Page 50 of The Second Chance Year

Oh no.

Someday, I’m going to have to come clean and tell everyone at Higher Grounds that I never had a cat named Zoe. But today is not the day. Like so many things about this second chance year, I don’t really have an explanation that won’t make me sound like I’ve been spending too much time with my head in a hot oven.

“It’s not important.” I grab my brother by the arm before José Luis can say anything. “Come on, you need to meet Zoe.” I tug Owen toward the dessert table and away from this conversation.

“Wait!” José Luis calls to us. “I didn’t give Owen his birthday gift yet.”

We turn back around.

“Gift?” Owen’s eyebrows rise. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s just a little something.” José Luis shrugs, pulling a gift bag from under the bar and handing it to my brother.

“Aw, thanks,” Owen says, pushing aside the tissue paper. He pulls a picture frame from the bag and turns it over in his hands.“Whaaaat?”His gaze flies to José Luis and then back to the picture.“Wow.”

“Oh my gosh, José Luis!” I say, staring over Owen’s shoulder. “It’s gorgeous.”

Similar to the sketch of me in the cake-dress and Jacob in the piano-suit, José Luis has drawn my brother wearing a cartoony robot costume and skateboarding on a giant video game controller. It’s so perfectly Owen that I stare at it in awe.

“This is amazing,” Owen says, running a hand over the glass. “How did you even know what I look like?”

“Jacob gave me a photo.” José Luis waves his hand like it’s no big deal, but I can see he’s pleased with our reactions. “And both he and Sadie talk about you all the time.”

Owen cocks his head in my direction with ayou know you love megrin on his face. I give him an exaggerated shrug like I have no idea what José Luis is talking about.

“Thank you so much.” Owen nods at the gift in his hand. “I love it. It’s going on the wall in my office, and all the other tech geeks at work will be jealous.”

A couple approaches the bar looking for drinks, and José Luis picks up his cocktail shaker. “Guess I should get back to work.”

We say goodbye, and I flash him a grateful smile as I tug my brother over to the dessert table. Zoe is setting out mini lemon shortbread cookies on a platter, and when I introduce her to Owen, she circles the table to give him a hug.

“Thanks for letting Sadie host my party here,” Owen says after he’s hugged her back.

“Oh, it’s nothing. We adore Sadie,” Zoe says with a smile in my direction, and again, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to be a part of Higher Grounds. Zoe and José Luis would have put equal effort into this party even if keeping the café afloat wasn’t the motivation. Just because Owen’s my brother and this party is important to me.

“She probably didn’t tell you,” Zoe continues, “but there are lines out the door for her pastries. Customerslovethem. It’s been amazing for business.”

“Sadie didn’t tell me anything,” Owen says, poking me in the ribs. “But Jacob’s been raving about it.”

I look sideways at my brother with the extremely childish urge to pull him aside and demand to know everything Jacob said about me. But instead, I blink innocently. “I’m sure Jacob hasn’t beenraving. He just likes my croissants.”

Owen mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like “if that’s what you want to call them.”

Zoe grins at us. “Owen, try a mini pastry.”

Owen tosses back a lemon cookie. “Amazing,” he says over a mouthful of shortbread and powdered sugar, and despite the caveman way he’s eating, I’m ridiculously pleased he likes it.

He’s polishing off his second cookie when Mrs. Kaminski shuffles over. “So,you’reOwen.” She peers at him over her glasses. “I have a present for you.”

My brother looks at me quizzically, and I guess itisa tiny bit odd that an octogenarian he’s never met is attending his birthday party, especially when I couldn’t even bring myself to tell our parents about it. I make the introductions, and Owen brushes the crumbs off his palms so he can reach out and shake her hand. Mrs. Kaminski isn’t much of a hugger.

“Mrs. Kaminski?” Owen cocks his head. “Wait. Aren’t you the one who gave Sadie the cat?”

“Wasn’t that so nice of her?” I say too loudly, before we can get into the cat lady thing again. “And look, she brought you a present, too. Open it!”

Mrs. Kaminski hands over a box wrapped in yesterday’sedition of theNew York Timesand tied with a piece of yarn. Owen tugs aside the paper to reveal a beautiful knit scarf in heather gray with dark red detailing. “Oh, wow.”

“It’s gorgeous.” I reach over to stroke the soft fabric.

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