Thanking the lady at the counter, I stepped out of the dry-cleaning center and made my way over to Michael’s car. As I slid inside and pushed the clean bag of laundry to the back seat, Michael was silently watching me.

I caught his eyes and pulled on a practiced smile. “What?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t, and looked away. “Nothing.”

We pulled away from street, toward my workplace. Possible workplace.

Blowing out a sigh, I turned toward the window, feeling the soft caress of November breeze against my face.

“Are you still in touch with Chloe?” I asked, stealing a glance at Michael. He didn’t respond immediately. It seemed like he was processing that question and the several variations to the answers he could respond with. I cleared my throat “I don’t mean to pry into your personal matters. It’s just that if you are in touch, then I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

He shot me a brief side-eyed look. “What can I do?”

“That dress,” I pointed to the back seat where the beautiful red ball gown was wrapped securely into the laundry bag. “Could you return it to Chloe? And convey my hearty thanks to her.”

Michael shot me another glance, this time eyeing me a heartbeat longer. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of my dress, afraid he might ask me something I didn’t—or couldn’t—answer. At least not yet.

He simply nodded. “Will do.”

A genuine smile snuck onto my face.

Somewhere deep down, in Michael I had always found a friend. Not just any friend. A one of a kind. The one who listened to my rantings without uttering a single thing but with all of his attention drawn to my words. Who had refrained me from touching alcohol, then quietly bore my tantrums for the next week.

And what he did for me last night was more than enough proof that I still had that friend in him.

When I had received a call—which I had received, then blocked—from Devin, I knew why he wanted to hear my voice. And I had immediately connected the dots, how Ian had been made aware of things.

Surely, Devin had sprinkled some of his own spice and salt for his personal pleasure.

“Maeve,” Michael's voice, heavy with an unknown weight, drew my attention to his fingers aimlessly tapping against the steering wheel. “I don’t mean to pick sides. You know that’s not what I like. But Ian’s concern about your work is…understandable.” He briefly glanced at me. “Considering you haven’t even tried to explain yourself to him. He has it all wrong.”

Unwillingly, I broke my eyes away from him. “Explain what?”

“Maeve…” Michael sighed out my name. “I ran a check over that club last night after you went to bed.”

“You did what?”

“I needed to make sure you’re safe there." He shrugged. "But I found out more than I had meant to find.” He pulled over at the address I had provided him, then shifted all of his attention to me. “You should tell Ian.”

“Tell him what?”

His focused gaze searched for my eyes. “That you’re just a waitress at the club. Not what he thinks you are.”

My brows drew together. Just how did he find out everything about my work overnight?

Again, explaining anything to Ian about my present job would do nothing to erase the remnants of my past occupation from his brain. Even if we were to come back together, there was an invisible crack between us which was growing slowly, by each passing moment.

Knowing Ian, he would feel sorry for me and take me back, because he would hate to leave the girl he wished to help through therapy, go back to the crackhead who found pleasure in pricking her own skin.

I wouldn’t do any such thing though. And he would realize it when I wouldn’t give in to this heart-wrenching pain in my chest, which cried to me to run back to him, into his arms.

“I must compliment your connections. That was a rather quick discovery.” I quietly chuckled.

Michael clicked his tongue. “Don’t switch the subject, Maeve.”

I sighed out. “Then what do you want me to do? Sit and cry over something that I had well in advance overthought?” Michael looked like he would argue, but then pressed his lips together.

I shifted my attention over his shoulder, outside the driver’s window, unable to hold his gaze. “After every day, every moment I spent with him, after the happy moments had set with the sun every evening, I was busy overthinking the worst-case scenarios for the rest of the night.” Another humorless chuckle broke through me. “Some of them are quite identical to my current situation.”

Michael reached for my hand and pulled it into his lap, giving it a squeeze. It was his way of comforting someone in need of reassurance. By his own description, he wasn’t good with words anywhere outside his office.

I smiled at him, only because I had no more tears left to shed. “I’m fine, Michael.” I covered our intertwined hands with my free one. “Let bygones be bygones.”

After I managed to convince Michael to leave and that I wouldn't have a nasty breakdown in the middle of the street, I was standing before a classy, wood-themed bistro. An elongated slate hung above the door which read Gretchen’s Kitchen. The place looked pretty cozy and well maintained, but farthest away from my expectations.

Biting my lip in annoyance, I shook my head, suddenly diffident. This was a bad idea. I tsked at myself and turned on my heels to leave. I might have been out of my head when I decided to come here.

Just as I was down the last step leading out onto the street, a voice called from behind me, making me halt in my steps.

“Oi!” When I turned around, Eddie barged out through the bistro doors, leaving a jingling of windchimes behind him. “Where do you think you’re goin'?”

Some of the building anxiety left my body when his beaming smile greeted me, making me chuckle. “Hi.”

His smile dropped with an annoyed frown taking over, too quickly for me to notice the change. “Damn, you didn’t sleep last night, did you? Look at them dark rings under your eyes. And your face, it’s swollen.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Eddie, it’s good to see you too.”

A snort broke through him, trying to stifle a laugh. “Okay, sorry. I was just trying to lighten your mood. You looked stressed as hell.”

“Aw, thank you. I’m much lighter now. Look, I’m floating.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. Then snickered, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Are you coming in, or what?”

I followed his finger with a rising uncertainty, which might have reflected on my face, because the next second, I was being dragged inside the restaurant by the wrist.

Too nervous to even formulate a protest, I quietly followed behind the boy who was four inches shorter than me, passing by more than a few tables merrily caroling Christmas carols. Until we stopped at the door of the kitchen, where a few people were cooking and the rest were packing take aways. It was a small area, with more than squeezable number of people working.

A short, plump lady swirled a spatula in the air above her head, shouting a few words across the kitchen to the cooks.

I could point out who she was even before she turned around. But as soon as she did, I was sure of my assumption.

The lady had the same big brown eyes like the boy standing beside me, and identical soft features.

She spotted us standing at the door and her frown dropped from her face, replacing it with a beaming smile—again, similar to her son’s— as she made her way toward us, tossing the spatula over the counter.

“You must be Maeve.” She wiped her hands on the seam of her apron and extended a hand, which I took with both of mine.

“And you must be Gretchen. Nice to meet.”

Her voice made me flush. I didn’t even know why.

She searched for her son’s face. “Is this the beautiful lady you met at the park?”

Eddie feigned indifference by busying himself on his phone, but his pink tinted cheeks gave away more than he would have appreciated.

“He said that?” I chuckled, earning a scowl from him.

“He sure did. He hasn’t shut up about you.” Her smile widened, and Eddie’s cheeks reddened. “So, Maeve. What kind of work can you do?”

My mouth hung open, them clamped shut. I wasn’t expecting her to directly jump onto point. But I anyways didn’t intend on hovering at the kitchen door and keep her from her work.

“Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never worked in a bistro before. But I can learn.” I suggested with a small, genuine smile.

When Eddie had helped me last night with a phone call, he had asked me a favor in return. I wasn’t sure I had anything I could help him with.

However, when he had put forth his request, I was taken aback. I didn’t think I would want a day job at a bistro. But when he said he couldn’t go to music classes because he had to help his mom at the restaurant, I felt the depth of his request in my bones.

I saw my younger self, staring up at me with big brown eyes, begging me to give her a break from school to hospital and hospital to shelter house. That was all I knew until I turned eighteen.

So before I knew, I was patting his dusty blonde hair and assuring him I'll try my best.

Gretchen led us out through the back door, arranging two chairs at the patio.

When I briefed her about my experience at the club—strictly leaving out details of my past work profession because of Eddie standing beside me—she looked deep in thought.

One of her brows looked like it was permanently arched. After a moment, she hummed. “I was actually intending on hiring more waiters anyways.”

She waved her hands in the air as she explained how her business flourished in holiday season which would be around the corner very soon.

I glanced at Eddie, and he sent me a confused look, then groaned. “Mama, enough already. Is she hired, or not?”

Gretchen brushed him off with a flick of her fingers. “Buzz off. Don’t poke your nose where you aren’t required to. Don’t you have music class at three?”

It took me and Eddie a moment to process the information, but when it did, he beamed at me with a fresh enthusiasm. He jumped up and kissed Gretchen on her cheeks with a, “You’re the best,” before turning to me. “Thank you,”

When he left hopping through the door like an excited rabbit, Gretchen returned her eyes to me. There was a gentle look on her face; a motherly gentleness, and it conveyed her silent gratitude to me.

It wasn’t only Eddie who was happy. Gretchen was happy her son wouldn’t have to work in the bistro too.

And maybe both their happiness combined was large enough to shed some specks of smiles over me.

It was around five in the afternoon when I returned home from my first day at my new day job.

All I did today was roam around the place and observe the other waiters from behind the counter, since that was what Gretchen had instructed me to do. When I'd explained to her about my earlier night job at the strip club, she'd barely reacted. All she said was, "So you have an experience with managing crowd and distributing your attention throughout them. I guess that's a point in your court if you wanna work in a bistro."

God, I already liked her so much.

It didn’t look that hard though, working in the bistro, but I would have to develop communication skills, because becoming a waitress at a bistro was different from a bar. Bars had only drinks. Bistros had a whole four paged menu, half of which wasn’t even in English. So, I had to actually talk.

Who knew, right?

I huffed out a breath and unlocked the front door. I had around one hour in hand to get ready and head over to Blue Heaven, but all I wanted was to drop myself onto my bed and doze off.

Partly because Eddie was right. I had got no sleep whatsoever last night. And partly because I was so tired.

Physically and emotionally.

As I stepped inside the house, a very crushing silence fell on my ears. I had spent hardly a any days in this house, but it already felt like a home.

A home with only one person. Was that even a thing?

I guessed not. It was just a house after all. A house I was going to leave soon.

Dropping my jacket on the couch, I sighed a heavy breath, which did nothing to soothe the tightness in my chest.

I had mentioned to Michael about finding a new apartment. And although his first instinct was to invite me to move into his mansion, he had withdrawn back even before I could completely register his words. Because leaving aside our mutual understanding of a friendly relationship, we were still a divorced couple.

Then he had offered to help me find an apartment, which I had readily accepted.

My savings weren’t enough to afford an apartment right now, but I would surely move out as soon as I could.

I already knew Ian would be hurt when I would return the house keys to him. Maybe he’ll sell it off like he had mentioned the first day I was here. And although the thought of someone else having this house, which was so dear to Ian and me, that held so many memories of us together, was like a rock sinking into my chest, I couldn’t help it.

Maybe hurting a few days now, could save us hurting for the rest of our lives.

Just as I stepped out of my heels and slid them under the coffee table (I had to wear them again in about an hour), the doorbell went off, making me freeze in my steps.

I was still not used to guests. Hell, I would never be, considering my socially awkward manner, which eventually led people to the conclusion that I was a bitch.

But my immediate stillness was also because I was used to only one person walking in through that door. And I hated how I was expecting to see him again, when I was the one who decided to put distance between us for good.

When there was another knock, I unfroze successfully and padded barefoot toward the door and opened it.

A broad, suited chest aligned into my vision, too broad to actually fit into the diameter of my vision. My eyes trailed up the neatly ironed blazer, over the thick neck and finally settled onto an unknown face.

“Miss. Maeve Adams?” He asked, sounding like he hated that name.

I blinked and almost shrunk away under the hard stare of the man. “Y-yes?”

Faster than I could comprehend, his rigid face molded into a soft, welcoming smile.

“I’m Andrew Boyce,” he extended his hand, and I eyed it briefly before taking it. “I was Frank’s lawyer.”

My heart momentarily slowed down at the mentioned name and the nervousness dispersed into the air around me. I let go of his hand with an unmasked urgency, then folded my arms across his chest.

“What do you want?” I already had enough shit going on in my life to get involved with anything my father’s lawyer had to say.

The smile tightened along his thin lips as his chest heaved with a sigh. “I need to discuss Frank’s will with you,” his eyes lingered on a file which I didn’t notice he was holding. “He has left behind a part of every little thing for you. And Mary.”

I gulped down a heavy lump and scoffed. “Did he? Look, I know about this whole will thing, and I want nothing of—”

“No, Miss Adams, please. Let me at least explain it to you.” He scratched his forehead like he couldn’t find words to describe what was on his mind. He looked like he would want to sit down, but I was not inviting him inside. “Frank was a very good friend of mine. Even at his death bed, there was no one around him. Not his son or his wife, or grandchild. I saw him yearn for you and your mother. To get just a glimpse of you both before he passed on.”

He ducked his head, displaying the guilt I could now imagine on my father’s face before he had left this world. “He realized his mistake, but it was too late. He couldn’t find you or Mary. And the year you turned eighteen, he had me draft this will.”

“When I turned eighteen?” That was a long time back.

Andrew nodded. “He didn’t know where you two were, or if you were even alive. But he wanted to be fair to you for at least once in his life.”

The corners of my eyes burned with an unsettling heat. I blinked back the tears as they brimmed against my will.

I did not want to forgive him. I knew I would never. What my father did to me and my mother was not something easily forgivable. But knowing he was out there, searching for her and me, wanting to take us back, made me take a step back.

I plopped down on my couch and took my head in my hands.

Fuck. I didn’t want to cry in front of this unknown man, but he seemed to have known my father more than me.

“How did you find me now? Devin?”

Andrew took a few steps inside the house then stepped away from the doorway. “Not exactly. Devin just helped me reach out to your boyfriend. Your boyfriend drove me here.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” My temple throbbed as I rubbed at it, before his words settled in. My head whipped up at a lightning speed. “Ian?”

Andrew blinked, then nodded.

Suddenly, my chest was flooding with questions. So many that I could fish out only one from the load. A question with an answer I could already predict. It was hardly a day without seeing him and it already felt like an eternity.

“Where is he?”

Andrew pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Outside—”

Even before his could finish the word, I was sprinting past him, bare feet, out of the door with only one name chanting in my head.

Ian. Ian. Ian.