She huffed but didn’t pull away. We wandered down Main Street, falling into the kind of easy chatter that only existed when she wasn’t thinking too hard. Around the corner, Maisie Plum was lining up pastry boxes outsidePoppy & Plum, already dusted in flour.
“Hey, Maisie!” Mickie hurried over for a hug before returning to my side.
“Is she okay? She looks overwhelmed.”
Mickie glanced back, a softer smile replacing the attitude. “Her grand opening is getting closer every day. She’s been living on sugar and panic.”
“We should invite her for dinner and game night sometime this week. Maisie needs a break.”
“Agreed but only because I know she’ll kick your ass at Scrabble!”
I laughed because she absolutely would. Mikayla tucked both hands around my arm as we kept walking, like the sidewalk might take me with it if she didn’t anchor herself. Two weeks hadsomehow become routine. Long enough to matter. Short enough to hear the clock in every quiet moment.
She still called it her visit. I’d started ignoring that word.
The town moved around us, familiar and steady, and little by little the tightness in her shoulders eased. By the next block she wasn’t tugging ahead or lagging behind. Just walking beside me.
I didn’t say anything about it. Neither did she. But she didn’t let go.
Judd paced outside Denver’s when we passed, phone pressed to his ear, eyes sweeping the street like he was responsible for all of it. He spotted us and gave a quick nod, his expression easing when it landed on Mikayla.
“Is Bonnie keeping him busy?” I said under my breath. I meant it the same way that my girl had me on my toes lately.
Mikayla rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t slowed down since the wedding. Maisie-level overwhelmed. He’s trying to keep her calm.”
“I hate that she’s doing that to herself.”
“The honeymoon didn’t help. Now she’s worse. Everything has to be perfect,” she said quietly observing.
“Bonnie needs staff. More than she’ll admit.”
“She knows that, Sam. Judd knows that. Heck if you already know that, then it’s so obvious. Bonnie just won’t let go of things.”
I squeezed her fingers once and kissed her knuckles as we kept walking.
Juliette Shaw breezed past us toward the square, phone in one hand, tablet in the other, already talking before she reached whoever she was meeting. She lifted two fingers in greeting without breaking stride.
A police cruiser rumbled down the street. Nash Winslow rolled by with the window down despite the cold and tipped his hat.
“Afternoon, Sam. Staying out of trouble?”
“Always.”
“Can’t say the same for Mickie,” he laughed.
“I am not causing a commotion!” She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Your middle name could be a commotion.”
“You better be nice, Nash, or I’ll tell Maisie you’re banned from buying crème brûlée donuts.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, wounded. “Rhett and I barely showed restraint at the wedding brunch.”
Her hand tightened in mine. Not playful this time.
“You’d better sweet-talk her,” she said, quieter now.
“I plan to,” Nash replied, oblivious. “See you later.”
