Page 73 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Absolutely,” I agree immediately. “It should always have come first.”
Peter studies me one last time, then nods slightly. “I’ll let you know. Leave your number with Jenny at the front counter on your way out.”
It’s a dismissal, but a gentler one than before. I thank him again, but before I turn to go, I say, “Mr. Hughes? Regardless of what happens with the job, I want you to know I’ll never stop being sorry for how I hurt Caitlin. And I’ll never stop trying to make it right.”
I leave the kitchen, heading to the front counter where a young woman is folding napkins. I write my name and number on the pad she offers, thanking her before stepping outside into the frosty January air. The conversation with Peter went better than I’d dared hope, but I know the real test is still to come. How will Caitlin react to the idea of seeing me every day? Will she give me even this slight chance to prove myself?
As I walk to my truck, I glance back at the restaurant, at the faded sign that’s meant so much to Caitlin’s family for generations. Whatever happens with Caitlin and me, I’m going to help save Louise’s Table if I can. She loves this restaurant, and so I love it too. It’s as simple as that.
* * *
Sitting in my truck outside Louise’s Table, my hands grip the steering wheel though the engine remains off. My conversation with Peter has left me drained, wrung out, as if I’ve run some emotional marathon. But beneath the exhaustion, a small spark of hope flickers. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no either. He’s going to talk to Caitlin. It’s more than I deserve, more than I expected when I knocked on that kitchen door. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest, memorieswashing over me like waves, all the ways I failed the woman I love, all the moments I chose wrong, all the pain I caused through my cowardice.
There are so many regrets, they blur together sometimes. But certain moments stand out in sharp relief: Caitlin’s face when I told her about the cruise, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall. At the Halloween party, I watched her flit from group to group, trying so hard to engage with my friends, who barely acknowledged her. Every dinner at my parents’ house where my mother made some cutting remark about Caitlin’s background, her lack of education, her appearance, and I said nothing. Just squeezed Caitlin’s hand under the table, as if that silent support was enough.
It was never enough. Not by half.
The worst part is that I saw what was happening. I wasn’t blind; I was just a coward. I watched the light in Caitlin’s eyes dim a little more each day, saw her shoulders curve inward, her voice grow quieter. I witnessed her transformation from the confident, vibrant woman I fell in love with to someone who constantly second-guessed herself, who apologized for taking up space. And still, I did nothing.
No, that’s not quite true. I did worse than nothing; I told her she was overreacting. I made excuses for my mother and for Millie. I promised things would get better if she just gave it more time, if she just tried a little harder to fit in. As if the problem were her, not them. Not me.
God, no wonder she left.
Dad’s words from our last conversation echo in my head: “Don’t waste time like I did, son. Fight for her while you still can.” The pain in his eyes when he told me about the woman he’d loved before Mom, the one his family had driven away and he’d never fought for, haunts me. I never knew that side of my father, never imagined that under his cheerful facade he carriedthat kind of regret. And now he’s planning to leave Mom after all these years, to finally choose himself.
“I should have done it decades ago,” he’d said, sitting on the couch in my mostly empty apartment, looking smaller and older than I’d ever seen him. “But I was afraid. First, I was afraid of disappointing my family, of not living up to what they expected of me. Then of being alone. And look what it cost me. Look what it almost cost you.”
It was the most profound lesson my father has ever taught me. How taking the path of cowardice can echo through a lifetime. How the choices we make, or fail to make, shape not just our own lives but the lives of everyone around us. My father has spent almost forty years living with the consequences of his cowardice, building a life that’s comfortable but not what he truly wanted.
I don’t want that fate. Even if Caitlin never forgives me, even if she’s happier with someone else, I need to become the kind of man who stands up for what he believes in. The kind of man who fights for what matters. The kind of man I thought I was in Colorado, before I let fear and obligation dim my own light.
Starting the engine, I back out of the parking space, my mind churning with possibilities. Peter might say no. Caitlin might refuse to even consider having me around.
But for the first time in months, I feel something like peace settling in my chest. I’ve been honest — with Peter, with myself. I’ve acknowledged my mistakes without excuse. And even if this particular door closes, I’ll find another way to show Caitlin I’ve changed, to help her family’s restaurant, to become someone worthy of a second chance.
As I drive away from Louise’s Table, I glance in the rearview mirror for a last look at the faded sign, the old building that holds so much of Caitlin’s history, her heart. Whatever happensnext, I’m not giving up. On Caitlin, on myself, on the possibility of redemption.
Some mistakes can’t be undone. But maybe, just maybe, they can be forgiven.
25
Chapter 25
Caitlin
I arrive at Perks fifteen minutes early and immediately regret it. Now I have to sit here alone, pretending to be fascinated by my phone while stealing glances at the door every time it opens. My stomach feels like I’ve swallowed a jar of butterflies. This was a mistake. I haven’t been on a first date since Adam, and even thinking of his name almost sends me into panic mode.
The coffee shop is one of the newer places in Cedar City, all exposed brick and hanging plants, with small wooden tables polished to a high shine. It’s exactly the kind of place tourists love. I order a simple latte and claim a table by the window, watching the Saturday morning crowd stroll by outside.
When Daniel walks in, I nearly spill my coffee. He’s even more attractive than I remembered from yoga class, with his auburn hair slightly tousled and an easy, confident stride. He spots me immediately and smiles, and my heart does a weirdlittle skip that has nothing to do with Adam and everything to do with basic female biology.
“Hi,” he says, sliding into the seat across from me. “Have you been waiting long?”
“No! Well, yes, but that’s my fault because I’m pathologically early to everything, which is this weird anxiety thing I have and—” I cut myself off, horrified. Ten seconds in and I’m already babbling. “Sorry. Hi. I haven’t been waiting long.”
His smile widens, creating small crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “I’ll grab a coffee. Can I get you anything else?”
I shake my head, clutching my cup like it might run away. While he’s at the counter, I take several deep breaths, trying to remember all those calming techniques Rachel’s always going on about. Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. Or is it inhale for seven, hold for four? Whatever it is, it’s not working.
