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I pulled out a pair of shorts—denim, not too short but not frumpy—and held them up. Then I grabbed a tank top that made me feel like I had shoulders instead of coat hangers, soft cotton in a color that didn’t scream “she’s fragile, handle with care.”

Footwear next. Sandals instead of sneakers. The kind that made my legs look a little longer and reminded me I had ankles. I added bangles—thin metal that clinked softly when I moved—and dug for the earrings I actually liked instead of the plain studs I wore when I didn’t want anyone to look too closely.

By the time I finished, my reflection in the mirror startled me a little.

I looked like a person who might walk into town on purpose.

“You’re going to Zoe’s,” I told the woman in the mirror. “You might as well give your sister some business if you’re going to have a crisis in public.”

That thought helped. Something about going to my twin’s little shop made it feel less like I was stepping onto a stage and more like I was just…going home. In a sideways way.

I snickered. Sideways. Perfect. I wanted to say I was moving forward, but moving sideways was really more accurate.

Saturday’s barbecue loomed in the back of my mind, hot and bright and awkward.

It didn’t matter if Zarek was there. I needed to be there. Hell, Evie, Drake and Piper were going to be there from California. I hadn’t seen Piper in over eighteen months. Damn right I was going.

I grabbed my keys, my bag, and my last halfway decent gel pen small pad of paper, then headed out the door.

By the time I pulled into the town square in Jasper Creek, my stomach was staging a full revolt.

I’d left the apartment on coffee and adrenaline, not bothering with food because my nerves had decided chewing was optional. Now, as I parked near the old brick buildings and the familiar “Welcome to Jasper Creek” banner fluttered down the block, I realized this might have been a tactical error.

I could go straight to Zoe’s shop. Hide there. Let her shove a granola bar at me between adorable boutique customers.

Or…

I could walk into the Down Home Diner like a normal person, at ten in the morning on a Thursday, when there wouldn’t be a breakfast rush or a lunch crowd, and prove to myself that I could sit in a public place in my hometown without cracking.

“Big statement,” I muttered, eyeing the teal-and-cream sign.

The Down Home Diner was practically the beating heart of Jasper Creek. Half of my memories smelled like Patty’s biscuits and bacon. The other half were tied to places like the school, the creek, and Zarek’s truck.

Going in there by myself felt like painting a target on my chest that said, Ask how I’m doing.

But hiding wasn’t exactly working great for me, either.

I pulled my phone out before I could talk myself out of it and shot Zoe a text.

Chloe: Hey. I’m hitting the diner. You free to come by? I could use backup.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Zoe: On my way. Order enough food for me.

I rolled my eyes, smiling despite myself.

With that small comfort in place, I took a breath, straightened my shoulders, and walked toward the diner.

The bell over the door jingled as I pushed it open. The familiar mix of coffee, cooking grease, and something sweet—cinnamon rolls, probably—hit my nose and wrapped around my lungs.

“Chloe, honey.”

Little Grandma’s voice came from beside the hostess stand, warm and matter-of-fact, like I’d just walked in from school instead of out of a year-long breakdown.

She didn’t make a fuss. She didn’t gasp or cry or ask me a hundred questions about how I was doing.

She eased off her stool, and opened her arms.