Chapter 12
AVAH
The flour smear is still on Sloane’s exposed brick wall when the book club descends three hours later. I can’t bring myself to wipe it away.
I’d texted the group chat earlier that I wasn’t up for meeting, and they should stick to the original plan of gathering in the bookstore. I need a minute to scrub the memory of Jeremy Winslow’s face from my brain before I have to pretend everything is fine.
So much for respecting boundaries.
Molly enters first, her red hair pulled back in a messy braid and green eyes blazing with a quiet determination that so many people have underestimated. Not me. I’m appropriately terrified.
Behind her comes Sadie, then Iris, Taylor, and finally Piper, whose baby bump gets more adorable every time I see her.
“I told you guys to meet without me,” I say from where I’m standing behind the island, like maybe I can drop to my knees and hide.
Molly stabs a finger at me. “To quote you at any given moment, fuck that.”
“The door was locked.”
“Sloane gave us her spare key.” Sadie holds it up like a trophy. “She’s finishing closing up the store.”
“I need space.”
“Fuck that, too.” Iris settles on the sofa, moving the pillow and blanket to a side table. “Unanimous decision.”
The lump in my throat expands. My inclination is to snap at them and retreat behind the walls I’ve spent years building, the fortress of sarcasm that keeps people from getting close. But I’m too bone-deep exhausted from the weight I’ve been carrying alone to put up much of a fight.
“I’m fine,” I offer weakly.
“Liar.” Sadie sits on the arm of the upholstered chair, her gold-flecked brown eyes soft with concern. “You don’t need to pretend.”
Sloane appears in the doorway, slightly winded from the stairs.
She takes one look at my face and crosses the room to wrap me in a hug that smells like the lavender lotion she’s been obsessed with since her first round of chemo last summer.
I let myself lean into it for exactly three seconds before pulling back.
“I don’t want to pretend anymore.” I work hard to keep my voice even.
“I know.” Sloane’s robin’s-egg-blue eyes meet mine. “Let us in, Avs.”
The dam I’ve been holding back threatens to crack. I hate the pressure building behind my ribs. I hate that they’re all here looking at me with varying degrees of pity and love. Most of all, I hate that I need it.
“Sloane told us about Jon.” Molly’s gentle tone wraps around me like a blanket. “Everything.”
My cheeks flame. “I gave her permission.”
“We know.”
The room goes quiet, the way it does after the bookstore closes and Main Street settles into its evening hush. My hands want to find a bowl or a spatula or anything to keep them busy. I fold them across my chest instead.
“Piper.” I force myself to meet her gaze. “I owe you an apology.”
She shakes her head, blonde hair swaying. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I was a complete bitch when you called me out about the bruise on my neck when you were trying to help.” The words scrape against my throat like sandpaper. “Thank you for caring enough to say something, and I’m sorry.”
“Seriously, no apology needed.” The newest member of our book club moves toward me and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re away from that fuckwad.”
“Same.” Iris uncrosses her long legs and leans forward. “We’re all glad.”
“You have nothing to feel bad about,” Sadie adds. “Jon’s a manipulative piece of shit who took advantage of you. That’s on him, not you.”
“I should have seen it sooner.”
“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve.” Molly waves a dismissive hand. “That way lies madness. Trust me, I spent years after Teddy died playing the blame myself game, and it never leads anywhere good.”
Taylor finally speaks up. “Can we talk about how satisfying it would be to run him over with a car?”
A startled laugh escapes me. Taylor Maxwell—the sweet librarian who blushes when I curse too vehemently—suggesting vehicular homicide. “That’s dark.”
“I’ve been reading a lot of domestic thrillers.” She shrugs her slender shoulders. “It makes for good research.”
“We could lure him to the flower farm,” Molly offers, her eyes glinting. “Bury him in the compost pile.”
“Pigs,” Iris adds. “I read somewhere that pigs can dispose of a body in under eight minutes.”
“Where the hell did you read that?” Sadie demands.
“When I was mayor, I stayed current on all potential public safety concerns.”
“Do a lot of pig-related murders happen in Skylark?”
“There’s always a first time.”
These women I love are plotting elaborate revenge schemes against my ex-fiancé like they’re planning a meet-up at our favorite Mexican restaurant. The absurdity of it makes me smile.
“Ladies,” I say, grabbing the container of cookies that were waiting for Sloane to take to the bookstore tomorrow. “I appreciate the homicidal solidarity.”
“What are friends for?” Iris grabs one and takes a bite. Her eyes roll back. “Jesus, Avah. These are bakery porn.”
“Just chocolate chip.”
“They’re not just anything.” She takes the container from my hands and passes it to Sadie, who takes a bite of a cookie and then makes a similarly inappropriate noise.
“You have a God-given gift, Avs,” Sadie tells me.
The cookies make their way around the room, and each woman reacts as if they’re edible gold rather than a basic recipe I’ve made a thousand times. My lungs constrict thinking about how much I don’t deserve their kindness and loyalty in showing up, even when I told them not to.
“Enough about jizz-face Jon.” Molly tucks her long legs beneath her. “Tell us about staying with Jeremy.”
My heart seems to skip a beat. “What about it?”
Sloane chuckles. “My brother isn’t exactly known for his hospitality.”
Six pairs of eyes fix on me with varying degrees of curiosity. I dial my face to neutral, grateful for years of practice at hiding what I really feel.
“He had a way nicer setup than me. That’s about it.”
“Seriously?” Piper’s brow furrows.
“No offense, Sloane, but he’s still an asshat.” I shrug one shoulder like the memories aren’t flooding back: the snorkeling trip, dinner with the Johnsons, the way his hands felt on my skin. “He was decent enough to let me crash when I needed somewhere to go.”
“Decent,” Iris repeats as she pops the last bite of cookie into her mouth. “Is that a word we apply to Jeremy Winslow?”
“I like it,” Sloane says with a nod. “Restores my faith in miracles.”
Molly watches me with an expression I don’t like. She can read me better than anyone, and right now I can see her filing away the things I’m not saying to discuss later.
I grab one of my own cookies and take a bite to avoid elaborating. The edges are crispy with a soft center, and the dark chocolate is just the right amount of sweet. I focus on chewing instead of my heated cheeks.
“Anyway.” I brush crumbs from my fingers, resolute on moving on from Jeremy in every way relevant. “I’m bowing out of the book discussion. My plan was to read it on the beach, but I was a little preoccupied thinking about my life swirling the drain.”
The truth is, I didn’t even crack the spine on Iris’s pick for the month, a historical fiction novel about female pilots in World War II.
“We won’t give away spoilers,” Taylor tells me. “So you can still catch up.”
I nod. “Thanks, Tay.”
“Let’s table the book discussion for another sec.” Sloane sits up straighter. “We need to talk about the bucket list.”
She raises a brow at me. “You’re up, Avs.”
“I need a pass.” The words come out too fast, and I force myself to take a measured breath. “A complete life implosion warrants a pass, right?”
Iris shakes her head, her dark hair swinging. “It actually makes for perfect timing.”
“Can my bucket list item be finding a job and earning some money?” The sarcasm drips from my voice like honey off a spoon. “Pretty sure Jon has blackballed me for every marketing position in the corporate sector within a hundred-mile radius.”
“Is corporate marketing what you want?” Sadie asks quietly.
Dang. It’s annoying to have friends who know you better than you know yourself. “It’s what I’ve always done.”
“That’s not what she asked.” Taylor leans forward, her big Disney-princess eyes earnest. “If you could have anything, what would it be?”
I open my mouth to make a joke about wanting an apartment in Paris or a lifetime supply of Prosecco or the ability to go back in time and slap some sense into my younger self.
“Happiness,” I say instead.
The word shocks me as much as it seems to surprise them.
“You aren’t happy?” Molly’s tone is careful.
“I’m happy I got out of an abusive relationship.” I pick at the lace on the edge of the apron I’m still wearing like a frothy shield. “I guess I mean joy? Something that lights me up, you know? I can’t remember the last time I felt that.”
They’re all staring at me now, and my face burns with embarrassment. I’ve obviously revealed too much of the vulnerable underbelly I’ve spent my entire adult life—and a good portion of my childhood—protecting.
“Have you ever been joyful?” Piper asks softly.
That’s a pregnant-lady mic drop I’d rather ignore.
“I mean, you’re strong and the best kind of snarky.” Piper’s hand rests on her belly as she continues. “Also loyal like a pit bull.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“She’s right.” Molly’s voice is so gentle that it just about brings tears to my eyes. “You’re fierce, Avs. You’d burn down the world for any of us. But I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you truly happy. You deserve all the joy your strong arms can hold.”
The emotion clogging my throat makes it hard to swallow, let alone respond. They’re right, and it sucks that they can see the truth so clearly when I’ve spent years pretending otherwise.
Sloane wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Finding your joy is the perfect bucket list challenge.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “I didn’t mean—”
“Too late,” Iris chirps.
“You can’t just—”
“Fuck that.” Taylor’s grin is wide and unapologetic, and I find myself returning it even as I shake my head. “It’s another unanimous decision.”
“I don’t even know what joy would look like for me.” The admission chafes against my pride on the way out. “I’ve never thought about it.”
“Well, your cinnamon rolls have brought joy to me and half the town,” Sloane says. “I’ve been giving them away to everyone who walks into the bookstore, and people light up. You have joy inside you, Avs. You just need to figure out what will give you access to it on the regular.”
“Is this like a Dorothy and Glinda situation?” I demand, my defensive humor kicking in. “The answer has been inside me all along? I hate to break it to you, but I’m not that deep.”
“You might surprise yourself,” Iris says with a look that nearly makes me squirm.
“I doubt it.”
“That’s the point of the challenge.” Sadie’s smile is encouraging in a way that makes me want to simultaneously hug her and run away. “To surprise yourself.”
I heave an overdramatic sigh. These women aren’t going to let this go, and honestly, part of me doesn’t want them to. Part of me is desperately curious about what joy might look like if I actually let myself pursue it.
“Fine.” I blow out a breath. “But when I inevitably fail, I’m blaming all of you.”
“Deal.” Molly raises her cookie like a champagne flute. “To Avah finding her joy.”
“To Avah,” they echo, exuding a warmth that feels like the comfort of cozy socks on a snowy day.
I untie the apron and try to remember the last time I felt anything close to joy.
The memory surfaces before I can stop it.
Two weeks ago, in warm water with sunlight filtering through the surface in shifting columns.
My hand reached for Jeremy’s without thinking, and his fingers closed around mine as we watched a nurse shark glide beneath us.
Oh, hell, no.
I shove the memory down hard enough that my stomach clenches. My joy has nothing to do with Jeremy Winslow or any man. I’m certain of that. Whatever I felt in that underwater moment was adrenaline and the temporary high of escape, nothing more.
Piper reaches for another cookie, and I watch her balance it on her belly like a small shelf. “You should sell them.”
“Baking is a hobby, not a viable career for someone like me.”
“I don’t know.” Sloane plays with the ends of her dark bob.
The drug trial she’s participating in has left her tired, but hasn’t meant losing her hair again, which I know she’s grateful for.
“Winnie at The Sugar Shack was complaining about how much your free baked goods have hurt her business. Maybe there’s something there. ”
“You do get a certain look on your face when you bake,” Molly adds. “Like nothing else exists.”
“It’s called concentration.”
“No, girl. You should see yourself when you’re pulling something out of the oven. You look almost peaceful.”
Has anyone ever described me as peaceful?
Sharp? Sure. Opinionated? Definitely. Intimidating hits pretty close to home. I’ve been called bitch more times than I can count, starting with my father.
But peaceful? That feels like a dream for someone with a future that isn’t buried under the rubble of her own shit choices.
“We should start discussing that book I haven’t read before it gets too late.” My tone edges toward snark, which might not be joyous, but it’s familiar. “You all are sitting on my bed.” And this conversation has gotten too close to the tender places I’m not ready to examine.
The women exchange glances, but let me redirect. We talk about impossible odds and the courage it takes to fly into danger when the world demands that you stay grounded. Taylor gets emotional about a particular scene, and Iris rolls her eyes but hands her a tissue, then dabs at her own cheeks.
Sadie reaches for another cookie, her wedding band catching the light from the rustic fixture overhead.
Ian Barlowe, retired NFL star, fell hard for our resident dog trainer, and watching them together felt like watching a romance novel unfold in real time.
Every woman in this room, other than Sloane and me, has found her person.
Sadie and Ian. Iris and Jake. Taylor and Eric.
Molly and Chase. Now Piper and Felix, with a sweet toddler to raise and their baby growing bigger every day.
I watch these women who’ve become my found family and think about joy. What would it mean to actually find it instead of ignoring its absence and pretending I don’t want something more? Sure, I might fail spectacularly at my bucket list challenge, but I think I’m ready to try.