Chapter 11 #2
“Exactly,” I whisper. “They’re my bosses. My landlords. And I’m… me. The woman who already burned her career down once with a bad decision. I can’t afford to be stupid again. Even if my body really wants to be stupid.”
Sloane leans her head on my shoulder. “First of all, can we please retire the phrase ‘stupid’ for ‘trusted someone who didn’t deserve it’?
Second, wanting them doesn’t make you a disaster.
Acting without thinking might. So think.
Go slow. Talk. You don’t have to do anything with any of them.
You also don’t have to punish yourself forever. ”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I don’t know if I remember how to want something without immediately expecting it to turn toxic.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “Let us want good things for you until you can join in.”
The sentence lands somewhere deep and sore and hopeful.
I blink hard a few times. “This was supposed to be a fun morning.”
“It is. Fun is yelling ‘we love you’ at a band in the middle of a farmers’ market. Fun is espresso shots and Silas almost dropping an egg on the mayor. This,” her fingers squeeze mine, “is necessary.”
Before I can respond, a familiar wave of noise hits us.
“Okay,” Ivy calls, weaving through the crowd with Olivia at her side and a small army of children orbiting them, “did we miss the trauma dump or did you save us some?”
Olivia balances Jacob on one hip, iced tea in her other hand. Penny trails behind with a diaper bag, followed by triplets, and Pickle strapped to Ivy’s chest in a baby carrier like a very offended meatball.
Sloane grins. “Perfect timing. We’re transitioning from ‘ugly cry’ to ‘problem-solving stage.’”
“Excellent,” Ivy says, plopping down across from us with a theatrical groan. “My back hurts, and I want to threaten someone.”
Olivia slides onto the bench opposite, Jacob immediately trying to grab her straw.
“Don’t worry. Ivy’s threats are mostly metaphorical these days.”
“Mostly,” Ivy repeats, rubbing her belly. “So, do we need to bury a body? Hex a man? Start a whisper campaign?”
“Wow,” Sloane gasps proudly. “Look at my terrifying support system.”
I blow out a breath. “I’m sure you’ve already heard some of it…”
Olivia’s eyes soften. “I know the headlines. Not the you of it.”
I sip my coffee, choosing my words. “He was my boss. We got involved. It was… intense. We worked insane hours together. It felt like a partnership. Until it didn’t.
When it went public, he protected himself and the restaurant group by painting me as the hysterical underling.
I signed a piece of paper saying I wouldn’t argue. ”
Ivy’s whole expression sharpens. “I hope he gets explosive diarrhea before every important event for the rest of his life.”
A laugh hiccups out of me. “That’s oddly specific.”
“I have triplets,” she reminds me. “I know the power of bodily functions.”
Olivia tilts her head. “And now you’re here. With the ranch guys.”
I wince. “Yeah. It’s complicated.”
“Everything worth having is complicated,” Olivia says calmly. “Especially here. Trust me, I’m shacked up with three firefighters. The flow chart of our relationship would terrify a normal person.”
“Boone is grumpy and hurting,” Ivy adds. “Caleb is grumpy and soft. Silas is loud and lonely. That house needed someone like you years ago.”
“You’ve known them a long time,” I say.
“We’ve known the whole damn town a long time,” Ivy corrects. “Which is why I’m going to say this carefully: people are going to talk about you anyway. You might as well give them something true to work with.”
Panic flickers in my chest. “I don’t want to be the scandal of Coyote Glen.”
“You won’t be,” Olivia informs me. “Because one, this town already has several. Two, we’re going to make sure when people mention you, they follow it up with ‘she’s lovely’ and ‘her biscuits made me cry.’”
“And three,” Ivy adds, before trailing off. “Uh oh, Dottie Langford’s on the way. Gossip queen extraordinaire.”
A sharp voice pierces the hum of the market. “Is this my girl?”
Dottie approaches in big sunglasses, floral blouse, lipstick the color of ripe cherries, white hair in a swoopy style that looks like it has its own wind machine.
She’s leaning on a cane she absolutely does not need, and her expression says she’s already updated the mental town bulletin board twice today.
Sloane straightens. “Dottie, this is Delaney.”
Dottie stops in front of me and gives me a slow once-over. Like she’s deciding which shelf to put me on in her internal library.
“You cook,” she declares.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say automatically.
She squints. “You bake?”
“I… yes?”
She nods, satisfied. “Good. Boone pretends he doesn’t like muffins… liar. Sadie likes berries, Caleb eats cookies like a raccoon at two a.m., and Silas will eat drywall if you salt it. You keep them fed, they’ll remember they’re human.”
I blink. “O…kay.”
She leans in a little, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper that still carries three tables away. “Now listen, sweetheart. I run the Tea with Dottie group. I write half the market flyer. I know everything that happens in this town and have opinions on it by sunset.”
“I’ve seen the Facebook page,” I admit.
She pats my cheek, surprisingly gentle. Her hand smells of rose lotion and garlic.
“I’ll give you my number,” she adds briskly. “If someone’s talking out of turn, you text me. I’ll redirect. A little gossip oil in the hinges keeps the town door from sticking, but you don’t let it slam on your fingers, you hear?”
A startled laugh escapes me. “I… hear.”
“And if those boys ever make you cry in the wrong way,” she quips, “you come sit with me at the coffee shop, and we’ll ruin their reputations over scones.”
Before I can respond, she straightens, taps her cane twice like a gavel, and marches off toward the flower stall, already calling out, “Terry Claymore, those peonies are insulting that vase. Fix it!”
I watch her go, laughing through the prick of tears.
“She likes you,” Ivy calls out. “You’re basically untouchable now.”
“Congratulations,” Sloane adds, fanning herself. “You’ve been adopted by the benevolent gossip overlord.”
“Feels… nice,” I admit.
“Good,” Olivia says. “Because, like it or not, you’re woven in already. With us. With the ranch. With the town.”
I look around.
Roman and Creed are still at the makeshift stage, talking to fans.
Ezra is at the edge of the crowd, phone to his ear, probably arguing with management.
Kids race between stalls, Sadie and Micah in the thick of them, Sadie’s laugh carrying on the breeze.
At the Sunridge stall, Boone is talking quietly with Terry Claymore, and Caleb is adjusting a crooked sign, his hand resting absentmindedly on a horse logo, steadying himself.
Silas is in the middle of a group near the honey booth, laughing too loud, gesturing too big, soaking up attention like sunlight, and every so often, his gaze flicks over, checking. On me.
Sloane nudges my shoulder. “What’s that face?”
“Nothing,” I say, but the word doesn’t feel true on my tongue.
Because I’m not sitting at the edge of everything, waiting to be pushed off. I’m in the middle.
By a band that still claims me, even though I don’t work for them anymore.
By women who would help me hide a body and bring snacks for the after.
By a town gossip who has already decided I’m under her protection.
By a ranch I barely understand yet, full of people I maybe, possibly, dangerously want.
“It’s just…” I take a breath. “This is the first time since everything blew up that being around people doesn’t feel like walking into a courtroom.”
Sloane rests her head on my shoulder again. “That’s because this isn’t a trial, it’s a welcome party. You just haven’t fully realized you’re the guest of honor yet.”
Ivy raises her iced tea. “To fresh starts.”
Olivia clinks her cup against hers. “And found family.”
Sloane bumps mine lightly. “And to Delaney Rivers, who deserves better than what she got, and is absolutely going to get it.”
My throat closes up completely.
I lift my cup with a shaky hand.
“To… not running,” I manage. “Even when it’s scary.”
We drink.
And as the music swells again, kids shriek, Dottie yells about someone’s zucchini display, and my friends bicker over who gets to kidnap me for dinner later, a strange, careful warmth settles in my chest.
It feels a lot like belonging.