Friday’s weird vibes got swept away Saturday morning when Nan hit me with my three favorite words: “Let’s go sightseeing!”

We wandered around, sipped some killer coffee, wandered some more, grabbed lunch, downed more coffee, and kept roaming until we crashed back home late Saturday with fish and chips from the local spot. Sunday, I helped Nan piece together a patchwork quilt for some soldier in Afghanistan she’s never met. Her old folks’ group has pen pals out there, and she figured a quilt might keep him cozy… in the desert.

Monday morning, Nan spots my bright yellow Converse as I stroll into the kitchen for work. “Got the sun stuffed in your socks, Emma?” she teases.

I grin at my shoes. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“Love ‘em!” she chuckles, setting down my cornflakes. “How’s your knee?”

I sit, tap my leg, and grab my spoon. “All good. What’s your plan today, Nan?”

“George and I are hitting the market for lemons for your cake.” She plops a teapot on the table and dumps two sugars in my mug.

“Nan, I don’t take sugar!” I try to snatch the mug, but her old hands are too quick.

“You need some meat on your bones,” she says, pouring the tea and sliding it over. “Don’t argue, Emma, or I’ll put you over my knee.”

I smirk at her empty threat—she’s been saying that for 24 years and never done it. “You can get lemons at the corner store,” I mumble around a mouthful of cornflakes, biting my tongue to keep from saying more.

“You’re right,” she says, her navy eyes flicking to me as she sips her tea. “But I want to go to the market, and George offered to take me. End of story.”

I hide my grin. George is so sweet on Nan, but she’s kind of sharp with him. No clue why he puts up with her bossiness. She acts all tough, but I know she quietly likes him back. Gramps has been gone seven years, and no one could replace him, but a bit of company does Nan good. Losing her daughter—my mom—sent her into a dark place, and Gramps held her together, hiding his own pain until it broke him. Then it was just me, a messed-up teen trying to keep it together… and failing hard at first.

Nan starts piling more cornflakes into my bowl. “I’m off to Monday club at six, so I won’t be here when you get home from work. Can you handle dinner?”

“Yep,” I say, blocking the cereal avalanche with my hand. “George going too?”

“Emma,” she says, her voice sharp.

“Sorry.” I flash a grin as her grey curls bounce with her annoyed headshake.

“It’s a sad day when I’ve got a better social life than my granddaughter.”

Her words wipe the smile off my face. Not going there. “Gotta get to work.” I stand, kiss her cheek, and ignore her sigh.

I hop off the bus, weaving through the rush-hour chaos, my mood as bright as my Converse and the sunny weather. After cutting through Mayfair’s back streets, I push into the bistro, already slammed, just like last Monday when I started working for Del. No time to chat with Lily or say sorry to Del again for Friday’s mess. An apron flies at me, and I’m off—clearing empty cups from four tables before new customers swoop in. I smile, serve fast, and clear faster. I’m a pro at this whole service-with-a-smile thing.

By five, my yellow Converse aren’t so perky. My feet, calves, and head are killing me, but I still grin when Lily smacks my butt as she passes. “You’ve been here a week, and I already can’t imagine this place without you.”

My smile grows, but it drops when I turn and see *him* again. I don’t buy into fate or “meant to be” stuff. You make your own path with your choices, but other people’s decisions can screw that up, and sometimes you’re helpless to stop it. That’s why I’ve shut the world out—kept people and possibilities at arm’s length to stay in control. I’m fine admitting that to myself. Someone else’s selfish choices already messed up my life too much. What I’m not okay with is suddenly losing my grip on that control, especially when it matters most.

And the reason for that slip is standing right in front of me.

My heart’s pounding, and that tells me everything. I’m into him—really into him. But why’s he here? He hated my coffee, and even though I’ve been slinging perfect cups all day, I bet that’s about to change.

He’s just staring at me, same as before. I should be annoyed, but I can’t call him out because I’m staring too. His face is blank, like always. Can he even smile? Bet he’s got perfect teeth. Everything I can see is perfect, and I’m sure the rest is too. He’s in another navy three-piece suit, his blue eyes popping. He looks flawless, expensive, untouchable.

I need to say something. This is ridiculous, but it takes Lily banging the kitchen door into my back to snap me out of it. “Oh!” she gasps, grabbing my arm to steady me. She sees my stunned face, then spots him, her jaw dropping. “Oh…” she whispers, glancing between us. “I’ll, uh, go empty the bins.” She bails, leaving me to deal with him. I want to yell for her to come back, but my tongue’s stuck, and I’m still staring.

He leans forward, hands on the counter, that one lock of hair falling over his forehead, pulling my eyes up. “You’re staring at me,” he says softly.

“You’re staring at me too,” I shoot back, finally finding my voice. “Not doing a great job of staying away, are you?”

He ignores that. “How old are you?” His eyes slide down my body, then back to my face. I frown, and his eyebrow lifts, waiting. “I asked you a question.”

“Twenty-four,” I blurt, when I really wanted to tell him to mind his own business.