Susan stood in the doorway, absorbing the gentle glow of tiny lights Isabel and Frank had strung throughout the space. They’d draped the lights across shelves and wound them around support beams, each bulb creating a pool of warmth that turned the familiar shop into something incredible.
“I wanted real candles,” Isabel said from behind the counter where she was arranging plates and napkins. “But Frank was convinced we’d burn the place down.”
“He’s probably right,” Kathleen said, laughing as she examined the LED candles Isabel had positioned on every available surface. “It doesn’t matter. These are gorgeous.”
Susan moved deeper into the room, admiring the care Isabel had put into preparing for this evening. A low table sat in the center of the reading area, surrounded by cushions and chairs. On the table sat an elegant French dessert—a tarte tatin, its caramelized apples gleaming beneath the fairy lights.
“That looks incredible,” Susan said, leaning closer to admire the perfectly arranged fruit. “Did you bake it today?”
“Paul made it,” Isabel admitted with a knowing smile. “I called him yesterday and told him we needed something special for Lynda’s bachelorette dessert. He insisted on making it himself.”
Heat crept into Susan’s cheeks, but before she could respond, the shop door opened. Lynda entered first, followed by Amy and Stephanie. All three women stopped just inside the threshold, their faces reflecting the same wonder Susan had felt moments before.
“Isabel,” Lynda breathed. “This is beautiful.”
“It’s your celebration,” Isabel said simply. “You deserve beautiful.”
Amy moved to embrace her mother, then turned to the rest of them. “Thank you for including Stephanie and me today. When Mom said she was having a bachelorette party, I pictured something completely different.”
“What did you imagine?” Kathleen asked, settling onto one of the cushions. “Male strippers and drunk karaoke?”
“Something like that,” Amy admitted with a grin. She had her mother’s eyes and quick smile, and something in her expression that reminded Susan of how Lynda looked when she talked about Matt. “This is much better.”
Stephanie claimed a chair near the dessert, her eyes already on the tarte tatin. “I agree, although I wouldn’t have minded seeing Lynda’s reaction to a male stripper.”
“Stephanie!” Lynda’s face flushed, but she was laughing. “You’re terrible.”
“I learned from watching Dad navigate dating again,” Stephanie replied warmly. “He set the bar pretty high for awkward moments.”
Susan watched the easy affection between the women. Lynda and her daughter had found their way toward each other across the distance that divorce had created, and Stephanie was embracing her father’s new relationship with genuine warmth. It stirred something tender in Susan’s chest, a longing for the daughter she’d never had, mixed with gratitude for these friendships that had become their own kind of family.
Isabel began cutting generous portions of the dessert while Kathleen poured coffee into mismatched mugs. Everything was perfect, from the hodgepodge of borrowed dishes and the warm scent of caramel and butter, to the gentle glow of artificial flames. It all created an intimacy that no fancy restaurant could match.
“Before we eat,” Isabel said, holding up her coffee mug, “I want to say something.”
Everyone quieted, turning toward her.
“Lynda, we’ve known each other since we were teenagers hiding in this very bookstore, reading romance novels and dreaming about our futures.” Isabel’s voice caught slightly. “I never imagined those futures would include divorce and loss, grief, and starting over. But I also never imagined we’d still be here, together, watching you prepare to marry someone who makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you.”
Lynda’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Matt is a good man,” Isabel continued. “And you deserve good things. You deserve this joy.”
“Hear, hear,” Kathleen said softly, raising her own mug.
They all lifted their coffee in a silent toast before taking their first bites of the dessert. The tarte tatin was delicious. The apples were tender but not mushy, the caramel was rich without being cloying, and the pastry was flaky and golden.
“Paul’s outdone himself,” Susan said, savoring another bite. The compliment felt safer than acknowledging the flutter in her stomach at the thought of him making this especially for Lynda’s party.
“He seems to do that a lot lately,” Kathleen observed with barely concealed amusement. “Especially when you’re involved.”
Susan sighed but didn’t say anything.
Amy leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. “Can I ask you all something? What made you believe in love again? After everything you’ve been through?”
The question settled over them like a blanket, heavy with the weight of accumulated heartbreak and hard-won wisdom.
Susan thought about George, about the years she’d spent building a life that looked perfect from the outside while feeling hollow at its core. She thought about the relief she’d felt when their marriage ended, and the fear that had followed—that she’d never have a loving relationship with anyone.
