Chapter 24 Chloe
CHLOE
The Griddle & Grind was packed.
Chloe squeezed through the door, the warmth blasting her face free from the cold February afternoon. Twyla had pushed the tables together in the center of the café, and at least twenty people were gathered around them, chattering over cups of coffee and plates of scones.
Valentine's Day was ten days away, and Hollow Oak took its festivals seriously.
"Chloe!" Twyla waved from behind the counter, her wheat-colored hair piled in a messy bun, her light brown eyes bright with their usual knowing gleam. "Grab a seat. We're just getting started."
Chloe smiled and made her way toward an empty chair near the end of the table. A few people glanced up as she passed. Some nodded politely. Others looked away a beat too fast.
She'd been expecting that. The whispers hadn't stopped just because Corin had defended her. If anything, they'd gotten quieter, more careful, which was almost worse.
But she'd woken up this morning in Corin's bed, his arm heavy across her waist, his breath warm against her neck. She'd felt strong. Settled. Like she finally had someone in her corner who wasn't going anywhere. She could handle a few awkward looks.
"Alright, everyone." Twyla clapped her hands, calling the room to attention. "Let's get organized. Valentine's Day means the Spring Sweetheart Festival, and that means we need committees. Decorations, food, entertainment, setup and teardown. Who wants what?"
Hands went up around the table. Chloe listened as people volunteered, calling out names and assignments while Twyla scribbled on a clipboard.
"Decorations committee. We've got Martha, Bess, and Linda. Anyone else?"
Chloe raised her hand. "I can help with that. I've got some dried flowers that would work well for centerpieces."
Martha Kinney, a stout woman with silver hair and a perpetually pinched expression, glanced at her. "We've already got a floral plan, dear. Silk arrangements. Easier to manage."
"Oh." Chloe lowered her hand. "That makes sense."
"Food committee," Twyla continued, her eyes flicking to Chloe with sympathy. "Diana's heading that up. Who else?"
"I'll join," said a younger woman Chloe didn't recognize. "And my sister."
"Perfect. Anyone else? Chloe, you make those wonderful herb breads. Want to contribute?"
Before Chloe could answer, Bess Hartley leaned forward. "Actually, Twyla, we were thinking of keeping the menu simple this year. Store-bought items, nothing too complicated. Less coordination that way."
"My bread isn't complicated," Chloe said carefully. "I've made it for the autumn festival before."
"We know, honey." Bess's smile didn't reach her eyes. "But with everything going on with the plants lately, we thought it might be best to... play it safe."
Chloe felt her cheeks flush as the words shrouded around the room.
Play it safe. Because her bread might be contaminated. Because she might be contaminated.
"Moving on," Twyla said, her voice a shade too bright. "Entertainment committee. We need musicians, games for the children, maybe a dance or two."
More hands went up. More names were called. Chloe kept her hands in her lap this time, watching as the committees filled without her.
"Setup and teardown," Twyla said. "Heavy lifting, table arrangements, that sort of thing. Volunteers?"
"I can help with setup," Chloe offered. At least that was something no one could claim was contaminated.
A man near the middle of the table, someone she vaguely recognized from the hardware store, cleared his throat. "We've actually got plenty of hands already. The Vane boys are handling most of it."
"I don't mind helping."
"It's really not necessary." His tone was polite but final. "We've got it covered."
Chloe sat back in her chair, her throat tight. Around her, the meeting continued, committees forming and tasks being assigned, and not a single one included her name.
It wasn't overt. No one said anything cruel. No one accused her of anything directly. They just... didn't include her. Talked around her. Smiled those careful smiles that meant nothing and kept her firmly on the outside.
She'd thought she was used to this. Years of being the strange one, the outsider, the girl with the weird blood who made people nervous. But something about today was different. Maybe because she'd let herself hope. All because she'd woken up feeling like she finally belonged somewhere.
"Chloe?" Twyla's voice cut through her thoughts. "You okay, sweetie?"
"Fine." The word came out flat. She forced a smile. "Just thinking."
Twyla's expression softened, something sad flickering in those knowing eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but Martha was already talking again, something about tablecloth colors, and the moment passed.
The meeting dragged on for another twenty minutes. Chloe sat in silence, watching people laugh and plan and build something together that she wasn't part of. Every smile felt like a door closing. Every assignment given to someone else felt like a reminder that she wasn't wanted here.
When Twyla finally called for a break, Chloe was on her feet before she could think about it.
"I should go," she said, keeping her voice light. "I need to check on my starts. Make sure nothing's gotten worse overnight."
Twyla looked at her for a long moment. Her hair had slipped from its bun, wisps framing her face, and her expression held none of its usual playful mischief. Just understanding with mix of sadness.2
"You don't have to leave, you know."
"I know." Chloe pulled on her coat, not meeting her eyes. "But I should check on things. Freya's expecting an update."
"Chloe."
She paused, her hand on the door.
"I wanted you on every committee," Twyla said quietly. "You know that, right? It's not me."
"I know." And she did. Twyla had been nothing but welcoming since the day Chloe arrived in Hollow Oak. "It's okay. I understand."
"It's not okay." Twyla's voice was firm. "I didn’t want to embarrass you though, but when this mess sorts itself out, I'm going to have words with some people."
Despite everything, Chloe felt her mouth twitch. "I'd pay to see that."
"You won't have to. It'll be loud enough to hear from your cottage." Twyla's expression softened again. "Go check on your plants. But come back, okay? Don't let them chase you away."
"I won't."
She stepped out into the cold afternoon, the door swinging shut behind her, cutting off the warmth and noise of the café. The square was quiet, most of the town gathered inside for the meeting, and Chloe stood alone on the sidewalk with February wind cutting through her coat.
Reality.
That's what this was. The warm bubble of the past two days, wrapped in Corin's arms, feeling like she mattered, like she belonged, that had been a fantasy.
This was reality. A town that smiled to her face and shut her out when it counted.
People who would never fully trust her, no matter how many times she proved herself. She'd been foolish to forget.
Her feet carried her toward Freya's without conscious decision.
The familiar path, the familiar routine.
Check the plants. Document the damage. Keep her hands busy so she didn't have to think about the way Martha had looked at her, the way Bess had said "play it safe," the way an entire roomful of people had found ways to exclude her without ever saying a single unkind word.
The hurt sat in her chest like a familiar stone.
She'd felt this before, in other towns, other places. The slow realization that she would never quite fit, no matter how hard she tried. She'd always moved on eventually. Packed up her things and found somewhere new, somewhere that hadn't yet learned to be afraid of her.
But she didn't want to leave Hollow Oak.
She had Freya here. And Twyla. And Corin.
Corin, who studied her like she was the center of his world. Who defended her to strangers and held her through the night and made her believe, for a few perfect hours, that she'd finally found her place.
She wouldn't let them chase her away. Twyla was right about that. But god, it hurt. It hurt more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
She pushed open the door to Freya's shop and let the familiar scent of herbs wash over her. Work. She needed to work. Needed to do something useful instead of standing around feeling sorry for herself.
The plants wouldn't care if she belonged or not.
They'd just need her to help them grow.