The boys sat together in a corner booth, textbooks spread between them. Noah had one earbud in. Liam scribbled notes like he was racing a clock. I topped off their orange juice and managed a small smile.
“You do not have to stay here all afternoon,” I told them.
I remembered. I just hated it.
The bell over the door chimed a little while later. Evan walked in as if the place were his stage. Designer coat. Polished shoes. Confident stride.
He slid into the booth opposite the boys without asking, like he had always belonged there. From behind the counter, I watched their shoulders tense.
I walked over with a pot of coffee, holding it like a shield.
“I did not order that, Rachel,” he said, not bothering to look at me.
“You are not here for coffee,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “You are here to make a deal with your sons and with me.”
He gave a low laugh.
“You always did know how to make things dramatic,” he said, reaching for a sugar packet.
“Of course,” he said smoothly.
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