Chapter 11 #3
I push through the door of Springs it’s been a promise, a handshake, a place where accounts were settled in more than dollars.
It’s been settled in trust, in loyalty, in the quiet understanding that some debts are worth carrying.
I stand at the counter with the ledger open and feel something shift in my chest, tectonic and quiet.
This place is mine.
Not inherited. Not on loan. Not a placeholder, a memorial, or a duty I picked up because someone had to.
Mine. The way the lavender bedroom is mine.
The way the illustrations in the library are mine.
The way the hand on the window glass this morning was mine, claiming something I built without noticing I was building it.
I have been keeping this trust for three years.
Keeping the books balanced, keeping the doors open, keeping the promise this ledger represents…
that Springs & Bells is more than inventory and sales.
It’s the steady heartbeat of a town that needs it.
And I have been that heartbeat, whether I knew it or not.
I close the ledger carefully, handling the cracked spine with the respect it deserves, and set it on the shelf beneath the register where it belongs. My fingers linger on the leather for a second longer than necessary, a goodbye and a hello at the same time.
Then I pick up my phone.
The screen lights up under my thumb. I open a new message, thumbs hovering over the keyboard for exactly three seconds before I start typing.
ME: Hey May. It’s Maddie. Random question—would you be up for helping me put together a little surprise for Jordan’s birthday? Nothing crazy, just... something that feels like them. I have ideas but could use a co-conspirator who actually knows how to throw a party.
I press send before I can talk myself out of it. The message flies, delivered, and I set the phone down on the counter and smile at nothing in particular.
The bell above the door jingles. A customer walks in, looking vaguely lost, and Melvin grunts from the back room, his version of I’ve got this, go do whatever you’re doing with that dopey look on your face.
I leave him to it. The afternoon light slants through the front windows, painting the aisles in gold, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, the weight on my shoulders feels like something I chose to carry.
One day.
I think I’m ready.