Who was I, anyway?The grumpy, smartass barista at the Coffee Cabin, that’s who.
Before I could fall any deeper into the emotional hole I was digging, my phone buzzed again. I checked it.
Nate: Hey. Hope you’re warm and curled up with a book or something good on TV. Tilly says hi and wants me to tell you that Waffles and Lois miss you.
I stared at the screen, heart squeezing.
Then I typed:
Me: Tell them I miss them, too. And the Pre-K Princess who brings them everywhere.
Nate replied almost instantly:
Nate: She’s currently asleep under three blankets, holding Waffles like a teddy bear. She wants to bring you a sticker tomorrow after school.
I set my phone down and let Remy crawl onto my lap. Linguine curled up on the arm of the couch like he didn’t care, but his purr was louder than the heat rattling from the vents.
For the first time in hours, I felt a little lighter.
Graham might be moving back to Honeybrook Hollow.
But I was here too, and I had just as much right to this town as he did.
I had family here, and friends, and I would absolutely be okay.
Chapter 3
Nate
Errands with Tilly took twice as long as they should have and somehow still felt like the best part of my weekend. The drive into town was slow in the good way, the kind Honeybrook Hollow specialized in. Late-morning clouds hung low but bright, the sun breaking through in patches that warmed the windows just enough to make me crack one open. The air smelled like damp earth and pine, leftover from rain the night before. Tilly sang along with the radio, making up her own lyrics, while I kept one ear on the road and the other on the quiet of the house we’d left behind.
Lois had watched us go from the front window, tail thumping, chocolate-brown eyes full of hope and accusation. She loved the new backyard—had already claimed it as hers—but the fence still needed fixing, one loose panel I hadn’t gotten to yet. I told myself she’d behave. I also told myself that about toddlers once, and I knew how that had gone.
“Do you think Lois is okay?” Tilly asked, peering back at the house as we turned the corner.
“She’ll be fine,” I said. “She’s got her toys.”
“And the couch,” Tilly added helpfully. “And the pillows.”
I sighed. “Yes. The pillows.” Mental note: add new toss pillows to my ever- growing list of things I need for the house.
Maybe I needed a crate. I didn’t love the idea, but I loved the idea of not coming home to chewed furniture more. I added it to the mental list, right underfix fenceandbuy more peanut butter.
The hardware store was first. I needed screws and brackets for the fence, but Tilly treated the place like a gallery. She inspected paint swatches with great seriousness—declaring yellow “too shouty” and blue “sad but polite”—and asked the clerk if dogs were allowed inside because Lois liked meeting new people. The clerk laughed and said yes while pointing to a canister of dog treats he kept on the checkout counter.
At the feed store, Tilly waved enthusiastically at the chickens as if they were old friends.
We circled the aisles twice, Tilly leading the way like a seasoned explorer, pausing to deliberate over the merits of each flashlight and garden gnome. I let her pick out a small packet of seeds—sunflowers, her favorite—promising we’d plant them together once the yard dried out. The clerk offered Tilly a cookie for Lois, which she accepted with solemn responsibility, clutching it in both hands all the way to the checkout.
I grabbed dog food and listened to a detailed explanation about why Lois preferred the blue bag over the red one, even though, as Tilly pointed out, “she cannot read, but shecanfeel vibes.”
I did not argue with this.
By the time we reached the park, the clouds had thinned, sunlight filtering through the trees and catching on the playground equipment. The grass was still damp, cool, and green, the air alive with the sound of kids laughing and someone strumming a guitar near the gazebo.
Tilly burst toward the slide, then doubled back suddenly to grab my hand. “You’re coming too,” she said, like it was optional.
I sat on the bench while she climbed, slid, and narrated every move. And then I saw Eliza.
