I squeeze her fingers, my throat tight. “I know, baby.”
Thankfully, my phone buzzes on the counter and Delaney’s name flashes on the screen.
I swipe to answer as Declan, Beck and Mason huddle together by the front window, presumably to continue theirColtconspiracies.
“Hey, Del. What's up?”
“Zoey. Perfect. Are you at the bakery?”
“Yeah, just got here.”
“Great. I need you at The Den. Now.”
My stomach flutters. “Is everything okay?”
She laughs on the opposite end of the phone. “Oh yeah. Better than okay. The voting closed an hour ago, and babe,we have a winner. Big Mike wants to show you something.” Her voice is warm and excited. “Can you come?”
I glance at my brothers, at Morgan, at the bakery that’s already running without me. “Uh, yeah I guess. I can be there in twenty.”
“Perfect. Meet me at the main entrance. And Zoey? Wear something cute. There might be photos.”
She hangs up and I look across at my brothers.
Great.I've just scolded them, and now I have to grovel for a favor. I feel like I'm sixteen again, about to ask my parents if I can borrow the car after I've already dented the bumper five times.
“So… guys? I have to go to The Den. Delaney needs me. Something about the program—"
“We’ll take Morgs,” Mason says immediately. “We were gonna hit The Leopard Lounge for lunch anyway. Wanna see if we can beat Cade Jensen at pool again, kiddo?”
Morgan’s eyes light up. “Yes!”
“Are you sure?” I ask, already feeling the pull of guilt. “I can just bring her with me—”
“Zoey.” Beck puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go. We’ll cover the lunch rush and then take her out.”
Declan nods, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Go.”
For a second, I hesitate.
Am I becoming the kind of mom who drops everything for a work opportunity? Who lets her kid eat bar food for lunch while she chases a dream she packed away years ago?
But then I look at Morgan.
She's already pulling on her coat, chattering to Mason about which pool trick she wants to learn.
She’s fine. She’s more than fine. She’s surrounded by people who love her.
And I… I have somewhere to be.
“Okay,” I say, exhaling. “Okay. Thank you.”
I race upstairs, change into the only remotely 'cute' thing I own that’s clean. A cream-colored sweater dress and knee-high boots. I run a brush through my hair and grab a quick coffee that hopefully pardons me for my life choices.
It scalds a glorious, awakening path down my throat, and for a second, the morning finally sharpens into focus.
Leaning into the bathroom mirror, I wield some fresh mascara like a tiny magic wand. Each sweep is a promise of transforming my sleep-deprived, sex-indulged smudges into something that whispersI definitely have my life together.
Lip-gloss is next, a swipe of sheer, peachy shimmer.
