Chapter Forty-Seven
Elise
We were halfway to Mabel’s when he drove past the turn.
I looked over at him. “You missed it.”
“I know.”
Evan was alive. Awake. Improving. Those facts had been verified by doctors, machines, and half of Brady’s family, but his hands still gripped the steering wheel tightly.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Two stops.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a plan.”
“A loose one.”
His right hand left the wheel and settled over mine on the bench seat between us.
Firebrook Valley moved past the windows in the pale morning light.
The town looked different without police vehicles lining the streets or helicopters slicing across the mountains.
Quieter. Almost normal. Shops were opening.
A woman in a red jacket dragged a chalkboard sign onto the sidewalk.
Two children raced each other on bicycles.
The world had quickly resumed.
That felt both offensive and reassuring.
Brady pulled into a small parking lot beside a narrow storefront with FLOWERS painted across the window in uneven gold lettering.
Inside, the shop smelled of damp leaves, soil, and something sweet enough to make the back of my throat tighten.
When Brady introduced us to each other, Marcy’s face softened with the same recognition-without-context I was beginning to expect.
She and Brady moved through the familiar dance of choosing Mabel’s favorites, and Brady knew them all.
By the time we left with the bouquet of yellow flowers, white daisies, and delicate blue blossoms wrapped in brown paper, I was even more in love with Brady.
Our second stop was the sandwich shop. Bob greeted Brady with a rough hug and me with a handshake and a quiet, “Glad to meet you.” He made Mabel’s usual without being asked and added soup because it had supposedly come with the sandwich.
Brady thanked Bob for helping with the search, updated him briefly on how Evan was doing, then placed cash on the counter.
Bob pushed half of it back.
They stared at each other until Brady took it.
Neither looked pleased, which apparently meant they had reached an acceptable compromise.
Outside, I held the flowers upright while Brady drove.
“Do you bring her flowers often?” I asked.
“Not often enough.” He cleared his throat. “She spent all of yesterday taking care of everyone else. It’s the least I can do.”
When we reached Cookies and Coffee, Brady opened the door, which was unlocked despite the sign announcing the restaurant would be opening late. The kitchen lights flickered on to reveal the physical remains of fear: half-stacked trays, abandoned towels, a child’s paper airplane under a chair.
Brady stood still for a long moment, then placed the sandwich in the refrigerator, filled a pitcher with water, and set the flowers in it. I followed him to the main dining area.
“First,” he said firmly, “we start the coffee.” He disappeared for a moment, then returned with a large container of water and poured it into the commercial-sized coffee machine. “High mountain water makes the best brew. It’s all Mabel will use.”
Once he had that started, he turned and took in the disarray all around us. It was obvious that a cleanup had been attempted, but then abandoned.
He pulled two aprons from a narrow closet. “You in?”
“One hundred percent.” I took the one he offered. The fabric was soft from years of use. When I tied it on, Brady’s gaze moved over me slowly.
“I like you in the apron,” he said with a wink.
I chuckled and spun for him. “I’d be flattered, but you also said you like me in my sleep shorts. And in my navy slacks. And naked.”
His grin was shameless. “Naked is my favorite, but you do look good in everything.”
I popped up onto my toes and kissed him, then danced away to retrieve a garbage bag.
Brady still looked bemused when I returned, but he took the bag and moved through the room with quiet efficiency, gathering cups and righting chairs. I sorted personal items, folded the quilt, and wiped down tables. Every so often his hand rested at my waist as he passed, brief and sure.
After watching him return a stack of sugar containers to specific tables, I said, “You’ve done this before.”
“I worked here a couple of summers.”
“You did?”
“We all did.”
I looked up from the blue sweater I was folding. “All?”
“All the kids. The Hollistons. The Burkes. Local kids. Kids from nearby towns who wanted to hang out here.”
“Your father agreed to that?”
Brady laughed as he wiped down a table. “Mabel didn’t ask.”
That sounded like her.
“She put us wherever she needed us. Dishes. Tables. Register. Bathrooms if we annoyed her.”
“How do you make that sound like it was a good thing?”
He moved to the next table, his expression softening as he looked around the room. “It was. This was where no one cared who our fathers were,” he said. “Everyone is equal at Mabel’s, but also, everyone is expected to help.”
“The apron made you one of them.”
His hand slowed over the table. “Eventually.”
I had always assumed Brady made friends because people were drawn to him. Because he smiled easily, listened without making it feel like work, and walked into unfamiliar places as if no one there could remain a stranger for long.
But perhaps that was only half of it.
He had spent years approaching people first. Taking their orders.
Remembering what they liked. Listening when they complained.
Learning when someone wanted a joke and when they simply wanted their coffee refilled without conversation.
Friendship had not merely happened to him.
He had practiced being part of other people’s lives.
“Mabel says no one is too rich, too smart, too angry, or too tired to serve others.” He paused. “Loneliness is a condition of looking inward. Love and peace are what happens when you turn your energy and attention outward.”
I looked down at my apron.
It wasn’t simply a uniform; it was a philosophy.
We fell back into a rhythm that needed no discussion. Brady cleared and cleaned. I matched forgotten belongings to the people I had seen wearing or carrying them the night before and swept beneath the tables.
The front door began to open as people returned for forgotten things, for news, for the simple need to be where the town had held itself together the night before.
A teenage boy came for his backpack and asked Brady if Evan was really going to be okay. A woman retrieved her purse, then stayed to stack mugs. The little girl who had worked on the quilt found me near the tables and held up one of the squares.
“I colored outside of the lines,” she said sadly.
“Evan will love it just the way it is,” I answered without hesitation.
“You think so?” She sounded doubtful.
“I know so.”
Her smile returned, then she bolted toward her mother.
No one questioned why I was there in an apron. A woman named Dorry handed me coffee prepared exactly the way I liked it.
“Brady told me you like more milk than sugar. I hope I got it right,” she said when I looked at the cup.
“You did. Thank you.”
Brady. I caught his gaze from across the room, and the warmth in his expression made my knees wobble a little. This is love. Not the easy, first blush of it. This is us choosing each other.
When Mabel finally walked in, she stopped right inside the door. Her gaze moved over the clean tables, the folded quilt, the people returning the room to order.
Then she saw Brady in the apron. “You should be resting.”
“Good morning to you too,” he said, then crossed the room and hugged her.
She remained stiff for half a second before folding her arms around him. “How’s Evan?”
“I heard he might go home today, if the final tests look good.”
Mabel closed her eyes against his shoulder. “Thank God.”
When she stepped back, Brady walked away and returned with her bouquet.
Her eyes filled with tears. “You didn’t have to do that.” Her fingers moved carefully over the yellow flowers and small blue blossoms. “You remembered,” she said quietly.
“Of course I did.” Brady’s smile was wide. “There’s a sandwich in the refrigerator.”
“From Bob’s?”
“Turkey, cheddar, apple. No onions.”
“Mayo?”
“Just one squeeze.”
She hugged him again.
I looked away, not because the moment was private, but because it wasn’t. Brady loved people openly. Practically. Without embarrassment. He hadn’t brought flowers to prove he was thoughtful. He’d brought them because Mabel liked flowers.
Brady’s phone vibrated. He checked it. “It’s Evan.”
Everyone froze.
Brady read his screen first. His entire face changed. “He’s being released. Looks like no serious injuries. Now all he has to do is relax and heal.”
The room erupted.
Someone clapped. Dorry started crying. The little girl near the quilt shouted, “We did it,” although her contribution to Evan’s medical recovery remained unclear. The bustle returned and conversations continued.
Another message appeared.
Brady read it, then looked at me. “Nora wants the family at the house tonight. Nothing big. Just dinner. Evan is tired, but he’d like to see us.”
“Family is what he needs the most right now,” I said.
Brady kept looking at me. “Nora said you’re welcome, Elise.”
Dinner at Nora and Evan’s house?
With Brady’s family.
The people who had welcomed me because they didn’t know who I was.
I wanted to go.
That was the first and most frightening truth.
“Yes,” I said before fear could stop me. “Tell her I’ll be there.”
His whole body relaxed. He crossed to me, slid one hand around my waist, and kissed my temple. “Good.”
I should have felt only happiness. Instead, I was verging on a panic attack.
Later, while Brady spoke with his mother on the phone, Mabel found me near the counter. “Why do you look so nervous?”
Normally I would have denied being so, but I didn’t want to close myself off again. So, I said, “I’ve been invited to have dinner with Brady’s family.”
“That’s wonderful.”
I twisted the edge of the apron between my fingers. “I suppose I’m worried they won’t like me if they get to know the real me.”
Mabel gave me a long look. “That’s a common fear in the beginning,” she said.
“There isn’t much ‘common’ about me and Brady.”
Mabel’s attention tracked Brady for a moment, then returned to me. “Brady’s never brought anyone to Firebrook Valley before, so we know you’re important to him.”
I let out a shaky breath. “He’s important to me as well.”
“Then trust the process,” she said lightly. “Go to dinner with his family. Be yourself. They’ll either love you or they won’t.”
I coughed out a laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
She smiled. “I’ve never regretted trying even if I failed. All my regrets come from the times I held back, either too afraid or too proud to act.”
There it was: hope and try.
A process so simple it was easy to dismiss.
And yet unexpectedly effective.
Tonight, I would walk into Nora and Evan’s house and be myself even if they still didn’t know who I was.
But they should.
They would.
And somehow it would all work out.