"Oh, honey." Mia wraps an arm around me, and I lean against her shoulder. A sob bubbles up my throat which is honestly exactly the one thing that could make this situation worse—a public spectacle.
Zoe stops talking and looks over at us like she's considering coming over. Mia gives her a subtle head shake, and she returns to preparing baked goods, though more quietly than before.
It leaves no noise to distract—just my stuttering breaths and the shushing rhythm of Mia's hand rubbing up and down my arm. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"
"He's a Pierce. We all knew that from the beginning. I should have known better." The words taste as bitter as burnt coffee grounds. "When his father showed up yesterday… God, Mia, you should have seen how fast Grant changed. Like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly he was this perfect corporate son, all 'yes sir' and 'of course, Father.'"
My voice catches on a half-laugh, half-sob. "And the way his father looked at me… like I was some kind of small-town peasant. A phase Grant needed to outgrow."
"You're nobody's phase," Mia says fiercely, her arm tightening around me.
I lean into the touch and breathe over my coffee, causing the steam to flood across a window and fog it. I have the absurd urge to draw an outline of a broken heart in the condensation. This is ridiculous—I've known Grant for one summer. Yet my heart feels like it's known him for eternity. And I know he isn't being true to himself right now. He's choosing to return to the palace, to become the perfect prince locked in a tower, unwilling to fight himself out. I shudder.
"Grant offered to write a check."
Mia is midway to grabbing her drink, but her fingers freeze. "For the music program?"
"For all of it."
There's a beat of quiet between us, filled with the whirring sound of a mixer and the murmur of other patrons in another booth.
"Are you going to take him up on it?" Mia finally asks.
"I can't." I slide the coffee mug away from me. There's no amount of coffee—magic-infused or otherwise—that could comfort me now.
"Rachel…" Mia's voice is careful, like she's chewing her words. "I know you're hurting, and you have every right to be. But maybe this isn't just about Grant. Maybe it's also about you being scared to admit you might need help with the program."
"That's not—" I start to protest, but she cuts me off with a gentle squeeze, then releases me and takes a sip of her drink.
"You've carried this weight alone all summer. Would it really be so terrible to accept help? Even if it comes from a complicated source?"
She's right, of course. It would be foolish not to accept the donation and keep the program running for the kids. But something in me rebels at the thought. Maybe it's pride, or maybe it's that I can still see the defeat in Grant's eyes when he offered the money. Like he had already given up on himself, on us, on everything that made him real.
"I can't." The words come out barely above a whisper. "If I take his money, I've validated everything his father believes—that dreams don't matter, that everyone has a price. That it's okay for Grant to…" I choke over a sob and take a deep breath. "To stop being the person he was becoming—the person he truly is. The man who has the kind of compassion and kindness in him that he'd want to pay for this program solely for my happiness."
Mia studies me over the rim of her mug and seems to weigh her next words carefully. "You really love him, don't you?"
"Yeah." I wrap my arms around myself. The bell chimes, and a family with young kids walks out, their laughter trailing with them. The world just keeps moving forward, even with my heart breaking. "Enough to know I can't take money that's costing him his soul."
"Then we find another way." Mia sets her mug down with purpose. "No Pierce money, no corporate bailouts. Just us, this town, and whatever crazy scheme we can come up with to save these kids' dreams."
"Got any of those crazy schemes in mind?" I attempt a weak smile. "Because I'm fresh out of ideas and running seriously low on time."
She grins and turns toward the kitchen. "Hey, Babe? Are you ready for Operation Save the Music to go nuclear?"
Zoe pokes her head out, and her grin goes wide and wild. She fist-pumps the air. "I was born ready."
Mia laughs and turns back to me. Then she pulls out her phone, and her fingers fly as she starts typing up a list in her notes app. My friends won't let me fight this alone.
Maybe that's what I need to learn: sometimes being strong means letting other people help carry the weight. Even ifOnce Upon a Dreamstill rings in my mind.
Grant
I stare at my untouched plate of sea bass, trying to focus on Father's voice as he outlines his ten-year expansion plan for Pierce & Sons. The restaurant's outdoor patio offers a perfect view of Magnolia Cove's town square, where tourists and locals mingle in the early evening air. It's the kind of casual, charming scene that would've made Father sneer a month ago. Now, he's busy explaining how we can "elevate" it.
"The local palate may be... unrefined," he says, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. "But that simply means more opportunity for improvement. Wouldn't you agree, Grant?"
"Of course, Father." The words come out robotic, but I say them anyway. Across the table, Owen nods along, though his eyes remain fixed on his plate. I recognize that hunched posture, that careful way of making himself smaller. I've been perfecting the same technique since childhood.
