Chapter 39 - Colson
thirty-nine
Colson
Sadie doesn’t hesitate when we stop in front of what looks like a closed laundromat, but I do.
There’s a flickering OPEN sign in the window, but the lights inside are off, and a handwritten sign taped to the door reads OUT OF ORDER. I glance down at her, then back at the door.
“This is either a speakeasy,” I say, “or we’re about to get arrested.”
She smiles, adjusting the strap of her flowy black summer dress like this is all part of the plan. The dress moves when she does, light and effortless, and I have to remind myself to keep my eyes up otherwise I’ll have a situation that you’d hate to see in public.
“Relax,” she says. “Trust me.”
“Says every person before they walk into impending danger.”
Sadie winks and then steps past me, knocking—not on the door, but on the side of a washing machine visible through the window. Three quick taps. A pause. Then two more.
I blink. “You’re kidding.”
The machine rattles, then the back wall shifts. A hidden door slides open, revealing a man in black, eyebrow raised.
Sadie leans in, completely unfazed. “Need to take cover.”
The door opens wider. The guy looks at me once, then steps aside.
I let out a quiet laugh as we walk in. “This isn’t what I expected.”
She glances back at me, eyes bright. “I know.”
We descend a narrow staircase, the noise of the city disappearing behind us. At the bottom, the space opens up into something dark and stunning. Low lighting. Velvet booths. Polished concrete and brass details that catch enough glow to feel expensive.
It’s the kind of place you’d expect to find tucked in Chicago—moody and modern, almost luxurious in a way that makes you lower your voice without noticing you’re doing it.
My eyes take a second to adjust as we continue our walk. The hostess greets us with an easy smile and leads us past the bar to a booth in the corner, tucked away like it was meant to be found only by people who knew where to look.
Sadie slides in first, crossing her legs and appearing completely at home.
I sit across from her, still taking it all in.
“Okay,” I admit, “this is impressive.”
She smirks. “I told you.”
Before I can say anything else, a man steps up to the table—mid-forties, confident, sleeves rolled up, the kind of presence that says he owns the room without announcing it.
He looks at me for half a second and grins.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he says. “You’re Colson Burke.”
Sadie’s eyebrows shoot up. Mine probably do the same.
I laugh, instinctively shaking my head. “Ummm, yeah but—”
“Don’t worry,” he cuts in, waving a hand. “Your secret is safe with me. But it’s not because of basketball, no offense.”
I sit back, confused. “Then why?”
He leans his elbow on the table. “Your mom. Tracy.”
My chest tightens.
“She was in here almost every night during the renovations on the house,” he continues, smiling like it’s a fond memory.
“She’d sit at the bar, order one drink, and send me emails afterward.
Pages of them. Ideas for appetizers. Garnishes.
Seasonal features.” He lets out a quiet laugh. “Some of them were… ambitious.”
I groan. “That sounds like her.”
“But,” he adds, pointing toward the bar, “a few of her ideas made the menu. The smoked olives? Hers. The honeyed ricotta? All Tracy.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. I just sit there, the low hum of the room around me.
“Really sorry to hear of her passing.” His hands are on his hips.
“Thank you,” I reply, a feeling of gratitude blooming in my chest. I hadn’t known this place existed.
Hadn’t known she’d left her fingerprints here by being herself.
It feels like finding a note my mom left behind without realizing it—tucked into the walls of Golden Harbor, waiting for me to walk in one night and recognize it.
I wouldn’t have even known it was here if it wasn’t for Sadie.
Sadie reaches across the table and lightly touches my hand, like she knows exactly what I’m feeling without me having to explain it.
The owner straightens. “First round’s on me,” he says. “For family.”
As he walks away, Sadie grins. “That’s pretty amazing,” she says.
She isn’t wrong.
Dipping her bread into the honeyed ricotta, Sadie hums like the flavor surprised her, then looks up at me.
“I think your mom and I would’ve been friends.
I’m a big fan of lists. To-do lists, goals, summer lists.
” She laughs, a little self-aware. “It’s how I organize my brain. When things feel… loud.”
I tilt my head. “Why the summer list? What’s on there?”
She pauses, glass hovering short of her lips. There’s a shift—small, but I catch it. That moment where she’s deciding how honest to be. Like her sunshine rays are dimming a bit.
“Last summer was rough,” she finally admits. “Like, capital-R rough.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I wasn’t sure what my life was supposed to look like anymore,” she continues. “The version I thought I was walking toward just… disappeared. And suddenly I was asking questions I thought I’d already answered.”
Her fingers trace the rim of the glass. “Do I stay here forever? Is this it for me? Is this my place, my people, my ending? Or am I scared to leave because starting over feels worse?”
Something in my chest tightens.
“I was still healing,” she adds quietly. “From the called-off engagement. Things I hadn’t dealt with quite yet.”
I swallow.
“So I made a list,” she says, lifting her eyes back to mine. “Little things. Things that made me feel like myself again. Or things I wanted to feel.”
I lean forward without realizing it. “Like what?”
Sadie smiles, softer now. “Sunsets.”
“Sunsets,” I repeat.
“They’re one of my favorite things,” she shares. “They make everything feel temporary in a good way. Like, no matter how messy the day was, you get this one beautiful moment that asks nothing from you. So, I wanted to see as many as I could this summer.”
I glance past her shoulder toward the dim bar, then subtly down at my watch.
“We can make it.”
She’s still talking, waving it off. “It’s silly. And we don’t have to—”
I reach across the table, my fingers closing gently around her wrist. The electricity crackles as her breath stutters.
“It’s not silly,” I insist. “And we absolutely can.”
She blinks. “Colson—”
“You gave me this,” I say, voice low. “This place. That connection with my mom I didn’t even know existed.”
Her expression softens.
“Let me do something for you.”
For a second, she looks at me, searching. Then she smiles—slow, warm, a little undone. “Okay,” she says.
We settle the check quickly, her knee brushing mine under the table. When we stand, I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the dark room. She leans into it, like it’s where she’s supposed to be.
Sadie slips her hand into mine as we make our way to the car.
The sky starts to dim but my girl definitely does not.