After All (Latitude & Longing #3)

Chapter 1

Maggie

The mirror was crooked again.

Maggie stepped back, tilted her head, then stepped forward and nudged the brass frame slightly to the left. The sunlight from the front windows caught the beveled edge and flared across the dusty floor of Found & Chosen, turning the whole room momentarily golden.

The shop looked like a curated dreamscape — part vintage showroom, part botanical lounge, part cabinet of curiosities.

It smelled like old books and new soil, and looked like a flea market had made out with a greenhouse and then gone to therapy.

On any given day, customers could find a Depression-era butter dish beside a hand-painted tarot deck, or a Victorian fainting couch draped with a handwoven blanket.

Some customers came for the fiddle-leaf figs, some came for the feeling, as though maybe, just maybe, they were about to stumble across exactly the thing they didn’t know they needed.

Old apothecary cabinets lined one wall, filled with antique postcards, brass keys, and ceramic thimbles.

Cascading pothos and sleepy monstera plants softened the hard lines of midcentury credenzas and art deco bar carts.

The scent of lemon balm and cedar hung in the air, thanks to the incense Colette insisted on burning near the register.

“Just admit defeat,” Colette called from the counter, where she was reorganizing a display of hand-thrown mugs glazed in smoky lavender. “That mirror hates you.”

Maggie stuck out her tongue. “Or maybe it’s just cursed.”

Colette raised a brow over her tortoiseshell glasses.

She had the kind of effortless cool Maggie had always admired — messy bun, oversized cardigan even in the late Texas summer, dark jeans rolled at the ankle, and red lipstick that somehow never smudged.

“Do you think that makes it more or less valuable?”

“Definitely more, are you kidding?” Maggie pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and crossed back toward the display table, adjusting a linen runner that had bunched.

Her reflection in the shop’s curved windows caught her off guard — she looked so tired.

Even her twelve-step skin care routine had lost its magic, apparently.

Maybe she should start googling whatever Lindsay had done to her face.

The shop was quiet this Thursday morning, just the hum of the ceiling fans and the occasional creak from the wood-plank floors. Outside, the street traffic was sparse. A couple wandered past, hand in hand.

“Anything good come in from the estate haul?” she asked, folding a stack of vintage tea towels.

Colette perked up. “Couple of hideous lamp bases, a box of untouched wedding china, and one very eccentric swan-shaped dish that I think would be a perfect tampon holder for the bathroom.”

Maggie blinked. “A what?”

“You heard me. It’s porcelain. Very detailed. I’m naming it Tamp-swan.”

“That’s horrifying.” Maggie shook her head. “Swans are so pretentious.”

“Pretentious? They’re just so pretty.”

“Yeah, and they know it,” Maggie insisted. “The worst of the waterfowl by far.”

Colette shrugged. “It’s going in the bathroom next to the flamingo soap dish. Don’t fight me.”

Maggie gave a reluctant laugh. “There’s a ‘Don’t Flock in the Bathroom’ cross-stitch pattern in our future. My friend Danica could whip it up on her next night shift, if we need.”

Colette grinned, then her expression turned thoughtful as she continued to watch Maggie.

A customer walked in, and Maggie quickly turned away, grateful for any excuse to get away from the open invitation in her friend’s face.

Maggie shook her head, immediately knowing what that look meant.

Colette was her best friend in Austin, and Maggie had begged to help at Found & Chosen when Rosie started preschool last spring.

She’d been “volunteering” in her friend’s shop ever since, just to get out of the house and feel like she had a purpose again.

It had been about six months since she and Gwen said the word out loud: separated.

Not in court. Not even officially. When Gwen was home, she slept in the guest room.

The kids accepted it like they accepted all the small weirdnesses of adulthood — with questions that trailed off when the answers got vague.

Mommy has her own room now. That was enough for them.

Gwen wasn’t home often anymore. Her travel schedule for work had instantly filled up, and Maggie felt a mixture of disappointment and relief whenever she checked their shared calendar and saw another trip booked. Their lives still ran in tandem, like parallel train tracks — close, but not touching.

Now it was late August, and school was back.

Jude and Arlo, her seven-year-old twins, had started second grade, while Rosie — five, stubborn, and firmly anti-pants — marched off to kindergarten.

Maggie had never been more grateful for the excuse to get out of the house for weird morning hours at the shop.

She had purpose again, and that felt good.

And as for Colette being her only friend who knew about the separation… well, most of the time it was fine, but sometimes Colette started giving her those looks. The “I’m here if you need to talk because you’re clearly miserable” looks.

Those looks were part of why she told herself she hadn’t told her best friends from college yet.

Between Gwen’s endless work trips and Maggie’s well-timed excuses — bad Wi-Fi, late school pickups, feigned exhaustion — the truth had stayed neatly off-camera. The group was too busy with spreadsheets and engagement rings to notice.

She didn’t want to ruin the dynamics. Didn’t want to draw attention. Didn’t want Danica and Pete’s swiftly approaching bachelorette trip and upcoming nuptials to turn into a pity party.

But really?

Saying it out loud made it real.

She still loved Gwen.

And that was the hardest part.

She loved Gwen’s crooked smile and the way her short curls always stuck up at weird angles in the morning.

She loved her deep voice and quiet humor, the way she built LEGO castles with the boys and let Rosie brush her hair for twenty minutes at night while humming the song from the Rapunzel movie without complaint.

But she also remembered… everything else. The silent way Gwen had dealt with the grief of terminating their pregnancy, then Maggie’s mom. Gwen hadn’t been there. She’d poured herself into work. Came home late. Said, “What do you need from me?” and probably meant it, but didn’t just take action.

The grief hadn’t broken Maggie. Loneliness had.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Kiera.

Kiera

Vegas itinerary incoming Hope you’re ready for tequila shots and strippers.

Maggie

Hell yes. I’ve been wanting to see these “pole fitness” moves for a while now.

Kiera

I am not the stripper.

Maggie

I’m changing my RSVP to no, then.

Kiera

I’m telling Gwen you’re harassing me.

A wave of guilt washed over Maggie, and she locked her phone.

Colette was watching her again.

“Oh, I made a note of it on the whiteboard calendar, but I wanted to just remind you I’ll be in Vegas for my friends’ bachelorette the weekend after next,” Maggie said.

“Yeah, I remember. The friends who don’t know about…” Colette gestured vaguely.

“Yeah.”

“I’m assuming Gwen’s not coming to that?” Colette asked.

Maggie smirked. “Gwen hasn’t come on a trip yet. I think she’s technically out of town that weekend, so I’ve already set her mom up for childcare. She’s not invited or anything.”

“It’s weird that you go on trips with two couples and you don’t get to bring your partner,” Colette said.

Maggie shrugged. “Gwen didn’t go to college with us. I feel like it would be weirder if she came.”

Colette quirked a brow but said nothing.

Maggie hadn’t told Kiera and Danica. Or Izzy. Or Pete. Not because she wanted to lie.

Only because she didn’t know how to explain what it meant to still love someone who hadn’t been there when it counted. Someone who was now just… not present. Like a shadow on the wall. Familiar, but faded.

Colette rounded the counter and leaned against it. “You should tell them.”

“Believe me, it wouldn’t be the weirdest secret someone has kept in our group,” Maggie said with a forced grin. “Besides, who wants the sad divorced lady at their bachelorette party? Isn’t that all about—”

“Being single and celebrating it?” Colette said. “Which is why a joint bachelorette party is so weird to me.”

“God, you are so straight sometimes,” Maggie said, shaking her head.

Colette laughed and gave her a strange look, but again, didn’t say anything.

She spent the next few hours rearranging displays, swapping out a set of ochre throw pillows a customer had ordered online and staging a new “eccentric kitchen essentials” shelf featuring a charcuterie board in the shape of a middle finger.

After, she slipped out the back door and into the hot afternoon air, letting it press against her like a warm wall.

Her car was waiting in the small lot behind the shop, already baking.

She climbed in, started the engine, and turned the AC on full blast. Then she hit the call button.

Colette was right. She had to just be honest with her friends.

“Well, hello,” came Kiera’s cheerful answer. “I know what you’re going to ask, and yes, the penis straws have already been ordered.”

“Perfect. I’d expect nothing less.” Maggie smiled but didn’t respond right away. Her eyes were on the traffic, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

“You okay?” Kiera asked, softer now.

“Yeah,” Maggie said, too fast. “Excited for a weekend of debauchery, obviously.” The trip was coming up quick — just over a week and a half away.

“Uh-huh.” Kiera didn’t push, but Maggie could practically hear her raised eyebrow through the phone.

This was it. This was the moment she could tell Kiera. Her mouth went dry, and she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Sorry, I’ve been swamped with the shop,” Maggie added.

“How can you be swamped with a volunteer job in a shop you don’t own?” Kiera asked with a laugh.

“I have never half-assed anything,” Maggie said.

“Nope. Full-ass Maggie.”

“Coincidentally, that was also my nickname in high school.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Kiera said.

Maggie swallowed again. Her courage was fading fast. “Anyway, I’ll be there for the trip. Just let me know what you need.”

“Expect chaos. Possibly matching jumpsuits.”

Maggie winced. “If I end up on TikTok, I’m suing.”

“No promises,” Kiera said. “Wanna FaceTime later tonight and go over the last of the details?”

“Sure. I miss your gorgeous smile,” Maggie said. Maybe she’d be braver tonight. Maybe she’d have a glass of wine and practice what she was going to say in the mirror.

“Sure. Izzy would love that, too. Maybe we can nail down the last of the details. I have a spreadsheet that could rival Danica’s.”

“Feel free to keep that to yourself,” Maggie said. “Okay, talk later?”

“Love you, Mags.”

Maggie hesitated, then said, “Love you too.”

She hung up and let her hand linger on the phone. Then she turned onto the access road toward the kids’ school and let herself slip comfortably back into mom mode.