As we wait, pressed together in the summer heat, I realize I’ve seen him smile more today than I ever have before.
The hostess tells us it will probably be thirty minutes until a table opens up. Colson leads me outside and grabs a seat at the miraculously open bench near the front of Cherry Pit. When we sit down, he picks my wrist up, kissing the inside.
My god. Is this man real?
thirty-one
Colson
Newstravelsfastina small town. Not in the dramatic, headline kind of way, but the kind that moves faster than texts or social media, carried by conversations and concern and people stopping by “to check in.”
We’ve barely been seated at Cherry Pit when the first person comes over. Then another, and another. They don’t interrupt for long. A hand on Sadie’s shoulder. An offer of help. Someone asking about the rec center, the damage, what still needs fixing. A guy who I’m pretty sure runs the marina offers to bring tools by later. A woman from behind the counter slips Sadie a chocolate-covered cherry, like a secret treat to make things better.
It’s… kind of remarkable. I sit there with my glass of cherry lemonade sweating against my palm, watching Sadie respond to each person with the same steady patience, gratitude tucked into her smile even when I can tell she’s tired.
No one pushes. They show up. By the time the third group wanders away, I lean back in my chair and shake my head. “Does this happen everywhere you go?”
She exhales a quiet laugh. “Pretty much.”
“They all heard already.”
She nods. “The Golden Harbor way.”
“It’s… impressive,” I say honestly. “People don’t do this where I live. Well, that’s a lie. They spread the news that may or may not be true in record time.”
“Where you live has at least two million more people,” she points out.
“Still,” I say. “This is definitely different.”
She lifts her glass, the deep red of her cherry wine catching the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Tourists bustle past outside, the warmth of July pressing in every time the door opens.
“It’s how it works around here,” she shares. “Something happens, everyone checks in. Even if they can’t help, they want you to know you’re not alone.”
Something tightens in my chest. Not in a bad way—just with quiet recognition of something I didn’t realize I was missing.
I glance toward the line forming near the counter. “We’re kind of taking up a table.”
She follows my gaze, then shrugs. “We’ll make up for it in the tip.”
Our lunch arrives and some of the people walking in are festive, headbands and hats to match the holiday. After a moment, I clear my throat. “This seems like Golden Harbor’s favorite holiday.”
“We have fun with it. The fireworks from the beach are always a great time but I wouldn’t say it’s my favorite.” Sadie presses her hand to her chest.
“If this isn’t your favorite, which holiday is?” I ask the sort of random question, almost falling into step of the game we played the last time we were here. Trading questions. Learning about each other.
She grins. “Halloween.”
“Really?”
“Love it,” she gushes. “The costumes. Corn mazes. Haunted houses. Golden Harbor goes all in.”
Her eyes light up as she talks, and I can already see it—the town stripped of summer chaos, leaves everywhere, Sadie in a sweater instead of her rec center branded T-shirt.
“It’s gorgeous here in the fall,” she adds. “You should come back.”
I smile. “I’d like that.”
It’s one of the first times we’ve brought up the future. Something still so murky for me. A few weeks ago, drifting into that place would’ve left me with nothing but frustration. Now, that’s not the case. The uneasy feeling of not knowing what comes next is still there, but it almost feels like the answer is possible to find.
