I blinked. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Aunt Blair,” she answered matter-of-factly, making Evie snort with laughter.
Evie came around the counter, crouching down to Olive’s level. “We’re going to have so much fun tonight. You can help me make cookies in the kitchen, and then you can sleep in the little loft upstairs. It will be like a sleepover.”
Olive clapped her hands. “Cookies!”
My chest eased as I watched her, the way she trusted Evie so easily, the way her excitement outweighed any nerves I might have had about leaving her. “Thank you,” I murmured to Evie.
She straightened, her expression softening. “Of course. You need this, Mads. And Seth…” Her eyes sparkled again. “Well, he needs this, too. He’s different when you’re around, you know. Lighter. I think you both deserve to see where this goes.”
I nodded, my throat tightening with both nerves and anticipation. “I hope you’re right.”
As I gathered my things, Olive skipped off with Evie toward the back, chattering about cookie flavors and sprinkles. I paused by the door, looking back at the coffee shop that had always been a constant in my life, and felt something I hadn’t in a long time.
Hope.
And maybe, just maybe, tonight would be the start of something real.
Chapter 40
Seth
Istood in front of the mirror longer than I wanted to admit, tugging at the collar of the shirt I had pulled on. It was nothing fancy, just a clean button-down and jeans, but it still felt strange to be getting ready for a date. I could not remember the last time I had done this. Work dinners and business meetings didn’t count. This was different.
This was Madison.
And the thought of her waiting for me in the guesthouse, probably just as nervous, had my stomach tying itself into knots.
I grabbed my keys from the counter, forcing myself out the door before I could second-guess everything. The evening air was warm, the faint scent of cut grass lingering as I crossed the yard. The guesthouse lights glowed through the windows, and when the door opened, Madison stepped out.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
She wore a simple yellow sundress, making her sun-kissed skin glow. She wore her hair loose around her shoulders, her lips curved into a shy smile that somehow knocked the air out of me more than anything else. She wasn’t trying too hard, and maybe that was what made her so beautiful.
“You look…” I cleared my throat. “You look really nice.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “Thanks. You clean up well yourself.”
We shared a quiet smile before heading to the truck. Madison's phone rang, and Olive was on the other line, her smiling face taking up the whole screen. “Mommy,” Olive called, “don’t be late. Miss Evie says we’re making chocolate chip and snickerdoodles.”
Madison threw her head back and laughed, “Have fun, O.”
Evie waved, her grin knowing. “Go have fun. She’s in good hands.”
Relief softened Madison’s shoulders as she climbed into the truck beside me. I glanced at her once more before starting the engine, marveling at how natural it felt to have her sitting next to me.
We drove toward town with the windows down, the warm summer air tugging at her hair. She hummed along to the radio, and I found myself stealing glances, memorizing the curve of her profile, the ease in her expression.
Dinner was at a quiet little place just outside of town, one I knew served good food without the noise of a packed bar. Wewere seated in a corner booth, the clink of silverware and low hum of conversation filling the background.
Madison scanned the menu, her fingers brushing the edge. “This feels… strange. In a good way. I don’t think I’ve been on a real date in years.”
“Me either,” I admitted, my voice low.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, surprise flashing before she smiled. “Then we’re both out of practice.”
We ordered, falling into a conversation that flowed more easily than I expected. We talked about Olive’s quirks, the flowers she insisted on watering twice a day, and the books Madison had been reading late at night after Olive was asleep. I listened, really listened, and each word only pulled me in further.
