Chapter Eighteen
Girls’ day and the gift basket-making party were in full swing when Cammie finally worked up the nerve to approach Gwen, who was stationed at the far end of the long table. With a measured breath, she placed the box of hearts on the table’s edge, just within Gwen’s line of sight. Leaning in slightly, she whispered, “Care to explain this?”
The room stilled instantly. Five pairs of eyes snapped to her, the rustling of tissue paper and the soft hum of conversation fading into silence. Even little Grace, who had been happily bouncing on her toes moments ago, froze mid-motion, her wide brown eyes fixed on the exchange.
Gwen’s sudden burst of laughter shattered the tension, startling Cammie. For a fleeting second, she was caught off guard—but as the levity radiated from Gwen’s petite frame, it proved infectious. The other women quickly joined in, their laughter rising and blending into a symphony of delight.
Cammie stood back, patiently waiting for the explanation she knew would come. In the meantime, she let herself enjoy the sound of their laughter. It felt good to be surrounded by such joy, and she knew—without a doubt—they weren’t laughing at her.
Finally, Gwen wiped a tear from her cheek and reached for the clipped stack of notes in the box, the yellow sticky note sitting prominently on top. “Oh, girl,” she said with a chuckle, holding up the bundle for the others to see. “You figured it out. Allen had a good run, but I guess this little note blew his cover.”
Chuckles rippled around the table as Gwen gestured to the stack. “It was all Allen’s idea. I figured it out when he slipped that note onto your plate at Gathering Grounds. Honestly, I was worried you’d think he was some kind of stalker, so I stepped in. I took his notes and enlisted my sisters to help,” she explained, motioning to the women gathered around the table—her college roommates and soul sisters.
“Mrs. Edwards saw Mamma drop a heart on your plate at the café and got all huffy that she hadn’t received one,” Becky chimed in with a grin. “So, naturally, my parents called us in and made us create hundreds more for the other patrons.”
“The same thing happened at GatheringGrounds,” Anika added. “Gwen and I spent hours creating hearts with her Cricut machine because our hands were too sore from handwriting notes for the Davis’ that we couldn’t do any more for the coffee shop.”
Gwen leaned forward, her tone softening as she explained, “But all of yours were handwritten. Allen came up with a whole list of messages for you, and we made sure your pile stayed separate from the more generic ones. No matter whose handwriting it’s in, the message is from him.”
“So, the one about my feet being as dainty as a princess'?” Cammie asked, a teasing grin tugging at her lips.
“Oh, no, that wasn’t Allen,” Harper said with a conspiratorial wink. “Some of the townspeople decided to join in the fun, and we can’t be held responsible for those. Notes about feet? Those had to come from Dr. Foster. He’s a retired podiatrist friend of my dad’s who moved to town last year. A little obsessed with feet, but otherwise harmless.”
“Unless you’re Miss Pansy,” Becky added with a chuckle. “Mom said she got one that read, ‘Your toes look delicious.’ Dad and Dr. Sullivan had to step in for an intervention. They set him up with a proper dinner date, and the rest of his hearts were confiscated. I guess he managed to deliver yours before they shut him down. Sorry about that.” She ended with a shrug and a sheepish grin.
Cammie absorbed the information, her laughter bubbling up as the absurdity sank in. Soon, the others joined in, their shared amusement chasing away any lingering tension. What could have been unsettling had turned into something unexpectedly heartwarming. Allen’s thoughtful gesture, aided by the entire town, had worked. From her very first day, she’d felt accepted and special. The fact that so many people were willing to come together for his plan touched her deeply.
As Cammie wiped the tears from her eyes, a light touch brushed against her fingers. She glanced down to find a curly-haired cherub gazing up at her with soulful brown eyes. “Does that mean I’m too late to deliver mine?” Grace asked, her small voice tinged with disappointment as she held up a tiny heart with uneven edges.
Kneeling to meet her at eye level, Cammie took the offered heart with a warm smile. “Grace, I would be honored to accept your message. Thank you. May I read it now?”
Golden curls bounced as Grace nodded energetically.
Cammie unfolded the pink paper heart, its size nearly as large as a salad plate. Written in bold red crayon, the message read: Your good heart makes life sweeter. Warmth filled her chest as she smiled and pulled Grace into a hug.
When she pulled back, Grace was already fishing something else out of her pocket. “Daddy helped me make one more,” she said, holding out a much smaller heart with a proud grin. “I wanted to hide two for you to find, but mine was too big.”
The second note, written in fountain pen and a man’s bold style, read: Keep being you. The way you are is pretty special. Cammie pressed her fingers to her lips as tears filled her eyes. Allen was always trying to affirm that she was enough—that she was worthy just as she was. And here he was, with the help of his friends, saying it in a dozen different ways and through different voices, but all carrying the same message: Camellia Rodes was wanted and loved, just as she was. No changes needed.
Tiny arms wrapped around her neck as the tears slipped free, and little Grace whispered, “We love you, Miss Cammie. Thank you for moving to our town.”
The dam broke, and Cammie cried for real. Soon, all five women had surrounded her in a warm group hug. In their embrace, she felt a love and acceptance she’d never known before. For the first time, she thanked God for every hardship that had brought her here, to this moment, to these people.
She was home.
But one question lingered: where did Allen fit into her new life?