“No promises,” she replies cheerfully.
Phoenix steps up beside me, quieter than usual, but smiling.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging her lightly.
“Yeah,” she says, a little too quickly. Then softer, “Just … thinking.”
There’s something there. It isn’t obvious, but just enough to register as off. I file it away without pushing. Phoenix will talk when she’s ready. Or she’ll handle it herself, the way she always does. Either way, we’ll be there.
“Okay, but seriously,” Mack says, stepping closer, lowering her voice slightly. “Are we pretending we’re not all wildly impressed right now?”
“I’m not pretending anything,” I reply honestly. “This is really good.”
Nessa raises her glass. “To Holly Hughes. Proving us all wrong in the best way possible.”
We all laugh, and when I glance back at Holly, she’s watching us. There’s a flicker of something in her expression; gratitude, maybe. Or relief, possibly both. I lift my glass slightly in her direction. She nods once, smiles, and moves on to greet customers.
Standing here with my friends, in a space that was once the source of so much tension and pain, I notice that it doesn’t feel like something was taken from me anymore.
There’s a shift in the room—maybe it’s just me, maybe it’s not—but something settles low in my chest, I turn, and then I see him. Sam’s standing in the doorway, one hand still on the handle like he paused there for a second longer than necessary. He's cleaned up; dark jeans, a simple button down with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, the kind of effort that looks effortless on him. His eyes find mine immediately. And the look he gives me … It’s not subtle.
Not in a way anyone else would clock, but I do. It drags slowly and deliberately, like he’s taking me in piece by piece, like he’s reminding himself I’m here with him. Heat creeps up my neck before I can stop it.
“Well,” Nessa says beside me, following my line of sight, “that man just walked in like he owns the place.”
“He doesn’t,” I say automatically, relieved that it’s true.
“Mm,” she hums. “No. But he definitely looks like he knows exactly who he’s here for.”
I elbow her lightly. She grins, completely unbothered.
“I read your Capricorn horoscope before I came tonight, obviously,” she adds, lowering her voice like she’s about to deliver something important. “And I can confidently say—you are getting lucky.”
I choke on my drink. “Nessa,” I mutter.
“What?” she says. “I’m just the messenger of the stars.”
Mack snorts into her drink. “You’re never just the messenger.”
Phoenix, quieter but smiling, adds, “She’s also usually wrong.”
“Rude,” Nessa shoots back. “I’m rarely wrong. Only … early.”
I shake my head, but I can’t hide my smile. When I look back up, Sam’s already moving toward me. He doesn’t stop at the front desk. Doesn’t even glance at Mandy. And I notice, and so does she.
For a split second, Mandy straightens, like she’s about to step forward, say something, insert herself the way she always used to. Then her eyes flick to mine, and she stops. She turns, picks up a clipboard, and redirects herself to someone else. It’s a small shift, but it changes everything. Cascadia is a small town. I can’t avoid her forever, even though I’ll try. At least now things are clear.
Sam doesn’t break stride as he walks in. When he reaches me, his hand settles at my waist, pulling me closer.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply, breathier than I intend.
“You see all this?” He nods around us.
“I did,” I say. “She did really well.”
“She did.”
