“I should really?—”
“Rosie.” Not unkind, but firm. The same voice she'd used to boss around boys twice her size when I was ten. “Out.”
I hesitated, then killed the engine and climbed down. My legs felt shaky, which was ridiculous. I was fine. Totally, completely fine.
Emily's gaze drifted down to my dress—bright yellow cotton with tiny white flowers. One of the pieces I'd packed away during the Aaron years because it wastoo much. Too bright. Too attention-seeking. Toome.
I'd pulled it out last week with something like defiance. A small victory.
Now it felt wrong. Like I'd shown up to a job interview in a costume. Like I was trying too hard to be someone I'd lost the right to be.
I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt.
Emily's expression shifted, something knowing in her eyes that made me want to climb back in the truck and drive away.
“You're coming for a drink with Abby and me.” Emily didn't phrase it as a question. “We're meeting at the brewery.”
“Oh, I couldn't?—”
The words died in my throat as my brain kicked into overdrive, cycling through every reason this was a terrible idea.
They'd remember the kid version of me. The one who belonged here, who fit. They wouldn't know this version—the one who couldn't keep a relationship together, couldn't manage a farm, couldn't even talk to a vet without getting her feelings hurt.
I didn't want to be the charity case. The girl they invited because they felt sorry for her, sitting there while they exchanged knowing glances about their real lives. The third wheel who smiled too hard and laughed at jokes she didn't quite get because she'd missed all the context.
“I'm not asking.” Emily's voice cut through my thoughts, firm and matter-of-fact. She crossed her arms, blocking my path back to the truck like she could read every excuse cycling through my head.
I opened my mouth to try again anyway. “I really should get back. The goats?—”
“Will survive without you for two hours.” Emily's gaze dropped to my dress again, something softening in her expression. “Besides, that dress is too pretty to waste on a farm tonight.”
“Thanks.” The word came out quiet, almost shy, but a real smile tugged at my mouth for the first time since I'd left the clinic.
Emily's expression warmed. “Come on. Abby's already at the brewery.”
She looped her arm through mine before I could protest, steering me down the sidewalk with the kind of confidence that made arguing pointless.
The evening air was warm, that perfect Colorado summer temperature where you didn't need a jacket but could still breathe. String lights were already glowing along Main Street, and the mountains caught the last of the golden light.
“You remember Abby Griffin, right?” Emily glanced at me as we walked.
“Of course.” A specific memory surfaced, sharp and clear. “She tried to help me understand fractions the summer before seventh grade. I wasterribleat math.”
Emily laughed. “Still are?”
“Worse, probably.” The admission came easier than expected. “I can design an amazing logo in under an hour, but ask me to calculate percentages and my brain just... stops.”
“Well, Abby's an architect now, so she's still living her best math life.”
“Walt mentioned that.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “He said she came back to town last year? Renovated her parents' old place?”
“With my brother.” Emily's smile turned knowing. “They're disgustingly happy together.”
The words triggered something—a flash of teenage Evan Spencer building fences shirtless in the summer heat while twelve-year-old me pretended to be fascinated by chickens nearby. He'd always been kind, patient when I'd asked a million questions about construction.
“Lucky her.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, accompanied by a smile I couldn't quite suppress.
Emily stopped walking so abruptly I nearly stumbled. “Oh my God. Not you too.”
