And I slipped back into the role I knew best. The steady one. The strong one. The one who could pretend, for a bit longer, that everything was fine.
Chapter Fifteen
TALLY
I’dbeenrunningmyselfragged all morning—half event planner, half cheese monger, full-time emotional disaster. With Sylvie off in Cabo living her best life, I was holding down the fort atCheese, Please!while prepping Hoyt and Charlotte’s elopement later that afternoon.
On paper, everything was handled. Eunice’s florist had delivered the flowers. Sutton’s cake was chilling in the back. My camera battery was fully charged. Pastor Donnelly was likely somewhere vibrating with excitement about his first Savannah elopement.
But my chest carried that restless hum—the one that made every sound too loud, every light too bright.
The bell over the door jingled.
“Be right with you!” I called, ducking behind the counter to grab champagne bottles from the cooler. My reflection in the glass looked unhinged: hair frizz halo, apron streaked with honey, the faint glow of someone pretending her life wasn’t unraveling inside an artisanal cheese shop.
I straightened, balancing three bottles on my swollen belly. “If you like Gouda, there’s a great potato chip variety that—”
“Hey, Tal.”
The bottles nearly slipped from my hands.
That voice.
I knew that voice.
My body knew before my brain caught up—stomach dropping, skin going cold, breath catching somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
Nick.
He stood by the cooler in a worn leather jacket I used to borrow when I got cold at the bar, hands shoved in his pockets as if he’d just wandered in for brie like any regular customer. His hair was still gel-slick, that lazy smirk tugging at his mouth—only now it looked smaller. Uncertain.
A faint bruise shadowed his temple. Dig’s handiwork. I fought down the smirk.
“What are you doing here?” My voice came out flat and distant. Like it belonged to someone else.
His gaze dropped to my belly right as the baby kicked.
Perfect timing.
His face changed—shock, then recognition, then something that might’ve been fear. “Shit,” he breathed. “So Dig wasn’t exaggerating.”
“You need to leave.” I set the champagne bottles down before I dropped them. My hands were shaking.
“Tally—”
“Now.”
He didn’t move, only stood there, staring at me like I was a problem he hadn’t planned for. “We need to talk.”
I bit out a sarcastic laugh. “No, we really don’t.”
“I came all the way to Savannah—”
“I didn’t ask you to.” My voice cracked despite my best efforts. “How did you even find me?”
“Your Instagram’s public,” he shrugged, like it was obvious. “And you’re tagged in everyCheese, Please!post. Wasn’t exactly hard.”
Of course. The one time social media actually worked, it led my ex straight to my door.
