Devon. My former brand manager who ghosted me after the Chad disaster.
I flip the phone face-down, but Sage is already watching me with raised eyebrows.
"I should take this," I say, standing up. "Give me two minutes?"
"Take your time. I'm going to get more pie."
I step outside into the cold afternoon air. My breath fogs in front of me as I answer. "Devon."
"Piper! God, it's good to hear your voice." Devon sounds manic, the way he always did when he had big news. "I know I've been MIA. I'm sorry. Things got complicated after the breakup went viral, but I've been working on something huge."
Right. Complicated. That's what we're calling it when he ghosted me after my career tanked.
"What do you want, Devon?"
"Huge huge. A network wants to develop a reality show around your Alaska rebrand—think Pioneer Woman meets The Kardashians. Beautiful Alaskan scenery, your lifestyle content, the whole redemption arc from influencer to... whatever you're doing now."
The coffee I just drank turns sour in my stomach. "A reality show."
"The money is insane. Like, change your life money. But we'd need to start meetings in Anchorage next week. Lock down the concept, scout locations, build the team."
"Next week?"
"I know it's fast, but the network is serious. This could be your comeback, Piper. Your chance to take control of the narrative." He pauses. "You've been posting from some tiny town, right? Ashwood Falls? That could be perfect. Small-town charm, rugged Alaska, your fresh start. We could build the whole show around it."
I look back through the café window. Sage is laughing at something Dotty said, her head tipped back. Her brother has that same ease. This whole town does—somehow it's become home in the space of three weeks.
"I need to think about it."
"Don't think too long. The network wants an answer by Monday." Devon softens his voice. "This is your shot, Piper. Don't let it slip away."
He hangs up, and I stand there on Main Street with my phone in my hand. The cold bites through my sweater, but I don't move.
A reality show. The career I built. The life I thought I wanted.
All I have to do is say yes.
When I slide back into the booth, Sage has demolished her pie and is scrolling through her phone. The café has gotten quieter, just the low murmur of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine.
"Everything okay?" she asks.
"Yeah. Just a work thing." I pick up my fork, but my appetite has vanished.
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Fair." She flips her phone around to show me a photo. "Want to see baby Ryder instead? Because he was an objectively adorable child and I have receipts."
The photo is of a tiny Ryder, maybe three years old, wearing a plastic fire helmet that's too big for his head and a serious expression. He's standing next to a man who has to be their father—same eyes, same jawline, same way of holding himself like he's ready to take on the world.
"That's your dad?"
"Yeah." Sage's smile turns soft. "Ryder wanted to be just like him. Followed him around the station, learned every piece of equipment, memorized every safety protocol." She swipes to another photo. "This is from his first hockey game."
Ryder looks about six, gap-toothed and grinning in skates that are clearly too big, holding a stick almost as tall as he is.
"He made Dad come to every single game," Sage continues. "Even the six AM practices. Dad would show up in his uniform between shifts, stand at the glass, and Ryder would skate harder than anyone else on the ice."
