I flash her the cheesiest, most dramatic smile I can muster, earning a playful eye roll before I spin on my heel. The little corner table by the window, tucked away from the morning chatter, with the sun beaming in, calls to me. I drop into the chair and pull out my phone, debating if I should give Mom a heads up that I’m coming in or just surprise her. The screen lights up in my hand, not even a second later. I freeze, my stomach tightening at his name staring back at me. I hate the way my heart pounds a little faster, the way my thumb hesitates. It’s ridiculous, the effect he still has.
Hunter: Hi friend.
Two words. That’s all it takes. A stupid, casual “Hi” that feels anything but casual. The wordfriendburns in my chest, the nerves low in my belly growing wings. Dragging in a breath, I force myself to type back before I can overthink it.
Me: Why are you texting me?
Hunter: Why not? Friends text, don’t they?
Me: Hunter…
Hunter: Madison…
Me: Stop it.
Hunter: Just wanted to say Hi to my friend that’s all.
Me: Fine. Hi back.
Hunter:
The corners of my mouth twitch despite every warning bell blaring in my head. I shove my phone facedown on the table before I do something stupid, like text him back with a smile. Damn him and his loopholes. He’s going to find every single one and hit me with them.Friends text, don’t they?
“What has you fighting back a smile over here?”
I jump so hard, my knees slam into the table. My hands fly to my chest, clutching at the fabric of my sundress.
“Jesus, why are you sneaking up on me?” I scowl at Tessa.
“I’m pretty sure every single person here saw me walk over, call your name, and snap my fingers in front of your face,” she muses.
Damn, I must have really been lost in my head.
“It’s nothing,” I say quickly, brushing it off like it’s no big deal.
“Nope.” Tessa drops my iced coffee in front of me, places the bag of muffins on the table, and sinks into the chair across from me. “Spill. You have that look on your face. The one you get when your brain’s doing laps, and you’re pretending you’re fine. What’s got you zoning out?”
I groan quietly. She’s not going to leave this alone. If I don’t give her something to go on, she’s going to call in the girls. Then it’ll be a group chat ambush, my phone lighting up every five seconds with GIFs and teasing threats. Maybe even a knock at my door with muffins as a bribe. Sometimes, a girl just needs to process first. Instead of spilling everything, I do the one thing I’ve gotten dangerously good at lately—running.
I spring from the chair, grab my coffee and the bag of muffins, and back away before she can stop me. “I have to get going,” I blurt, already halfway to the door.
“Hey!” Tessa calls after me.
I spin, giving her a small, guilty finger wave, the paper bag swinging from my wrist. “Talk later! Thank you, love you!”
The floors squeak under my sneakers as I follow the maze of hallways toward the children’s ward. Faded posters about handwashing and donation drives blur past, edges curling and faded. The faint sting of disinfectant clings to the air, and I wrinkle my nose. The walls shift to a soft, pale yellow, the scuffs on the floor growing deeper, more familiar with every step. When I turn the final corner, a row of mismatched chairs comes into view, their cushions a little sunken. A smile pulls at my lips when I see the butterfly mural painted above the entrance to the ward.
“Madison, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Sally beams the moment she spots me walking toward the nurse’s station. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Sally.” I lift the bag of muffins to her. “Thought I’d stop in for a surprise visit. I come bearing muffins and all the smiles for the kids.”
Her laugh fills the space between us. “Oh, sweetheart, they’re going to be over the moon to see you. It’s been far too long.” She leans over to the intercom phone on her desk. “Your momma’s around here somewhere. I think she’s on the second floor. Let me page her for you just in case.”
Off to the side, the small playroom catches my eye. It’s overflowing with donated toys and storybooks. A small TV is mounted on the wall, playing cartoons for the kids well enough to escape their rooms for a while. The space isworn, tired, but there’s so much heart here. Bright flowers crowd the reception desk, gifts for the nurses from grateful parents. A string of yarn hangs across the front, pegged with polaroids of smiling nurses and kids who’ve graduated to go home. Behind the desk, thank-you cards are stuck to the wall, and the sky-blue paint is hidden beneath layers of crooked rainbows, paper butterflies, and coloring pages.
“I hear Charlie is heading home soon,” I say, setting the bag down and bending to give her a quick side hug.
“She is. Claire said you volunteered to organize her going-home party.”
