And tomorrow, she was going to sign away the place that had brought them all together so many times.
“Last call for s’mores,” Madison called out. “I am not being blamed if you don’t get one and I eat the rest of the chocolate.”
“Oooh, s’more cookies! I should whip some of those up atthe bakery,” Emily added, having recently returned from holiday. Krista could imagine how delicious the cookies would turn out. Emily could do wonders with a mixer.
Music hummed low from the speakers—some easy, summery playlist Zoe had thrown on. The whole night thrummed with that end-of-season energy. It was a little wild, a little tired, a bit like clinging to the last warm evening like it might never come again.
Krista topped off someone’s drink, then finally took a moment to stand still. She braced her hands on the bar and let herself really look.
Lights reflected in the lake. Flames danced in the firepit. Fireflies blinked over the grass. The Hideaway—the little place she’d dreamed up in a notebook and turned into something real with paint, sweat, and a frankly unwise amount of credit—breathed like a living thing.
Her throat tightened.
She thought of Isabel’s words, looping through her brain whenever she closed her eyes.Love does not only grant us the freedom to run, but also the courage to stay.
Well, she’d stayed.
She’d stayed for her grandparents, for the campground, for this town. She’d stayed and given up the dream of Europe and the dream of seeing what might become of her and Joe.
Now she had to give up on her dream here too.
Her chest ached like she’d swallowed the whole lake.
“Hey,” Zoe said softly, appearing at the edge of the bar. “You holding up?”
“Of course,” Krista said automatically. “It’s just…end-of-summer emotions. You know me. Big feelings for bonfires and season finales.”
Zoe’s gaze gentled. “You’re allowed to be sad, you know.”
“If I start, I might not stop,” Krista said, forcing a crookedsmile. “And then the margaritas will suffer, and we can’t have that.”
Zoe reached out, squeezing her hand once before stepping back. “Fine. For tonight, I’ll let you hide behind tequila and honey. Tomorrow, I’m coming at you with feelings.”
“Terrifying,” Krista said. “Can’t wait.”
Zoe laughed and drifted back toward Jackson.
Krista swallowed hard and reached for the shaker again. Busy hands meant less room for thoughts. Less room for the empty space beside her where Joe should’ve been, shaking cocktails and flirting shamelessly.
The crowd shifted. Music changed. Someone cheered when Kit attempted a fancy pour and almost pulled it off. For a few minutes, Krista let herself get swept up in the rhythm of ice, the tang of lime, the chorus of familiar voices.
She was sliding a fresh drink down to Madison when she heard it.
“Krista?”
Just her name.
Soft, familiar, threaded with disbelief and something that sounded a lot like hope.
Her whole body went still.
For a wild, embarrassing second, she thought she’d imagined it. Her brain, finally cracking, conjuring his voice out of thin air.
Then the noise around her seemed to thin—laughter blurring, music dropping to a distant thrum—and she turned.
He stood at the edge of the patio lights, half in shadow.
Joe.
