I let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, my return hasn’t exactly been party-worthy.”
Her smile falters slightly, her gaze scanning my face. “Yeah. I heard about that too. But still.”
I roll my eyes. Of course, she did. News in this town moves faster than the wind in the middle of a hurricane.
She lets out a dramatic sigh. “All right, here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m making you an espresso, and then we’re sitting down, and you’re telling me things.”
I smirk. “So bossy. Are people still keeping up with your friendly attitude?” I joke.
“They better or else,” she winks.
She moves behind the counter, working the espresso machine like a pro. The scent of coffee thickens in the air as she pulls a shot, grabs a plate, and loads it up with two pastries.
I follow her to a corner booth, where she slides the plate between us and sets down my cup.
She folds her arms on the table, resting her chin on her hands. “All right, start talking.”
I take a sip of coffee, stalling.
Because I have no idea what to say. How much can I really disclose?
“So, are you back for good this time?”
I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee. “I’m not sure yet. I’m staying with my grandma while they fix up the house, but . . .” I trail off, not knowing how to explain the mess my life has become.
“But?” she prompts, her voice gentle.
I sigh, setting the cup down. “But there’s a lot to figure out. The farm, the repairs at the house, everything that’s happened . . .”
Delilah reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. “You’ve always been good at figuring things out, Nys. You just don’t give yourself enough credit.”
I smile faintly, grateful for her support. If only she knew though. But as I promised, I keep all that to myself. Maybe that’s what I should’ve done with Atlas. I tell her about all the places I’ve visited. How I can make wine . . . and not in the biblical way. I might want to venture into cultivating grapes. Not to create a vineyard, but to sell to vineyards.
Delilah listens, animated. She and I didn’t become close friends until the second time I came back to Birchwood Springs, but she was always kind to me in high school, while others whispered about the new girl with the tragic past.
After graduation, she left for France to study baking and event planning. I went to college, and the only person I kept tabs on was Atlas.
But then, a few years ago, when I came back after my doctorate, she was here.
“To help my mom,” she had told me then, her tone light but her eyes shadowed. I didn’t press for details, knowing there was more to the story.
Her mom owns The Honey Drop and her relationship with her has always been . . . complicated.
“So, what’s it like being back?” she asks now, her head tilted as she watches me.
“Strange,” I admit. “Comforting in some ways, unsettling in others.”
She nods, her expression understanding. “That’s how I felt when I came back. Like I was standing in two timelines at once—one where everything was familiar, and one where everything had changed.”
“Exactly,” I say, grateful that she gets it.
She grins, taking a sip of her coffee. “At least the coffee’s still good, though.”
I laugh softly. “True.”
We’re still catching up when the bell over the door jingles, and Delilah glances up, her face lighting up.
“Galeana,” she calls, waving the newcomer over.
