“You’re going to be incredible.”
I turn. Mateo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with that steady gaze that’s become my anchor over the past two weeks.
“You don’t know that,” I say, even though we’ve had this exact conversation a dozen times.
“I do.” He pushes off the frame and crosses to me. His hands settle on my waist. “You’ve practiced that speech until you could say it in your sleep. You know it by heart.”
“Knowing what to say and actually saying it in front of a room full of people who might hate me are two very different things.”
“Some of them might hate you,” he admits. “But most of them don’t. And the ones who matter? They’re already on your side.”
I turn back to the mirror. Mateo stands behind me, his reflection meeting mine, his hands on my shoulders. He’s wearing a dark button-down and jeans. It’s the closest thing to formal I’ve seen him in. He looks unfairly handsome.
“What if I freeze?” I whisper. “What if I get up there and forget everything?”
“Then you look at me.” His hands slide down my arms to my hands, fingers intertwining with mine. “I’ll be in the front row. And I’ll remind you why you’re doing this.”
“Why am I doing this?”
“Because Sierra Rose Ridge is your home, and you don’t let people take your home away without a fight.”
The pulse in my chest settles.
He’s right. This is my home. My town. My life.
And I’m not running.
I take a deep breath and nod. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Not quite.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. A necklace—a delicate silver chain with a tiny wildflower pendant.
“Mateo—“
“I made it.” He steps closer, unclasping it. “For luck.”
He fastens it around my neck, his fingers brushing my skin as he works the clasp. The pendant settles just below my collarbone, cool metal against my skin.
I touch it gently. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’re beautiful.” He turns me to face him, hands cupping my face. “And strong. And brave. And you’re going to walk into that town hall and show them exactly who Sadie Pierce is.”
“Who am I?”
“A bestselling author. A business owner. A woman who writes love letters to the places and people she cares about.” He kisses me softly. “Mytesoro.”
The nickname makes my chest warm. How did I ever think it was just a joke?
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too. Now let’s go prove to this town that they’re lucky to have you.”
The drive to the town hall is quiet. Mateo’s hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns that keep me grounded. I watch the familiar streets pass by until we pull into the parking lot behind town hall, and my stomach drops.
It’s packed.
Cars are everywhere. People stream toward the entrance. It’s way busier than I expected.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
