As he walks away, Sadie grins. “That’s pretty amazing,” she says.
She isn’t wrong.
Dippingherbreadintothe honeyed ricotta, Sadie hums like the flavor surprised her, then looks up at me. “I think your mom and I would’ve been friends. I’m a big fan of lists. To-do lists, goals, summer lists.” She laughs, a little self-aware. “It’s how I organize my brain. When things feel… loud.”
I tilt my head. “Why the summer list? What’s on there?”
She pauses, glass hovering short of her lips. There’s a shift—small, but I catch it. That moment where she’s deciding how honest to be. Like her sunshine rays are dimming a bit.
“Last summer was rough,” she finally admits. “Like, capital-R rough.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I wasn’t sure what my life was supposed to look like anymore,” she continues. “The version I thought I was walking toward just… disappeared. And suddenly I was asking questions I thought I’d already answered.”
Her fingers trace the rim of the glass. “Do I stay here forever? Is this it for me? Is this my place, my people, my ending? Or am I scared to leave because starting over feels worse?”
Something in my chest tightens.
“I was still healing,” she adds quietly. “From the called-off engagement. Things I hadn’t dealt with quite yet.”
I swallow.
“So I made a list,” she says, lifting her eyes back to mine. “Little things. Things that made me feel like myself again. Or things I wanted to feel.”
I lean forward without realizing it. “Like what?”
Sadie smiles, softer now. “Sunsets.”
“Sunsets,” I repeat.
“They’re one of my favorite things,” she shares. “They make everything feel temporary in a good way. Like, no matter how messy the day was, you get this one beautiful moment that asks nothing from you. So, I wanted to see as many as I could this summer.”
I glance past her shoulder toward the dim bar, then subtly down at my watch.
“We can make it.”
She’s still talking, waving it off. “It’s silly. And we don’t have to—”
I reach across the table, my fingers closing gently around her wrist. The electricity crackles as her breath stutters.
“It’s not silly,” I insist. “And we absolutely can.”
She blinks. “Colson—”
“You gave me this,” I say, voice low. “This place. That connection with my mom I didn’t even know existed.”
Her expression softens.
“Let me do something for you.”
For a second, she looks at me, searching. Then she smiles—slow, warm, a little undone. “Okay,” she says.
We settle the check quickly, her knee brushing mine under the table. When we stand, I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the dark room. She leans into it, like it’s where she’s supposed to be.
Sadie slips her hand into mine as we make our way to the car.
The sky starts to dim but my girl definitely does not.
