“You too, dear. Your pies are on me today. And don’t fight me on it.”
“We wouldn’t dare,” Clara says.
Mayor Holloway flashes us a grin and returns to her booth. The din of conversation resumes, but the glances follow us as we weave our way toward a free booth near the window.
Clara slides into one side, her eyes roaming the space with open curiosity. “The place looks exactly the same,” she says. “Like it hasn’t changed at all.”
“It hasn’t,” I say, and there’s something strangely comforting in that.
When Daisy spots me, her whole face lights up. She rushes over, wiping her hands on her apron, and pulls me out of the booth for a hug.
She squeezes me with a strength that could rival a linebacker’s, then grabs Clara and hugs her too, even though she’s technically a stranger.
“Sit, sit,” she says, waving her towel like she’s herding us. “Let me get you girls something good.”
We order huckleberry pie for both of us and a pot of tea to share.
When Daisy returns with the plates, the smell alone wraps around me in a wave of nostalgia. The crust is golden and flaky, and the berries glisten under the diner lights.
Daisy sets everything down and folds her arms. “Not to stick my nose where it shouldn’t go, but I hope you aren’t planning on selling the clinic. Especially not in the fall. The festival brings in more business than the rest of the year combined. And with the Prairie Pine Rodeo and Stampede coming up next summer, folks will need a reliable place for their animals.”
Clara’s brows rise, and she waits until Daisy heads back to the kitchen before leaning toward me. “How does she even know what you told Elvis? Isn’t that some kind of breach?”
A surprised laugh bursts out of me. “That’s small town for you. Information travels faster than texts here.”
Clara snorts and stirs her tea. “Fair point.”
We dig into our pies, and the first bite melts on my tongue in a rush of berry sweetness. The taste knocks me sidewayswith memory and grief and something softer that feels almost comforting.
Clara watches me for a moment before asking, “Heard from Cole yet?”
I shake my head and take another bite. “Not a word.”
She nods slowly and lets the subject drop. I’m grateful for that. The last thing I need today is to peel open another wound.
The diner hums around us. People eat, talk, laugh in pockets of sound. It feels like the town hasn’t changed at all, and maybe that’s the strangest part.
Everything looks the same, but I feel completely different. Like someone who left her old life on a porch step five years ago and has no idea how to carry any of this now.
I take another sip of tea. Clara reaches across the table and touches my hand. Her eyes soften, steady and warm, and something inside me relaxes.
We sit together in that booth, two women trying to navigate grief, small-town memories, and pie that tastes exactly like it did when I was young. The air feels full, and my chest doesn’t feel as hollow as it did this morning.
Outside, festival music swells in the distance. Inside, the warmth of the diner settles around us and holds steady, anchoring me to a town I thought I had left behind for good.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tex
I stepout onto the porch, tugging the sleeves of my suit jacket, the fabric stretching across my shoulders in a way that makes me wish I had gone for the next size up.
Dressing up never sits right on my body, but my father drilled the habit into us early. Funerals deserve respect. Weddings do too.
Anything that marks the beginning or end of someone’s life.
I hear the low rumble of the tractor out behind the barn and follow the path that leads to the pasture gate.
Billy is in the middle of the field with Jasper, both of them shirtless under the late morning sun. They haul bales of hay from the truck bed, tossing them like they weigh nothing.
