Her tone is light but genuine, and I can tell she’s not just speaking for herself.
Delaney, her arms crossed in front of her with a quiet confidence, speaks up. “You’ve been through a lot recently. And if there’s one thing we know around here, it’s that this town likes to spin things around. It’s exhausting.”
I nod, my shoulders sagging a little. “That’s one way to put it. It’s like no matter what I do, I’m either being watched or judged. I’m not sure what’s worse.”
Olivia’s eyes soften, and she rests a hand on my arm. “Welcome to the club. Trust me, this town loves to create stories. But we’re not about that. We’re about real talk, real people.” She gestures to her growing belly. “Right now, I’m just trying to survive and avoid the drama.”
I laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. “I can get behind that.”
Sloane’s expression softens too, her gaze thoughtful. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. But that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder it all alone.” She pauses before adding, “It’s okay to lean on people, especially when it’s not your mess to begin with.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Delaney cuts in. “Come on, Aurora. Let us be your friends. Tell us what’s going on.”
There’s a kindness about the way she says it, like she’s offering a chair instead of asking for gossip.
I look at the four of them.
Ivy, who looks like she would absolutely start a revolution but make it cute.
Olivia, warm and grounded, one hand unconsciously resting on the barely there bump beneath her “Mama To Be” T-shirt, already in protective mode.
Sloane, much more pregnant and carrying it like a CEO with a quarterly plan and zero tolerance for nonsense.
Delaney, small but unshakeable, arms folded, prepared to defend anyone at this table without hesitation.
And Lani, hovering nearby with a dishtowel and the energy of a woman who absolutely pretends not to listen while hearing everything.
I exhale.
“Okay,” I say. “But if I spiral, someone hand me a pastry.”
“Already planned,” Lani says, sliding a blueberry muffin into range as if she’s deploying emergency equipment.
I take a sip of my latte and dive in.
“They’re reviewing The Hollow’s license,” I say. “Benjamin Wren made it sound like Ryder is personally smuggling bedlam into the town square.”
Sloane snorts. “Benjamin once tried to shut down the farmers' market because the goat yoga lady didn’t file a form in triplicate.”
I blink. “There’s goat yoga?”
“Focus,” Delaney says gently, though her lips twitch.
Olivia leans forward. “He’s positioning. He does this. Finds a weak seam, tugs.”
“We’re not a weak seam,” I say automatically.
Sloane arches a brow. “Emotionally? Or legally?”
I hesitate.
“Both?” I offer.
Ivy slides into the booth beside me, hip bumping mine like we’ve known each other longer than we have. “Here’s the thing about Benjamin. He doesn’t care about safety. He cares about influence. If he can make himself look like the gatekeeper of ‘community standards,’ he gets louder.”
“Louder than Dottie?” I ask.
All of them grimace.
