I’m overwhelmed and proud and grateful. Mostly the latter.
The community showed up when everything burned. Now they’re showing up again, this time to celebrate. To rebuild. To prove that what Marcus tried to erase can’t be erased. Not even if it goes up in smoke.
I move through my days with purpose, clipboard tucked under my arm, barking cheerful instructions and thanking people until my voice goes hoarse. I don’t notice much else, which is probably why I don’t notice Aiden being weird at first.
He’s distracted lately. Not distant—never that—but preoccupied. He takes phone calls in the other room. Disappears with Garrett under flimsy excuses. Comes home with that particular look on his face that says his mind is somewhere else entirely.
I assume it’s firehouse-related. He swears he’s not under investigation again, but then he changes the topic. I can’t tell if he’s trying to make sure I don’t worry, or if there’s even anything to worry about. He tries to act like there isn’t. So, maybe there isn’t, and I’m just looking for something else to go wrong.
Or maybe it’s about the reopening. It makes sense. He’s been just as involved as I have, showing up to planning meetings, coordinating with the crew, fielding questions about logistics. I chalk his behavior up to nerves, or maybe planning some big firefighter-themed surprise for opening night.
Carlie does nothing to dissuade me.
Every time she drops by, she gives me these knowing looks, eyebrows arching, mouth twitching like she’s sitting on something big. I love her, but she cannot keep a secret to save her life, so I’m surprised to see it. Especially when she says, “The reopening is going to be very memorable,” and then shifts gears to talk about the hospital or Mason or anything but the reopening.
Roz is worse. She winks at me every time I mention opening night and says things like, “Oh, just you wait,” or “You have no idea how good this is going to be.”
Then there’s Mason. He has zero poker face.
“Mommy,” he announces one afternoon while I’m reviewing menu proofs, “Aiden says I have a very important job at the party but I can’t tell you.”
I look up, amused. “Oh yeah? What kind of job?”
He clamps his lips together dramatically and shakes his head. “It’s a secret.”
Aiden appears instantly, clearing his throat too loudly. “Buddy?—”
“I know!” Mason says, eyes wide. “I’m not supposed to tell.”
Carlie grins and shushes him, which only makes him giggle and makes me laugh harder than I have in days.
Whatever it is, if they all know about it, it can’t be bad. When that thought strikes, it feels odd. I’m not expecting the worst for once. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Everything is going according to plan so far, and there’s still a small part of me that’s holding her breath, but it’s not all of me, and that’s progress.
The closer we get to opening night, the more the bar feels like it’s vibrating with anticipation.
There’s a hum in the air every time I walk through the doors. I juggle calls with the liquor distributor while approving the final draft of the menu. I argue good-naturedly with the fire inspectorabout the placement of an exit sign, then turn around and hug him when he signs off on the final inspection. Every yes feels earned. Every hurdle cleared feels like a small victory stacked on top of another.
Staffing is the last major piece to fall into place.
Some of the old crew comes back without hesitation, familiar faces who tell me they wouldn’t miss this for the world. New hires fill in the gaps, eager and energetic, asking questions about the vibe and the crowd and whether this place really means as much to people as everyone says it does.
My answer is an easy yes.
The local news runs a segment about the reopening, looping footage of the firehouse crew helping with cleanup and talking about community resilience. Social media explodes with comments and shares and people tagging friends they haven’t seen in years. My phone buzzes constantly with messages from strangers telling me their story with Clover & Mint, how it was where they met their spouse or celebrated a promotion or survived a bad breakup.
I read every single one, and every time, my stomach knots. I don’t realize how much it’s affecting me until Aiden finds me sitting alone at the bar one afternoon, staring at my phone with tears in my eyes.
“Hey,” he says gently, sliding onto the stool beside me. “What’s wrong?”
I hand him the phone without a word.
He reads the message, then another, his expression softening with each one. “They love this place.”
“They loved it,” I correct quietly. “I keep thinking I’m going to let them down.”
Aiden shakes his head. “You already didn’t. Look at what you built. Look at what you’re rebuilding.” He says it so matter-of-factly that I almost believe him without question.
Almost.
