I glance down. An ice cream cone, already starting to melt.
“Thought you could use one,” he says softly.
I laugh, tears spilling over as I take a lick. “You remembered.”
“I don’t forget promises.” His eyes catch mine, gray and unwavering.
I swallow hard, the sweetness of vanilla hitting my tongue, melting faster than I can keep up. And somewhere inside me, something else melts too.
Because I’ve never had this. People who show up. Who thinks I’m worth the effort. Who believe in me, not just in what I can bake, but in me.
My father never did. He believes in control. My mother believes in surviving. I’ve believed in scraping by, in doing what I could with what little I had.
But this—this booth, this ice cream, these people—it’s belief without strings. It’s support that doesn’t demand repayment.
It’s love, even if no one has said the words yet.
I blink at the three of them, my chest aching.
Shit.
I’m in love with them.
All three of them.
The realization rocks through me so fast I almost stumble. But when I look at them—at Levi’s quiet grin, at Beau’s eager, boyish pride, at Simon’s steady gaze—I don’t feel afraid. I feel… safe. Like maybe for the first time in my life, falling isn’t the same thing as breaking.
Norah nudges me, whispering, “Told you.”
I laugh, shaky and full, clutching the ice cream like it’s proof I’m not dreaming.
I can’t believe this is my real life.
I’m still wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand when a familiar voice cuts through the hum of the square.
“Well, look at you.”
I turn, and Riley stands there, clipboard tucked under her arm, her auburn hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that makes her look like she’s about to host a national broadcast.
Her smile is warm, but her eyes have that sharp judge’s glint I’ve seen before when she’s sorting through contests and competitions.
“Riley,” I say, stepping forward to hug her, careful not to smear ice cream on her shirt. “Hey.”
She hugs me back, then leans away, giving me a slow once-over. “So, this is the famous booth I’ve been hearing whispers about.”
My stomach flips. “Whispers?”
“Small town, sweetheart. You know how it goes.” She nods toward the men lingering behind me. “Word is your booth is going to be stiff competition. But don’t worry—Cora and June are both in it too, and I’m the judge, so I’ll make sure everything is fair.”
Cora and June. Of course, they’d be competing. My stomach tightens as the reality sets in. They’ve been baking for years, their names practically etched into the town’s dessert lore.
And here I am, still dusting flour off my apron, trying to convince myself I even belong in the lineup.
“Fair,” I echo, swallowing hard.
Riley softens, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “Hey. Don’t look like that. You’ve got skill, Wren. I’ve tasted it myself. All you have to do is bring that heart of yours into your pie, and you’ll be fine.”
Her encouragement helps, but it doesn’t erase the weight pressing on my chest. Still, I smile and thank her, promising I’ll see her tomorrow at the contest.
