“And if those boys ever make you cry in the wrong way,” she quips, “you come sit with me at the coffee shop, and we’ll ruin their reputations over scones.”
Before I can respond, she straightens, taps her cane twice like a gavel, and marches off toward the flower stall, already calling out, “Terry Claymore, those peonies are insulting that vase. Fix it!”
I watch her go, laughing through the prick of tears.
“She likes you,” Ivy calls out. “You’re basically untouchable now.”
“Congratulations,” Sloane adds, fanning herself. “You’ve been adopted by the benevolent gossip overlord.”
“Feels… nice,” I admit.
“Good,” Olivia says. “Because, like it or not, you’re woven in already. With us. With the ranch. With the town.”
I look around.
Roman and Creed are still at the makeshift stage, talking to fans. Ezra is at the edge of the crowd, phone to his ear, probably arguing with management. Kids race between stalls, Sadie and Micah in the thick of them, Sadie’s laugh carrying on the breeze. At the Sunridge stall, Boone is talking quietly with Terry Claymore, and Caleb is adjusting a crooked sign, his hand resting absentmindedly on a horse logo, steadying himself.
Silas is in the middle of a group near the honey booth, laughing too loud, gesturing too big, soaking up attention like sunlight, and every so often, his gaze flicks over, checking. On me.
Sloane nudges my shoulder. “What’s that face?”
“Nothing,” I say, but the word doesn’t feel true on my tongue.
Because I’m not sitting at the edge of everything, waiting to be pushed off. I’m in the middle.
By a band that still claims me, even though I don’t work for them anymore.
By women who would help me hide a body and bring snacks for the after.
By a town gossip who has already decided I’m under her protection.
By a ranch I barely understand yet, full of people I maybe, possibly, dangerously want.
“It’s just…” I take a breath. “This is the first time since everything blew up that being around people doesn’t feel like walking into a courtroom.”
Sloane rests her head on my shoulder again. “That’s because this isn’t a trial, it’s a welcome party. You just haven’t fully realized you’re the guest of honor yet.”
Ivy raises her iced tea. “To fresh starts.”
Olivia clinks her cup against hers. “And found family.”
Sloane bumps mine lightly. “And to Delaney Rivers, who deserves better than what she got, and is absolutely going to get it.”
My throat closes up completely.
I lift my cup with a shaky hand.
“To… not running,” I manage. “Even when it’s scary.”
We drink.
And as the music swells again, kids shriek, Dottie yells about someone’s zucchini display, and my friends bicker over who gets to kidnap me for dinner later, a strange, careful warmth settles in my chest.
It feels a lot like belonging.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caleb
