Another flight.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“I’ll be there,” I say, just before my phone dies. Hopefully, that’s not a premonition of what’s to come.
Freaking Valen.
After fourteen years of missing each other, we’ve finally chosen to stop running in opposite directions.
I’m mastering all the hard things today, and my mojo has never been higher.
Getting on a plane is love.
Staying is love.
Choosing us is love.
We still have hard conversations ahead—about his guilt, about my grief, about how we build something new from the wreckage of all that’s been lost.
But Happiness isn’t just my hometown anymore. It’s the story arc I’m choosing with my whole heart.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
VALEN
I pull into the inn at exactly 4:28, and by 4:29, I know something’s happening.
Agnes stands on the front porch with Pops, Moose, and at least four other people I vaguely recognize as dark clouds roll in overhead.
They’re all staring at my car like a welcoming committee that can’t decide if they want to hug me or murder me.
Considering they all love and adore Clover, it could go either way.
I park and step out, but my mind is still on my Honeybee.
She flew to Charlotte. She got on a plane—something she wouldn’t do just a short time ago even with me and Chief by her side. And she did it for me.
“Where is she?” I demand, spinning in a circle, searching for one of my cousins. They’re probably the only ones willing to give me any answers.
Agnes huffs as though annoyed, but there’s a quirk to her lips too. “She’s on a flight home.”
“Already? On her own?” The words burn on their way out. I was expecting to hop on a flight to go get her.
“Two flights in one day,” Pops confirms, rocking on his heels. He’s wearing overalls again, but at least this time he has a shirt on under them. “Should be landing in Brunswick in about an hour.”
Twice. She got on a plane twice.
The woman who won’t drive, who counts to stay calm, who lives inside a bubble where she controls the variables—surrendered all that. Twice.
“I need to go to her?—”
“No, you don’t.” Moose’s deep voice cuts through my plans. He steps forward, blocking my path to my car with his considerable bulk. “Braxton’s picking her up. If you leave now, you’ll just miss each other again.”
“He’s right,” Agnes says, patting my hand, and I decide I’m all in on the grandmotherly affection—even if her eyeball is still giving me the stink eye. “Best thing to do is stay put and wait for her to come to you.”
Stay put.
It’s a foreign concept. I don’t…stay put. I move. I act. I solve problems and eliminate threats. Staying put is…difficult.
