Chapter 1 #2
Sheryn grinned. “Oh, you’re gonna love him.” Then she shot me a wicked look, shaking her chest. “And look at my babies…both even and perky!”
I choked on a laugh. “Well, can’t argue with that.”
She wiggled her brows. “Breast cancer took one, but modern medicine gave me two.”
“Sheryn!”
“What? If I paid for ‘em, I’m showing them off.” She flipped her hair dramatically. “You’ll get a front-row view at the wedding. I’m wearing a bustier gown.”
I muttered, “Why do I feel like this is less about fashion and more about revenge-glamming on cancer?”
“Because it absolutely is.”
That was Sheryn, unfiltered and unapologetic. Cancer didn’t make her softer or more cautious. If anything, it made her laugh harder.
Sheryn drove past the town center, and I took it in—the heart of Buffaloberry Hill, where life seemed to move at a pace that made sense.
Old brick storefronts lined the road, their windows filled with hand-painted signs boasting things like Best Pie in Montana and Saddle Repairs While You Wait. A few folks were sitting on benches, chatting, while a black retriever dozed in front of the bakery.
I looked left and right, absorbing it all. “This place is something.”
Sheryn grinned. “Right? It’s a little different from Bozeman.”
That was an understatement.
Bozeman had been ours. The streets we’d walked a thousand times, the cafés where we’d spent entire afternoons talking about nothing, the college bars we’d snuck into with fake IDs, the tiny bookstore that had the best chai lattes—that was home.
I glanced at her. “Do you miss it?”
She sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “Sometimes. But this is home now. Nick’s here. And honestly? Buffaloberry grows on you.”
I smirked. “Like moss?”
“Like a stubborn weed,” she shot back, laughing.
I looked out the window again. “Feels smaller.”
“Oh, it is,” she said. “You can’t sneeze without someone knowing about it.”
Prison wasn’t much different.
Though she was right. Bozeman might’ve been home once, but Buffaloberry had its own charm.
Then, just before a cute little café with outdoor seating, Sheryn made a left turn.
“Hey, I’m sorry I had to stick you in a motel,” she said, throwing me a quick glance. “Nick’s house is chock-a-block. We literally can’t fit another person. Or cat. Or dog.”
“It’s fine. Seriously. You already did enough just setting this up for me.”
“I swear, it’s a safe town,” she assured me. “And this motel? The best. Friendly staff, clean, and I know the owner personally. He owes me a favor.”
“Oh? What kind of favor?”
She smirked. “Let’s just say he had a small accident with his wife’s favorite ceramic rooster, and I may have helped him source a replacement before she noticed.”
I shook my head. “Rynnie, the things you get involved in…”
“Hey, Buffaloberry’s small. We all got dirt on each other. It’s just a matter of when to use it.”
She pulled up in front of a neat little roadside motel, its porch lined with hanging flower baskets and a vintage VACANCY sign glowing in the window.
Inside, the place smelled of fresh linen and lemon polish. It’s not fancy, but comfortable. Homey.
Sheryn helped me settle into my room, dropping the sad little plastic bag of my pre-prison belongings onto the bed. She then glanced at the time.
“I’ve gotta go,” she said reluctantly. “But if you need anything, just call me.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, and the day after tomorrow, dress fitting. At The Lazy Moose. They’ll put up a tent for the bride’s party since Nick’s place is packed. We can’t even fit our frocks.”
I smirked. “Wouldn’t want to wrinkle the wedding couture.”
“One hundred percent,” she said with a wink. Then she pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to me. “Here. Just something to help you get started.”
I stared down at it. “Rynnie…”
“Take it. Remember, I owed you?”
“For what?”
She arched a brow. “You bailed me out a hundred bucks when I tried to score that dress for prom night?”
I laughed it off. The envelope in my hand had at least a grand.
She waved a hand, as if knowing what I was going to say. “Think of it as an inflation-adjusted payment, with generous interest.”
I hesitated, but she didn’t wait for me to argue.
“And may I suggest your first purchase be a phone?” she added. “Strictly for accountability purposes, of course.”
I gave her a sideways smile, and she answered with a hug, squeezing me before turning for the door.
“Hey,” I called out. “Think I can borrow some of your clothes?” I gestured to my ill-fitting jeans and shirt, throwing in my most pitiful look.
“I don’t know, Maya. You might stretch them out with all that big attitude.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not dresses. You do own jeans and a T-shirt, right?”
“Oh! My A-line pink dress would go perfectly with your hair.” She smirked.
“Sheryn, no.”
“All right, fine! Jeans, yes. But the top? You have to look cowgirl chic, or you’ll disgrace Katy’s masterpiece.” She nodded at my hair, then motioned for me to follow. “Come on. I’ll grab you something.”
She started walking, then paused mid-stride. “Actually, after that, wanna see the wedding venue? Claire, Elia’s wife, has a couple of hand-bouquet designs in mind, and I need help choosing.”
“Of course.”
“I promise I’ll leave you alone tomorrow.” She wiggled her brows. “Give you some me time before the dress fitting.”
I bumped her with my shoulder. “I don’t mind helping, drama queen.”
It wasn’t a lie.
But it gave me one day.
One day to end it right, no matter how it’d begun.