Still, I let them lead me toward the door. Toward the airport. Toward the town I ran from and the man I still dream about more nights than I care to admit. I don’t know what’s waiting for me. But I’m finally ready to find out.
The plane touches down in Sheridan just after ten, and by the time we make it to Broken Heart Creek, I’m fighting yawns hard enough to water my eyes. My back aches, my legs are stiff, and the twins are having a dance party against my ribs.
I figured we’d head straight to the B&B, crash, and deal with emotions in the daylight.
But of course, that’s not what’s happening.
Phern pulls into Ruby’s gravel driveway and lets my parents out. Mom turns to wave, glowing with that “on-vacation” energy, and Ruby grins at me through the window like she’s been expecting me all along.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, reaching for the door. But Phern throws the truck in reverse and peels away before I can so much as open it.
“What are you doing?” I demand, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“We’re going out.”
“Phern, no. I’m pregnant and exhausted.”
She smirks. “You’re also glowing and about to live a cinematic moment. Buckle up.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where are we going?”
Her grin widens as she taps the steering wheel. “Back to the past.”
That’s when we pull up in front of the old Lura’s Porch building. Or what used to be Lura’s Porch. Now, it’s lit up like aFriday night in Nashville. There’s a new wooden sign swinging above the entrance that reads Flowers End, and the parking lot is full of trucks and music thudding through the walls.
“You’re taking me to Will’s bar?” I ask, blinking.
“No,” she says, turning the engine off. “I’m taking you into the past.”
Before I can respond, she tosses a soft white t-shirt into my lap. I lift it up, expecting to see something on it. But, no, it’s plain.
“Put this on,” she says.
“Here? In the parking lot?”
Phern shrugs. “Jeez, Olive. No one’s going to be looking at you. Everyone’s inside.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, already unbuckling.
“No, you don’t.”
I grumble but do as I’m told, tugging off my wrinkled travel shirt and slipping the white tee over my head. It’s soft. Comfortable. A little snug over my bump, but I smooth it down with both hands.
I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “It clings.”
Phern turns in her seat, really looks at me, and her eyes light up.
“Oh,” she says. “This is perfect. He’s going to eat his heart out.”
I freeze. “He? Whathe, Phern?”
She just grins, practically vibrating with glee.
“Come on, friend. We’ve got history to visit.”
Phern hops out of the truck with the energy of someone who knows something I don’t, and I reluctantly follow, tugging my jacket tighter around me as the night air nips at my skin.
The second we step inside the bar, warmth wraps around me. Wood-paneled walls, low lighting, and laughter bubbling like soft thunder. One of Sam Stone’s songs drifts from the jukebox,mellow and aching, the kind of tune that makes you want to sway with someone you shouldn't miss.
