**Part 3**

Monday came gray and cold.

Olivia texted me at 6:12 a.m. while I was still sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee I hadn’t touched.

*June just got the call. Landlord’s lawyer. They’re not renewing. Thirty days. Brandon’s name was on the email.*

I stared at the screen for a long moment, then typed back:

*Tell June not to sign anything. I’ll be there in twenty.*

The café was already open when I arrived. June stood behind the counter in her usual apron, face тιԍнт, phone still in her hand. Olivia was wiping the same spot on the counter over and over, eyes red. A couple of regulars sat quietly in the corner, sensing the mood.

June looked up when the bell rang. “Ethan. You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.”

I set a folder on the counter. Olivia stopped wiping.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Copies of the lease. The purchase agreement Whitmore filed last month. And a letter from the new owner of the building.”

June frowned. “How do you have the purchase agreement?”

“Because I bought it.”

The café went still. Olivia’s hand froze on the rag. June blinked like she hadn’t heard me right.

“You… what?”

“I bought the building three weeks ago,” I said. “Through a holding company. Whitmore was one of the bidders. They lost. Brandon doesn’t know that yet. He’s been threatening people with a deal that was never going to close.”

Olivia stared at me. “Ethan. How?”

I met her eyes. “My last name is Hail. My father built the company. I’ve been running the mechanical side of it for the last four years—quietly. The jacket, the two hundred dollars, the café… that part was real. I just didn’t want you to meet the rest of it until I knew you liked the guy who fixes freezers and saves for dinner.”

Silence.

June slowly sat down on a stool. Olivia didn’t move.

“You’re Mr. Hail,” she said, voice small.

“Yeah.”

“The one Brandon’s been trying to get a meeting with for months.”

“Yeah.”

She let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “He has no idea.”

“Not yet.” I slid the folder toward June. “The new lease is already drawn up. Same rent. Five years. Your name on it. Brandon’s email this morning was just noise. He doesn’t have the authority to cancel anything.”

June pressed a hand over her mouth. Her eyes filled. Olivia looked between the folder and me like she was trying to decide which part of the morning was real.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked quietly.

“Because I wanted you to throw water on him for the right reasons,” I said. “Not because you thought I could fix it afterward.”

She studied me for a long second. Then she reached across the counter and took my hand—the same hand that had worn my father’s old jacket on Saturday night.

“You still could’ve told me before he sat down at our table.”

“I know.”

“Next time,” she said, and the corner of her mouth lifted just a little, “tell me before the water.”

“Deal.”

Outside, a black car pulled up to the curb. Brandon stepped out, phone to his ear, already smiling like a man who thought he was about to deliver bad news. He hadn’t seen us through the window yet.

Olivia followed my gaze. Her fingers тιԍнтened around mine.

“Should we let him come in?” she asked.

I looked at the folder, at June wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron, at Olivia standing steady beside me in the café that had given me apple pie instead of cash.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let him.”

The bell above the door rang.