Chapter 26
I sit on the back porch swing, a glass of ginger ale sweating in my hand, one palm pressed lightly against the curve of my belly. The air’s warm but soft, leaves drifting down from the trees in golds, oranges, and yellows, and for the first time in days, the nausea’s given me a little peace.
Phern’s beside me, her legs tucked under her, sipping sweet tea and eyeing me like she’s working up to something.
I wait.
She’s not exactly subtle.
Finally, she says, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” I mutter.
She nudges me with her foot. “Don’t be a smartass. I’m trying to be serious.”
I glance over. “That’s new.”
She glares, but her lips twitch. “Olive.”
“Phern.”
She exhales, slow and deliberate. “You need to come home.”
I blink. “I am home.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re at your parents’ house. You’re hiding.”
I sit up straighter. “I’m not hiding. I’m working. I’m growing two humans. I’m surviving.”
“You’re existing,” she says gently. “And there’s a difference.”
I look away, jaw tight. “It’s too hard, Phern. Being near him. Loving him and not knowing if he can ever really choose me over the ghosts that raised him. I told him what I needed, and he—”
“—Didn’t give it to you. I know.” Her voice softens. “But what if he’s trying now?”
I don’t answer. Because that question feels dangerous. Like it might unravel me. Like she might know something that I don’t.
She presses on. “Look. I’m not saying run back and fall into his arms. I’m saying come back to Broken Heart Creek. Let people see your face again. Let him see it. Let you see what it feels like to stand on your own there. Not for him, but for you.”
My throat tightens. “You think I can do that?”
“I know you can.” She leans closer, voice dropping. “Opal would’ve gone back. Not for him, but for herself. And so should you.”
I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. “You always know how to hit where it hurts.”
“It’s not supposed to hurt,” she says. “It’s supposed to heal.”
We sit there for a while, letting the silence settle in.
Then, softly, I say, “What if I go back and he doesn’t want me?”
She shrugs. “Then we slash his tires and egg his truck. But either way, you’ll know. And you won’t have to wonder anymore.”
A laugh breaks out of me, wet and tired, but real. And for the first time in weeks I don’t feel so far away from brave.
“Okay,” I murmur, almost in disbelief at myself.
Before I can even blink, Phern jumps to her feet and hollers into the house, “Ora! She agreed!”
Mom appears in the doorway like she’s been lurking just out of sight this whole time, grinning like she won the lottery.
“Oh, hun,” she says, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been set up?”
“Because you totally have,” Phern says with a wicked little smile. “Now go pack. Our flight leaves at eight.”
I blink. “Eight? As in tonight?”
They both just grin at me like it’s Christmas morning.
I groan but push to my feet. “You two are the worst.”
“We know,” Mom says sweetly, and Phern just winks.
I rush to my room, heart pounding. I toss things into my overnight bag, not caring what matches, what doesn’t. This isn’t about fashion. It’s about finally doing the thing I’ve been too scared to even consider.
I keep telling myself I’m not expecting much. Closure. That’s it. Just closure. But as I zip my bag and glance around the room I know it’s not just that. It’s for the girls growing inside me. To prove to myself that I tried.
When I come back out, I freeze. My parents are standing in the living room. With bags.
I frown. “Are you coming with me?”
Dad nods, as casual as if we’re going to the grocery store. “Figured we needed a little vacation. Heard it’s a pretty time of year in Wyoming.”
“It’s absolutely not,” I say flatly. “It’s mud season. And snow. Or mud and snow.” I look between the three of them. Suspicion rising. “You’ve all been planning this.”
Phern shrugs. “We might’ve had a group chat.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, trying not to smile. “You’re all lunatics.”
Mom pats my shoulder. “You’ll thank us later.”
I highly doubt that.
Still, I let them lead me toward the door. Toward the airport. Toward the town I ran from and the man I still dream about more nights than I care to admit. I don’t know what’s waiting for me. But I’m finally ready to find out.
The plane touches down in Sheridan just after ten, and by the time we make it to Broken Heart Creek, I’m fighting yawns hard enough to water my eyes. My back aches, my legs are stiff, and the twins are having a dance party against my ribs.
I figured we’d head straight to the B&B, crash, and deal with emotions in the daylight.
But of course, that’s not what’s happening.
Phern pulls into Ruby’s gravel driveway and lets my parents out. Mom turns to wave, glowing with that “on-vacation” energy, and Ruby grins at me through the window like she’s been expecting me all along.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, reaching for the door. But Phern throws the truck in reverse and peels away before I can so much as open it.
“What are you doing?” I demand, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“We’re going out.”
“Phern, no. I’m pregnant and exhausted.”
She smirks. “You’re also glowing and about to live a cinematic moment. Buckle up.”
I narrow my eyes. “Where are we going?”
Her grin widens as she taps the steering wheel. “Back to the past.”
That’s when we pull up in front of the old Lura’s Porch building.
Or what used to be Lura’s Porch. Now, it’s lit up like a Friday night in Nashville.
There’s a new wooden sign swinging above the entrance that reads Flowers End, and the parking lot is full of trucks and music thudding through the walls.
“You’re taking me to Will’s bar?” I ask, blinking.
“No,” she says, turning the engine off. “I’m taking you into the past.”
Before I can respond, she tosses a soft white t-shirt into my lap. I lift it up, expecting to see something on it. But, no, it’s plain.
“Put this on,” she says.
“Here? In the parking lot?”
Phern shrugs. “Jeez, Olive. No one’s going to be looking at you. Everyone’s inside.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, already unbuckling.
“No, you don’t.”
I grumble but do as I’m told, tugging off my wrinkled travel shirt and slipping the white tee over my head. It’s soft. Comfortable. A little snug over my bump, but I smooth it down with both hands.
I hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “It clings.”
Phern turns in her seat, really looks at me, and her eyes light up.
“Oh,” she says. “This is perfect. He’s going to eat his heart out.”
I freeze. “He? What he, Phern?”
She just grins, practically vibrating with glee.
“Come on, friend. We’ve got history to visit.”
Phern hops out of the truck with the energy of someone who knows something I don’t, and I reluctantly follow, tugging my jacket tighter around me as the night air nips at my skin.
The second we step inside the bar, warmth wraps around me. Wood-paneled walls, low lighting, and laughter bubbling like soft thunder. One of Sam Stone’s songs drifts from the jukebox, mellow and aching, the kind of tune that makes you want to sway with someone you shouldn't miss.
There’s a wooden dancefloor in the middle of the room where a few couples move slowly, boots scuffing against worn boards. It looks nothing like the café that once stood here.
Gone are the flower boxes, the lemon meringue pies, the dusty bookshelves in the corner. But somehow, it still feels like it belongs. Lura would’ve loved it. I catch myself smiling at that thought until Phern elbows me and points.
“Our table’s over there,” she says, like it’s been reserved.
Which, knowing her, it probably has.
We make our way past the bar, where a few heads turn. Not many, but enough that I suddenly feel every inch of my bump and the fact that I’ve been gone for months.
I slide into the seat across from her and glance around, trying to play it cool. But my stomach’s doing flips, and my pulse won’t settle. Something’s off. Or maybe it’s just me.
The table is already set with drinks. Ginger ale in a bottle for me. Water for Phern.
“What’s going on?” I ask, voice low.
Phern just smiles and sips her water. “Nothing. You’re just home.”
I narrow my eyes. “You are way too pleased with yourself.”
“Guilty,” she sings.
But before I can press further, the jukebox clicks. The next song starts. And I freeze. Because it’s the song that was playing the first night I met Liam Stone.
Heat licks up my spine before I even spot him. But when I do… God.
There he is.
Sitting across the bar like he owns the place. One arm slung over the back of a chair, the other draped across a thick thigh, fingers tapping idly like he’s got all the time in the world. Like the universe moves to his rhythm.
His white tank clings to his chest like it’s been poured on, and those light-washed jeans… they fit him like a sin I remember too well. My brain short-circuits just looking at him.
And then he looks up.
Our eyes lock.
No smile.
Just a smirk. Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.
Like a dare soaked in whiskey and wrapped in trouble I wouldn’t mind revisiting.
My damn mouth goes dry.
He stands, unhurried, never breaking eye contact, and moves through the crowd like the air parts for him. Effortless. Confident. The kind of walk that should come with its own gravel-toned soundtrack and warning label.
By the time he stops in front of me, the room feels tilted like the floor’s forgotten how to be solid.
“Hi,” he says, voice low and smooth. “I’m Liam.”
I blink. “Olive.”
His smile isn’t polite. It’s wicked. Lethal. The kind of smile that lights a fire and walks away while it burns.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I manage, heart hammering like I’m twenty-four again.
He glances toward the jukebox and then back to me. “You know, you remind me of this girl I met in a bar once. She was crossing off a wet t-shirt contest from her college bucket list.”
I snort. “Aren’t you kind of old? Sounds like you should stop hanging around college bars, then.”
He laughs under his breath, eyes scanning the crowd before returning to me, unreadable and heavy with meaning.
“See, I made a mistake that night.”
“Oh?”
He nods. “Yeah. I stupidly asked about her friend instead of just going with my gut.”
The babies flutter inside me, like they can feel the electricity in the air.
“What did your gut say?” I ask, breath caught in my throat.
“That she was the prize. The one I should’ve gone for all along.”
My pulse stutters.
He gestures toward the chairs behind me. “Mind if I sit?”
I shake my head, and he slides in next to me. Close enough that our thighs touch. The heat of him, the nearness, undoes something in my chest.
“So, Olive,” he says, spreading out like he’s always belonged here. “You go to Sheridan?”
I laugh softly, playing along. “I did. A long time ago. Business major.”
“Nice.”
“You?”
“I run Stonewater Rodeo Stock.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of them. They make those ridiculous t-shirts, right?”
He smirks. “That was my business manager. She was brilliant.”
My heart twists. “Was?”
“Yeah.” His voice softens. “I stupidly let her slip through my fingers. Things haven’t been the same since.”
My pulse jumps. I glance at him, but he’s looking right at me, and I swear there’s no one else in the room.
“So,” he murmurs, “where are you from?”
“Wichita.”
“Well,” he says, that damn twinkle in his eyes, “welcome to Wyoming, honey.”
God. The way he says that word. Like it belongs to me.
My brain scrambles for something to say, so I stay true to the past.
“So, Liam. How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight. You?”
“Twenty-eight,” I say. “And pregnant with twins.”
His eyes drop to my belly. “I noticed. You’re glowing.”
We share a look, and I hear Phern sigh somewhere behind me. A soft little aww that almost makes me cry.
“Twins, huh?” Liam asks. “Do they run in your family?”
“They do. I had a twin sister. She passed away when I was eighteen.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice laced with sincerity. “That must’ve been hard.”
“It was,” I admit. “But it’s how I ended up here, actually.”
His eyes linger on mine. “Then I’m the luckiest guy in this bar. Because fate brought you to Broken Heart Creek just like it brought us here, tonight.”
I smile, but it’s shaky.
“Interesting way to look at it.” I nod toward Phern. “She brought me here, technically.”
“You still came,” he says, tone low and reverent. “That means the world.”
Something passes between us. Heavy. Hopeful. Fragile.
I clear my throat. “Well, cowboy, I hate to cut this short, but I’m exhausted.”
Liam’s eyes widen in alarm. “Shit—I didn’t think about that.”
I touch his arm. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
He exhales, relieved.
Then, after a beat, “Would it be too forward to ask you on a date tomorrow?”
“A date?” I lift an eyebrow. “Where?”
“There’s this restaurant in the next town over. Kinda fancy, but great Italian food.”
Where we had our first fake date.
My eyes sting. I nod. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
He doesn’t ask where I’m staying. Doesn’t ask to kiss me. Doesn’t even hug me. Instead, he rises slowly, tips his hat, and disappears into the crowd without another word.
I exhale, finally looking over at Phern. She’s watching me, as if she’s trying to see how I’m handling all of this.
That’s a good question, because I’m not sure.
I have to clear my throat twice before I can speak.
“Did you know he was going to ask me on another date?”
“Not really.”
I give her a look and she sighs.
“He said he wanted to recreate the night you met. Minus the wet t-shirt and leaving with someone else.”
“I gathered that much.”
“So, where is he taking you tomorrow?”
“Sheridan, if I were to guess. To the restaurant where we had our first date.”
“And how are you feeling?”
I let out a small laugh. “Torn. Tonight was good.”
“But?”
“But it doesn’t make up for everything.”
Phern smiles. “No, it doesn’t. But maybe it’s a start.”
She’s right.
Maybe I’m not just here to look back.
Maybe I’m here to see if we still have a future to step into.