Sheryn grinned. “Right? It’s a little different from Bozeman.”
That was an understatement.
Bozeman had been ours. The streets we’d walked a thousand times, the cafés where we’d spent entire afternoons talking about nothing, the college bars we’d snuck into with fake IDs, the tiny bookstore that had the best chai lattes—that was home.
I glanced at her. “Do you miss it?”
She sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Sometimes. But this is home now. Nick’s here. And honestly? Buffaloberry grows on you.”
I smirked. “Like moss?”
“Like a stubborn weed,” she shot back, laughing.
I looked out the window again. “Feels smaller.”
“Oh, it is,” she said. “You can’t sneeze without someone knowing about it.”
Prison wasn’t much different.
Though she was right. Bozeman might’ve been home once, but Buffaloberry had its own charm.
Then, just before a cute little café with outdoor seating, Sheryn made a left turn.
“Hey, I’m sorry I had to stick you in a motel,” she said, throwing me a quick glance. “Nick’s house is chock-a-block. We literally can’t fit another person. Or cat. Or dog.”
“It’s fine. Seriously. You already did enough just setting this up for me.”
“I swear, it’s a safe town,” she assured me. “And this motel? The best. Friendly staff, clean, and I know the owner personally. He owes me a favor.”
“Oh? What kind of favor?”
She smirked. “Let’s just say he had asmallaccident with his wife’s favorite ceramic rooster, and Imayhave helped him source a replacement before she noticed.”
I shook my head. “Rynnie, the things you get involved in…”
“Hey, Buffaloberry’s small. We all got dirt on each other. It’s just a matter of when to use it.”
She pulled up in front of a neat little roadside motel, its porch lined with hanging flower baskets and a vintageVACANCYsign glowing in the window.
Inside, the place smelled of fresh linen and lemon polish. It’s not fancy, but comfortable. Homey.
Sheryn helped me settle into my room, dropping the sad little plastic bag of my pre-prison belongings onto the bed. She then glanced at the time.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said reluctantly. “But if you need anything, just call me.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and the day after tomorrow, dress fitting. At The Lazy Moose. They’ll put up a tent for the bride’s party since Nick’s place is packed. We can’t even fit our frocks.”
I smirked. “Wouldn’t want to wrinkle the wedding couture.”
“One hundred percent,” she said with a wink. Then she pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to me. “Here. Just something to help you get started.”
I stared down at it. “Rynnie…”
“Take it. Remember, I owed you?”
“For what?”
