Three days of smooth sailing had passed when Elijah strolled into KopiKopi, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully as he entered. The scent of freshly brewed coffee enveloped us, mingling with the sweet aroma of pastries displayed in glass cases. Elijah stood in front of my counter, his expression serious, contrasting with the vibrant café buzzing around us. "Your father will arrive in three days."
The words hit me like a cold wave, leaving me momentarily motionless, the lively chatter and laughter of patrons fading into the background.
"Tell him not to come," I replied, hoping my dismissal would resonate with my father's stubbornness. I could already feel the tension building in my chest.
"He said he misses Franchesca."
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. That wasn't the real reason for his visit; I knew it. With only three days left, I decided I had to make amends with Heart. Time was ticking, and the last thing I needed was my father complicating things further.
Just then, the door jingled open again, and I felt the familiar vibe shift, like a wave of warmth washing over me. Franchesca was here, her presence a mix of grace and energy. I let out a resigned sigh, realizing there was nothing I could do now except accept it.
My father strode into the store, exuding confidence and eagerness, the light streaming through the large windows catching the glints of grey in his slicked-back hair. He looked effortlessly stylish, his stubble flecked with ash, and the way he carried himself demanded attention. His eyes, almost identical to mine but softer, scanned the café, a smile spreading across his face as he took in the lively scene.
"Shit," I murmured as our eyes locked. His eyes lit up, and he walked toward me, enveloping me in a tight hug. I returned it with reluctance, feeling the warmth radiating from him. "Don't shit your father, son. We're bound by blood," he whispered, joy radiating from him, his accent thick with affection.
"Franchesca!" he called out, his voice booming across the café, momentarily drawing the attention of other patrons. She bounded over, jumping into his arms, her laughter echoing with delight as they embraced.
"Franchesca! How has my daughter been?" His Italian accent filled the room, mixing with the ambient sounds of clinking cups and soft jazz playing in the background.
"Dad!"
"Stepfather—Realfather—?" Heart approached, her usual café outfit perfectly put together, an apron tied neatly around her waist. All of us donned aprons, but she wore a chic brown number with light patent accents that highlighted her sharp features.
"I came from his cum," I said bluntly, watching her reaction, half-expecting her to roll her eyes.
"What's his name?" Heart asked, scrutinizing him from head to toe, her gaze flicking between him and me, as if waiting for my approval before she let her thoughts spill out.
"Phoenix Silverster Klein," I stated, my tone steady, meeting her gaze with confidence.
They continued hugging, lost in their moment, until Heart completed her table cleaning. My father, ever the charming guest, looked around, a twinkle in his eye. "Of course! A spot saved for us, as expected of the Kleins." His laughter rang rich and genuine, a sound that mingled with the clatter of dishes and the soft hum of conversation.
He settled into the middle of the table like royalty at a banquet, the sunlight catching the flecks of silver in his hair. I watched as Franchesca and Heart chatted, their voices low and conspiratorial, exchanging knowing smiles that hinted at shared secrets. I removed my apron too, feeling the shift in dynamics as we embraced the family gathering.
