"Did you hear?" she gasps, settling onto her usual stool. "Mabel's son got pulled over on Route 9 doing sixty in a thirty. Again. Third time this year and it's only the end of February."
And the gossip machine powers on. Ruth talks. Erin trims flowers and makes the right noises at the right moments. I stand between them with dahlias in my hand and coffee going cold, and I actually breathe, for the first time in months.
Ruth stays forty-five minutes. In that time, I learn about Mabel's son and his apparent death wish on Route 9. Someone's son helping her at the diner who's "too pretty to be trusted." A suspected affair between two people I've never met. The precise calorie count of Ruth's pie, which she announces with pride rather than shame.
"How long are you staying, sweetheart?" she asks, finally pulling on her coat.
"A year. Maybe longer."
"Good." She points at me, eyes narrowing. "You belong here. Tell your brother I said so."
The door slams behind her. The bell swings wildly, still recovering from the abuse.
"She's never going to stop calling me Disney princess, is she?" I sigh.
Erin rearranges a finished display. "Not in this lifetime."
By noon, I've trimmed three buckets of flowers, reorganized the ribbon drawer, eaten half a sandwich Erin made me, and texted Rome back four times.
He is relentless.
Was I eating?
Yes.
Was the heat working?
Yes.
Had I looked into that European tour?
No, Rome. I have not looked into the European tour, because I don't want a European tour. I want Sunday dinners and inside jokes and people who know how I take my coffee. He builds dream houses for a living, but can't understand that I don't want a plane ticket. I want a home.
Around one, the door opens again and Poppy breezes in. Messy bun, a bag of pastries from the corner bakery and energy that could power a small city. She is Erin’s childhood best friend, and now mine, too.
So many people I met in this town took me in, people I now consider friends. Even Ramsey, who usually only has eyes for Poppy, let me be one of them despite me being younger.
"She's here, she's here, she's here!" Poppy squeals,dropping the bag on the counter and throwing her arms around me.
Poppy hugs like she means it. Like she wants you to feel it in your skeleton, and I sink into it.
"I'm here.”
"How's the apartment? Is it cute? Did you cry?" she demands, already pulling back and reaching for the pastry bag.
"It smells like lavender. It's super cute. I didn't cry."
"She almost cried," Erin chimes in.
”I did not almost cry."
"Her eyes got shiny," Erin adds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"My eyes get shiny. It's the new mascara."
Poppy pulls herself onto the counter, legs swinging like a kid.
"So. What's the plan?" She tears off a piece of her treat, pops it in her mouth. "Are you working here now? Are you just vibing?"
