Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
CASSIE
At the cafe on Tuesday morning, the morning rush dies down slowly.
Not all at once. There is just gradually less noise and less traffic.
The buzz of conversation fades into the background instead of drowning everything out.
I lean against the counter, wiping it down even though it’s already clean.
June watches me for a second.
She doesn’t say anything right away.
She never does. “You don’t have to do that. You’re my social media person. Not my employee.”
“Don’t worry about paying,” I say.
“Don’t you worry about me not paying you. I just need to shore up the mortgage and I’ll have some funds to work with.”
“Stop.” I go back to wiping down the counter.
“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” she adds, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Like you’re trying to forget something.”
I let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Oh please,” she says. “I saw how you lit up when that…man came in here with his team. I might be older but I’m no dummy. I know chemistry when I see it. And I know he’s gone.”
That lands. “You do?”
“It’s a small town, honey. Gossip flies around faster than a prairie fire in an August drought.”
I glance down at my phone, where my bank app is still open.
The number staring back at me like it’s supposed to mean something.
With the bonus added in, it’s my first ever payout for five figures at once.
It should feel like a bigger deal—and I am grateful—but for some reason, it doesn’t feel like this end-all be-all.
“Got paid for that other post you did?” June asks, nodding toward my phone, over my shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Yeah,” I say again.
But it doesn’t come out convincingly, because the worst part isn’t the money. It’s that he thinks I used him for content.
I press my lips together, staring down at the screen. That was the furthest thing from the truth. Content? The whole post wasn’t even my idea, really.
And I didn’t even correct him. I don’t know why I even said it in front of him. It was like unconscious word vomit. Then I just froze up awkwardly and watched him leave.
I shake my head slightly, like I can undo it.
“God, I should’ve just said something,” I mutter.
June tilts her head. “About that man?”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Of course it’s about him,” I admit.
“Well, you don’t have to go into specifics,” she says, wiping her hands on a towel, “those are usually the ones that get us thinking like that.”
I glance over at my bag, at the edge of my journal sticking out.
I pull it out and flip open.
I see what I wrote on the first page, right when I got to Riverbend:
A life that doesn’t fall apart because of a man.
I stare at it, and it makes me wonder.
Am I protecting myself? Or just making sure I don’t have to feel anything real?
Because Logan…goodness.
I close my eyes for a second, and it all hits at once. A corny montage of him with the kids. That stupid grin.
The way he showed up late that night and threw me over his shoulder and carried me up to the bedroom…
But mostly, I remember the way he looked at me: like I was something worth choosing. I could have sworn we were more than a rebound. I guess I’ll never know.
I swallow, my chest tightening.
“That man…” I murmur, more to myself than anything.
June watches me carefully now, like she knows the pain I’m in.
I thumb through my journal, and pull out the folded piece of paper.
It’s the love letter.
Evan’s handwriting is still creased from the last time I unfolded it. It’s the one he gave back to me, that I never had the heart to burn.
“What’s that?” June asks.
“Old love letter…from my ex. Not Logan.”
“Okay,” June says quietly. “That’s not just a casual situation. What are you going to do?”
I let out a shaky breath.
“I don’t know.”
A long pause settles between us.
Then June leans against the counter and crosses her arms.
“I had one that got away, you know,” she says.
I glance up, surprised. “Really?”
She nods. “I was thirty-four. He was good-looking. Too good-looking.”
I smile faintly. “Sounds familiar.”
She huffs out a laugh.
“I’d already been hurt,” she continues. “So I told him it wasn’t going to work. Made damn sure we didn’t even get lift-off before I could get my heart broken again. I didn’t think I could handle it.”
I shift slightly. “Wow.”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me. “And let me tell you something. If I could do it again?”
My heart thumps in my chest.
“I’d love to give it a go. Even if it meant I had to get my heart ripped out.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Because at least I’d know I tried.” She smiles thinly. “I don’t get my heart ripped out these days. I have the shop, my dog and I live a quiet, happy life. I enjoy it. I’ve stopped having regrets. But there was a time when I wondered what could have been.”
Silence settles over the shop, and I look down at the letter in my hands.
Then at my journal, and at my phone.
But unfortunately, none of it feels like the answer I’m looking for.
That night, I decide it’s time.
The boxes have been sitting in my basement since the move—half-forgotten, half-avoided.
Not anymore.
I throw on some Zach Bryan, bring them up to my living room, and start digging in.
It’s the kind of stuff we all keep.
Little artifacts of a life that doesn’t quite exist anymore.
A plane ticket to Barcelona from Evan and me, early on, when everything still felt easy.
I turn it over in my hands for a second.
Then toss it into a new pile.
Burn.
A wooden trinket he bought me on that same trip.
An eagle.
I never even liked it. Just kept it because that’s what you do.
Burn.
A couple of books Evan gave me.
Inside covers full of notes that used to mean everything.
Burn.
I keep going.
Faster now, and with less hesitation.
Until the pile is real.
Then grab my phone.
Scroll.
Scroll.
Scroll.
I look at every photo from the Evan era.
Smiling versions of me I barely recognize.
I highlight them all.
Hover for half a second.
Then hit delete.
The screen clears.
Poof. They’re gone. Just like that.
It feels oddly freeing.
That’s when I hear footsteps on the front porch.
“Knock knock.”
Ivy’s voice filters through the screen door.
“Hey, Auntie Cassie! I brought you some cherry pie. Thought you might be hungry.”
I look up and smile, softer this time.
“Aww. You didn’t have to.”
“Well, just wanted to thank you for watching the kids last weekend.”
She lets herself in, already peeking around.
“What’s all this?” she asks, eyeing the boxes.
“Old stuff,” I say. “Figured it was time.”
Her eyes land on the pile, and the paper I taped to it, appropriately labeled “burn pile.”
She nods slowly.
“Ah,” she says. “A perfectly normal Tuesday night activity.”
I shrug. “I don’t know about the new yet, but tonight the theme is ‘out with the old.’”
She heads into the kitchen, setting the pie down.
I hear the fridge open, followed by a can cracking.
She comes back, handing me a lime beer.
“Thirsty?” I ask.
“Oh—it’s not for me,” she adds quickly. “It’s for you.”
I take it, smiling faintly.
“Right. You’re being responsible.”
“We’re trying,” she says.
I take a sip and let it sit for a second.
“Can I stay?” she asks. “I love a good burn ritual.”
I glance at the pile, then back at her.
“And I’ve had the kids all day,” she adds. “It’s Jackson’s turn. I watch them during the week and I could use a little break.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Stay.”
By the time we’re done, the fire pit’s stacked high. Books are at the bottom, with old papers layered in.
And, you know, some real wood on top since we need something solid to carry the flame.
I strike the lighter and hold it on some old magazines at the bottom. For a second, nothing happens.
Then it catches. Slow at first, then faster.
Ivy and I watch, me with another beer, and Ivy with a seltzer, as the flames take hold.
We both step back as the fire starts to climb.
I grab the Barcelona ticket, and turn it over one last time, wrapped in the love letter Evan gave me back.
“Anything you want to say?” Ivy asks gently.
I think about it and about everything I thought that trip meant. I chuckle, because actually? When I really remember it without rose-colored glasses, Evan and I were bickering even on that trip. Though it did have some sweet moments.
Then I shake my head and toss it in.
The fire takes it immediately, and I watch as the orange flames devour the paper.
“How’s it feel?”
“You know, when I was with him, I thought I’d hang onto those things forever. But now? I truly feel lighter already,” I say. “It’s the wildest thing.”
“I bet.”
We settle into the Adirondack chairs, the fire crackling in front of us, orange light flickering across the yard.
The heat reaches us in waves.
For a second, neither of us says anything. Then Ivy breaks the silence.
“So. What are you going to do about Logan?” she asks, catching my eyes.
“Logan?” I scoff. “What do you mean?”
“Oh please. Don’t play dumb. We all know there’s something going on between you two. The kids couldn’t stop asking when ‘Uncle Logan’ was going to come back and make dinner and have a tea party.”
That pulls a laugh out of me.
“Okay, first of all—that tea party was his idea.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Sure.”
I laugh. “Uh, yeah. That…”
She leans back in her chair, studying me now. “Are you two dating now that he’s gone?”
Logan must have told Jackson. Obviously he’s in the loop. And at this point, I’ve got nothing to lose by being honest. Besides, Ivy and I might not be on the same level as me and Avery, but she’s not just a regular sister-in-law. She’s a friend. Especially with me living in Riverbend now.
The fire cracks, filling the space.
“Dating? No,” I say, a little too quickly. “We weren’t…like that. It was just a fling.”
“Oh.”
She sits back in her chair.
“So he broke it off with you?”
“Not really. It just…ran its natural course. And what not.”
Her eyes widen. “Ran…its course. And what not.”
“Yep,” I say, closed-lipped.
“Cass.” Ivy leans forward and puts her hand on my knee. “With due respect…men don’t help babysit the nieces of women they don’t genuinely like. And want something more than a fling with. Sorry, but it’s true. It’s man science.”
“Maybe,” I huff, almost laughing at her man science comment but not quite. “It’s just, bad timing. If we had a few more months in Riverbend, maybe.”
When she doesn’t fill the space, I keep going, gesturing toward the fire.
“I mean, look here.” I watch the fire again for a moment, then turn back to her.
“I haven’t even finished burning stuff from the old.
I don’t have room for the new yet. Especially when I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
And Logan’s in Florida. I don’t want to burden him with some…
relationship offer. So I saw him off, and you know, I guess I shut him out. ” I think about how I shut my door.
How I stared at his you up? text, and couldn’t bring myself to respond.
She smiles faintly, and I watch the reflection of the fire dance in her eyes before she looks at me again.
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, timing is never good. But you don’t get many chances, either. And when a good thing comes around, well. May as well take a stab at it.”
I nod, sipping my beer, thinking about how Ivy’s words are echoing June’s advice to me earlier. It’s like the Universe is trying to tell me something through different people, but with the same message.
“And Logan? Come on, girl. I could tell in two seconds the way that man looked at you that he was enamored with you. It wasn’t rocket science. You didn’t hide it well.”
“Jackson and you knew?”
“We had a hunch.”
A knot jumps up in my throat.
“I know,” I finally say, staring into the flames. “It’s me. I’m the problem. I just…I don’t want to get hurt again. And that’s that.”
She doesn’t move, and doesn’t rush in. She just lets it sit there.
Then a smile creeps up at her lips. “So…what are you going to do?”
“Well. If this were a rom-com, he would just appear at my door.”
Ivy raises an eyebrow.
I continue, half-laughing. “He’d come back and let me explain that he wasn’t ‘just content’ for a post, and everything would magically work out.”
“Cass.”
“Yeah?”
“Reality check.”
I glance at her.
“Life isn’t a rom-com. If you left him hanging like you said, he probably doesn’t even think you like him as much as he liked you.”
That lands harder than I expected.
“Guys get hurt too, you know,” she adds.
“Right.”
A beat passes before I ask, “So what do you think I should do?”
She winks. “You’re a social media professional. I think you can figure something out.”
“Logan’s not even on social media.”
I huff out a quiet laugh.
“What?” Ivy asks.
I shake my head, reaching into my pocket.
“Nothing. Just…something Logan said.”
My fingers brush the folded note. One that I didn’t burn. Not yet, at least.
I pull it out and unfold it slowly.
I like when you have the balls to ask for what you want.
The fire cracks in front of us.
I stare at the words for a second longer than I mean to.
Then I fold the note back up and think about what to do.