Page 21

When I was growing up, my mom spent every waking hour at the café, but these days, her support staff can handle things, so she can take breaks. Usually, she uses her time off to visit me in Nashburg, which I love.

It’s rarer that I come back to Dasher Valley. I’ve pushed most of my relationships in town to the back burner, and I feel bad about that. I’ve rationalized it by telling myself I have a good reason for pursuing music. My mom needed me, and I do love it. But I could have made more of an effort with my friends here in the Valley. Jack and I still text on occasion, and I see him when I’m in town, but I’ve let our deep friendship fade, and that’s on me.

Truthfully, when Beth wouldn’t answer my calls—wouldn’t talk to me at all—nothing else felt worth salvaging about this place. If I couldn’t have her, I didn’t want any of it, and it would have been painful to try to foster relationships with the people of Dasher Valley when the one person I longed for a relationship with didn’t want me back.

But Dasher Valley will always be home, and the further I get into my career in the music industry, the more I recognize the need to have a place where I can stop being Gabe McKenzie, famous musician, and just be Gabe.

Looking around the café now, it’s like I can take a deep breath of normal air. My mom strives to make it feel like home here, infusing the space with intentional, seasonal decorations, and drilling it into her employees that they should greet patrons with a smile and a listening ear—never be too pushy, always be ready with more coffee.

Long strands of twinkle lights are hung vertically in front of the plate-glass window. Shiny red ornaments are dangling from the ceiling at different heights. Paper snowflakes are taped to the bottom half of the checkout counter, giving the place a quaint sense of homeyness. Mom enlists the help of the local third-grade class to make the snowflakes, and the kids love coming in and seeing their creations on display throughout the winter.

The café is half full, and it opened two minutes ago. I can’t believe people are awake at this hour.

I can’t believe I’m awake at this hour.

Beth is standing across the dining room at the foot of a table that’s filled with three dudes. They’re talking animatedly. I recognize one of them as the local mailman, who has been delivering in Dasher Valley since before I was born. The second guy looks vaguely familiar with his light brown skin and a close-cropped haircut, but I can’t place him. I’d peg him to be in his upper thirties or early forties. The third guy is younger, probably closer to our age.

I don’t know what to make of the strong surge of envy that rises up in me like a geyser surging painfully in my chest.

What does it say about me that I’m jealous of three guys who I know literally nothing about, one of whom is probably fifty years my senior? I hate myself for this random possessive streak where Beth is concerned. I have no claim over her, so really I need to lock these feelings down.

Beth throws her head back and laughs at something one of the men said. She looks gorgeous this morning, but I’m pretty sure there’s never been a time when I didn’t think so. She’s wearing baggy jeans with a black turtleneck tucked in at the waist. She’s kept her winter hat on her head. It’s knit with a snow-white fuzzy puff ball on the top of it that’s bouncing with her laughter. Her caramel-colored hair cascades out from beneath it in shiny waves.

She catches sight of me and holds up her hand in a wave, a smile still dancing on her lips.

The geyser in my chest bubbles because, dang, I forgot how good it feels to have that thing aimed at me. Beth’s smiles are the best sort of weapons.

I slip out of my jacket and hang it on the line of hooks my mom has tacked to the wall before making my way over.

I arrive in time to overhear one of the guys say, “I’m nothing if not impressive.”

“We’ll see about that, Wallace.”

“I intend to prove myself to you, Beth.” He points around the table. “To you and everyone else here. To all the nonbelievers!”

Beth laughs again.

Who is this guy?

“Well, if it isn’t Dasher Valley’s favorite music superstar.” Malcom, the mailman, rises from his seat to shake my hand. “Sorry to hear about your mom.”

“Me too. She’ll be alright, though.”

Beth steps aside so I can more fully join their circle. “Gabe, you know Malcom.”

I nod at the mail carrier. “Good to see you again.”

“And this is Darin Samuels. He’s the high school math teacher. Took over for Mr. Perkins just after we graduated.”

“Right.” I reach out my hand, and Darin shakes it. “I thought you looked familiar.”

“Pleasure to meet you, man.” Darin grins. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

I cut a look to Beth, who shrugs, not meeting my gaze. “Like Malcom said, you’re a hometown hero.”

I feel silly for thinking that she would have been the one to tell Darin about me.

Or that she’d have anything good to say.