All of them.
“Hi,” I say, because that’s what comes out when your heart is doing a weird and inconvenient skip.
Ivy stops dead in front of me, really looks at me, and her eyes drop to my wrists.
Her expression cracks.
“Oh, honey. I only just heard…”
And then she’s hugging me, trying to make up for something she wasn’t here to stop.
I freeze for half a second, then melt, because apparently being held like you matter is a thing my body has decided it needs right now.
“I’m okay,” I say into her shoulder.
She pulls back just enough to cup my face in both hands, eyes fierce and a little shiny. “You don’t have to be okay for me.”
That does it.
I swallow hard. “I know.”
She nods, like that’s the right answer.
Behind her, Olivia steps forward, softer but just as sure. “We brought backup. Because for some reason, gossip moved slow this time, and we feel guilty about only just coming to help.”
Sloane lifts a small bag. “Emergency sugar.”
Delaney snorts. “And if anyone needs threatening, I volunteer.”
I laugh. It comes out shaky, but still counts.
Before I can say anything else, the door opens again. Lani walks in like she belongs everywhere she goes, a tray balanced in one hand. Coffee. Pastries. It smells like cinnamon and comfort.
Her eyes find me immediately.
She crosses the room without hesitation and sets the tray down in front of me like she’s delivering something sacred.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says quietly.
My chest squeezes. “Me too.”
“I brought you more bake sale samples.”
“More?” I chuckle.
She nods once, satisfied, then immediately starts handing out coffee like this is a completely normal morning and not… whatever this is.
Normal.
We’re doing normal…
At some point, Judge McDowell appears.
She moves through the bar like she owns gravity itself, composed and sharp and completely unbothered by the madness of Ivy and pastries and Lani reorganizing half the counter.
Her gaze lands on me, pins, assesses, then drops, briefly, to my wrists.
“Miss Harper,” she says.
