Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Muddy Boots was already humming when Mac stepped inside—midday busy, not rushed. Mugs clinked against saucers, conversations overlapped in low, familiar rhythms, and the smell of bacon and coffee filled the air.
Bella had already claimed a corner booth, jacket slung beside her, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other lifted in an enthusiastic, unmistakably Bella wave.
“Hey,” Bella said, smiling widely. “Hope you don’t mind that I brought Daisy along.”
Mac turned just as Daisy slid into the booth across from Bella, cheeks flushed, hair pulled back in a loose knot like she’d wrestled with it and lost.
“I hope that’s okay,” Daisy said quickly. “Bella said Wednesdays are…kind of sacred.”
Mac smiled. “They are.”
And lately, she’d realized how much she liked sharing them—with the right people. She shrugged out of her jacket and slid into the booth. “But we’re flexible.”
Bella laughed. “That’s the most generous way anyone’s ever described this ritual.”
Daisy grinned, relief softening her features. “Good. Because I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
Helen appeared before Mac could respond, coffeepot already tilted, steam curling up toward her face. “Coffee?”
Mac flipped over her cup. “Please.”
Bella ordered waffles with extra syrup without even glancing at the menu.
Daisy hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m thinking pancakes.”
“That’s what I’m having.” Mac smiled at Helen. “With a side of eggs, scrambled.”
“I’ll have the same,” Daisy said, then added, “And a Coke.”
Mac smiled into her mug, the warmth grounding, uncomplicated and steadying in a way she’d started to associate with certain mornings, certain conversations.
Bella filled them in on her latest catering job—an anniversary party at the Living Center for a couple who’d been married for seventy years.
“They’re excited about the prom,” Bella said, stirring cream into her coffee. “Apparently, everyone is. You’ve heard about it, right?”
Mac’s eyebrows lifted. “Just recently.”
Daisy leaned forward. “Okay, thank you. Because I genuinely thought I’d hallucinated that flyer.”
“You didn’t,” Bella said. “The committee had some problems getting organized. I just got asked to help. They weren’t sure how it would land, but people seem excited.”
Daisy shook her head, smiling. “The flyer called it a community prom, but I still wasn’t sure. Am I…allowed to go?” She glanced between them. “I mean, people go as couples, right?”
“It’s open to everyone over twelve,” Bella said. “No alcohol—some people are putting up a fight—but it’ll be in the high school gym, and Principal Chapin nixed any booze being served.”
Mac listened, quiet. Prom. The word hovered in the air—not heavy, not sharp. Just…there. Waiting.
“It’s also a fundraiser,” Bella added. “For the Giving Tree.”
“I’m all for supporting the Giving Tree.” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “But it does kind of suck about no alcohol. Unless—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Bella cut in. “We’ll have plenty of people making sure the only thing to drink in that gymnasium is coffee, tea or punch.”
Their food arrived, plates sliding onto the table with practiced ease. The waffles were golden brown, the pancakes enormous, steaming, unapologetic.
Bella watched Mac for a beat before drenching her waffles in syrup, like she was giving her space without comment.
Mac speared a bite of scrambled egg. No one looked at her expectantly. No one asked what she thought, or if she was going to the community prom, or how she felt about it.
Daisy cut into her pancakes, then said, almost to herself, “What I like about it is that it doesn’t seem like anyone’s trying to re-create high school.”
Bella smiled. “That’s intentional.”
“It’s more like…” Daisy searched for what she meant. “An excuse to show up and just have fun.”
Mac felt that land—not with a thud, but with a quiet resistance she recognized.
Because fun, for her, had almost always come with performance. With being seen. With being measured.
She thought, unexpectedly, of Connor—and how little she felt either of those things around him.
“Exactly,” Bella said. The conversation drifted after that—work, weather, the slow swell of summer tourists. Daisy talked about rearranging her schedule so she could help out with the prom. Mac focused on her plate and hoped Bella wouldn’t ask her to help.
The familiar battle of not wanting to overcommit but also not wanting to disappoint anyone raged in her gut. Mercifully, before attention could land on Mac, Helen brought over their checks, and they made their way to the register to pay their tabs.
Outside, the midday sun warmed the sidewalk, the town moving at its usual pace around them.
“I’m glad I came,” Daisy said. “Thanks for letting me crash.”
“You didn’t crash,” Mac said. “You joined.”
Daisy smiled at that, then headed down the street, folding easily back into the flow of Main Street.
Mac watched her go, aware not of decision, not of obligation, but of momentum. The subtle kind. The kind that didn’t push.
She hadn’t promised anything.
But she could feel herself leaning—toward the night, toward the music, toward the quiet possibility of who might be waiting on the other side of that door.