squeezed my hand. His thumb brushed across my knuckles in a gentle caress. “One thing at a time, baby,” he murmured, but the tender look in his eyes held possibility rather than dismissal.
Dad took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His shoulders dropped as he visibly centered himself. “Right. Well. Why don’t we get that lunch we were supposed to have during our last visit?” The suggestion was clumsy but sincere, a first step toward something new.
I motioned toward our table as relief washed through me. “Sit. I’ll have Jessica bring a selection of sandwiches.” The simple act of offering food felt deeply significant, a ritual of peace.
They all slid into seats, my father even taking the spot next to Jack without comment. Small miracles indeed.
As I walked toward the counter, the familiar floorboards creaking beneath my feet, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Jack loved me—had said it aloud, had proven it with every action when it mattered most.
My parents were trying—stumbling forward with halting steps, but moving in the right direction at last.
And I was still standing. Still here, still working, still fighting for the life I’d built with my two hands.
Maybe not everything was perfect. The anxiety over cyberattacks would linger for a while.
But sitting at that table, in the shop I’d poured my heart and soul into, with the man I loved beyond reason and the family who was finally starting to see me, really see me? It felt pretty damn close to perfect.
The past four weeks had been a journey of discovery that led Jack and me not just to each other, but to a love that felt as permanent and essential as breathing itself. Our deadline had come and gone, but what we’d built together was just beginning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ONE YEAR LATER…
Cooper
Something felt off, a subtle undercurrent of tension I couldn’t quite place.
