She snorts. “Honey, if Haddie posts it, privacy is already a lost cause.” But she sobers, fingertips tapping thoughtfully against her mug. “Cam is a good man. I like him. But I want you to be sure you’re not stepping into this because you’re scared.”
I sit, facing her. “It’s not only fear. It could help the case. And Evie already cares about him.”
Mom’s brow arches. “Evie would commit her heart to a stick in the yard if you told her it was kind.” But her smile softens, gentling at the edges. “Is he kind toyou?”
The question lands somewhere tender. “He’s more than kind. He’s…solid. Present. I feel like I can lean on him when it feels like everything’s collapsing.”
“Sounds pretty perfect if you ask me.” She sits back, eyes warm but sharp with recognition. “And you like him?”
I don’t reply immediately. The truth sits there between us, bright and terrifying. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. Liking him isn’t part of the plan.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, squeezing my hand. “The best things never go according to plan.”
I stare at our fingers, her thumb brushing mine like she used to when I was little and scared of thunder. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do.” Her voice is soft but sure. “You’re doing what you’ve always done—protecting your girl. The only difference is, this time, maybe you don’t have to do it alone.”
From the hallway, a groggy voice cracks the quiet. “Mommy?”
Evie appears in her dinosaur pajamas, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes half-open.
Mom lights up. “There’s my sunshine!”
Evie blinks. “Grandma, you’re early.”
“I wanted muffins for breakfast.”
Evie gasps, suddenly wide awake. “The cinnamon ones?”
“The very ones,” Mom confirms with solemn gravity.
Evie climbs into her lap, and the two of them tear into breakfast as if the world is simple and soft and not full of custody papers and complicated feelings.
My default mode for when I don’t want to think about feelings is to go straight to work. The library’s air-conditioned chill greets me as I unlock the front doors, the familiar scent of paper and lemon cleaner wrapping around me like a reset button. I turn on the circulation desk computer, check the return bin, and start reshelving books in the kids’ section.
Halfway through puttingThe Magic Tree Houseseries back in order, I hear the front door creak open.
“Library opens in ten,” I call out.
“Good thing I know the librarian.”
I turn just as Kinsey strides in, a to-go cup from Penny’s in each hand. “Thought you might need caffeine.”
“You’re a saint.” I sigh, taking the cup. “Also, how did you get in?”
She jingles a familiar silver key. “Emergency book club privileges. Don’t ask too many questions.”
Of course.
She hops up onto one of the reading tables like she owns the place. “Alright, Prescott. Spill. I heard through theveryreliable grapevine that Coach Wells was at your house last night.”
I blink. “It’s nine a.m. How fast does news travel in this town?”
“Sweetheart, Haddie Carmichael could give the CIA lessons.” Kinsey grins. “So? Is it true?”
I sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yes. He came over for dinner.”
Her jaw drops. “Dinner? At your house? You cooked for him?”
