Nope.
Not going there.
I scrubbed shampoo into my hair with extra determination.
I’d made a whole life for myself here. Sure, it wasn’t Pinterest-perfect. Sure, I ran more on caffeine and chaos than a long-term plan. But I had friends, a home I’d decorated withmismatched thrift store finds, and a community that knew me well enough to bring me soup when I got the flu and not judge me when I wore banana pajamas to the gas station.
I didn’tneedsomeone to come along and mess that up with flannel and brooding and confusing glances across the porch.
And the beard? Ugh.
It could be the downfall of me.
Even if hedidcheck off every box inthe secretly soft under the grumpy exteriortrope I loved reading about in book club.
And speaking of book clubs, I hoped that the Sunshine Breakfast Club had no intel on this guest, or they’d be forcing us together in one awkward encounter after another.
A cold chill ran over me, and I cranked up the shower heat.
Rinsing the suds out of my hair, I let my mind wander. To Violet’s steady hands chopping garlic, to Sienna’s mismatched socks and beautiful chaos, to Mom humming in the kitchen as she stirred pasta sauce like it was a spell.
I loved them. Loudly, deeply, inconveniently.
But sometimes… sometimes I felt like the spinning top in the middle of everyone’s steadiness. The unpredictable one. The one who kept the ship sailing with glitter and homemade muffins while quietly wondering what it might feel like to bechosen.
And I didn’t mean because I was the funny one or the helper or the girl who always smiled first, but because someone looked at me, mess and all, and thought,Yeah. That one.
I shut off the water and stepped out into the steam, wrapping myself in one of Mom’s aggressively plush towels that could double as a comforter. There was something about standing in this bathroom, hair dripping, skin still warm, that made me feelthirteen again. Like I’d just come in from sledding and Mom was about to hand me hot cocoa and tell me I wasenough,even if the neighbor boy never noticed me.
There was a knock on the outer door, and I startled.
“Ten-minute warning!” Violet’s voice called. “Dinner’s almost up!”
“I’m emerging in five,” I called back.
“Wear something cute. You look like you’ve been wrestling livestock all day.”
“That’s because Iwas!”
“No excuses!”
I grinned and wrapped the towel tighter, as I padded across the warm tile floor and into the guest bedroom adjacent to the bath. My spare clothes were folded on the bed: jeans, a soft sweater, and my favorite pair of boots that made me feel like I could conquer awkward conversations and suspiciously attractive guests.
I dried off quickly, trying not to let my hair frizz into frazzled rebellion, and pulled on my clothes with the speed of a woman who knew her family was one shortbread cookie away from dinner mutiny.
Still, I took a moment before heading downstairs. Just a moment. I glanced at myself in the mirror above the dresser.
A little flushed.
A little tired.
But not bad.
Maybe even, dare I say, cute?
“Alright,” I whispered to my reflection. “Time to go smile at strangers and not trip over my words when the hot lumberjack is within ten feet.”
I opened the door.
