Page 138 of Average Joe

“No.” Cole leaned against the wall, ankles crossed. “Private funding mostly. Though every bit helps, and nothing goes unused. I do have a proposal for you.”

“For me?” Marley stepped back, bumping into my chest.

Couldn’t help myself. I curled my arms around her shoulders.

“Yes.” Cole tilted his head, glanced at me, then back to my girl. “Joe told me you’re opening more coffee stands soon.”

“Yes.”

“We’d like you to consider employing some of our women. Help them find their footing and transition back into the world outside these walls.”

Marley curled her hands around my forearms. “Yes. Yes. Of course. I’ll do it.”

Cole’s brows raised two inches. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She nodded.

Marley couldn’t have said no. She had a mothering spirit, and she bloomed when any opportunity to nurture or guide another human being presented itself.

I pulled her tighter to my chest and kissed her head. “Good answer, neighbor. Good goddamn answer.”

Marley laughed, shimmied out of my embrace, then threw her arms around Cole. “Best day ever,” she squealed, like the child she never got to be.

Marley

Best day ever?

Hands down, it was the day I woke up next to Joe in my mom’s bed and breakfast, knowing that Dylan was downstairs.

I slapped Joe’s bare ass, then hurried through a shower, shimmied into my jeans and tank, wiggled my toes into my flip-flops, and jogged down two flights of freshly polished hardwood.

The old Victorian was beautiful, clean, and homey and smelled like bread fresh from the oven. My nose led me toward the kitchen.

Dylan sat on a barstool, head down, shirtless, dark hair hanging in messy waves over his forehead. His muscles were more defined. Dark curls dusted his chest and lower abdomen. I’d said it before, but my son was no longer a boy. He was a man. A bittersweet sight for a mother’s sore eyes.

“Hey, Mom.” He pushed off the counter and stood straight, coming at me with arms wide open.

“Morning,” I mumbled against his left pec. He was strong, too. And much taller than I’d ever imagined. “Where’s your grandma?”

“She had to take Grant to his doctor’s appointment.” He snagged a black T-shirt off a stool and tugged it over his head. “C’mon, I’m taking you to breakfast.”

“You are?” My heart burst, overfilled with every happy feeling imaginable. “What about Joe?”

“He wants to sleep in.” Dylan tucked his phone into his back pocket, his wallet in his front pocket, and grabbed a set of keys off the counter. “I asked him last night.”

“Oh. Okay. Let’s go.”

Dylan drove me through downtown Whisper Springs, then toward the old highway. We exited onto a dirt road that led to a fifties-looking diner on a huge lot that overlooked Lake Willow. The old three-tier sign sat high above the pines and read Truck Stop Diner.

I blew a low whistle. “What a view.”

“Cleo works here.” His shy smile nearly killed me. “I want you to meet her.”

My heart galloped. “You have a girlfriend?”

“She’s a work in progress. So play it cool, yeah?”

“Promise.”

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