The next afternoon, he was there—seated outside the bookstore, cup in hand, Lucky sprawled at his feet. He hadn’t told anyone. Wasn’t sure what he’d even say. But when a black car slowed and parked across the street, he sat up straighter. The woman from last night stepped out. Followed by a tall man in a crisp suit.
They crossed the street together. “There you are,” Ava said, smiling. The man beside her extended his hand. “I’m Robert,” he said. “Ava’s father.” Joshua stood slowly, uncertain. “She told me how you saved her life last night. You didn’t have to—but you did.”