Second Chances Cafe

Camila Fuentes had not slept in thirty-six hours, her rental car smelled like gas station coffee, and the GPS had led her to what appeared to be a bait shop. She checked the address her grandmother's lawyer had provided against the peeling sign above the door — "Cafe Sol y Luna" — and realized with sinking certainty that the bait shop and the cafe were the same establishment. The 'S' in Sol had fallen off and been replaced, inexpertly, with what looked like a fishing hook bent into shape.

The bell above the door announced her arrival with a sound like a cat being stepped on. The interior was dim, warm, and smelled astonishingly good — fresh bread, cinnamon, something citrus. Mismatched chairs surrounded tables that had been sanded and repainted so many times their edges were soft. The walls were covered in photographs, local art, and a hand-lettered sign that read: "Free coffee for anyone having a terrible day. Honor system."

She was studying the photographs — recognizing, with a pang, her grandmother's face in several of them — when a voice from the kitchen said, "We are closed, but there is coffee if you — " and then stopped. Camila turned. Standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing a flour-dusted apron and an expression of absolute shock, was Alejandro Medina. The boy she had loved at twenty. The man she had left without a word. He was holding a tray of conchas and staringat her as though she were a ghost, which, she supposed, in a way she was.