Chapter 39
BECCA
The bell above the Soluna Atelier chimes softly as I step inside, and for a second, I just stand there.
It smells like eucalyptus and something floral; clean, and definitely expensive.
Not the overly sweet, headache-inducing kind.
Thoughtful, intentional, and planned. Which, to be fair …
Holly did. A sense of respect fills me at the little details she focused on to pull this off.
The space is nothing like it used to be.
Gone are the outdated beige and harsh lighting.
Now it’s soft neutrals, warm wood, touches of green tucked into every corner like the place is trying to breathe on its own.
There’s a small shelf near the front with locally made products, a handwritten sign propped up beside it.
Botanical, sustainable, Cascadia-grown.
I can’t help it. I smile.
“She did good,” Nessa says beside me, already halfway to the drink station they’ve set up in the corner. “Like … annoyingly good.”
“She really did,” I say. And I mean it. Nessa is in a printed wrap dress with earrings down to her shoulders, while Mack is in a light blue sheath dress, and Phoenix is in a neat blazer like she came from work and will be returning shortly.
Mack lets out a low whistle, taking it all in. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I had doubts. But this? This is legit.”
“Say that louder,” Nessa calls over her shoulder. “Preferably near Holly so she can hear you and cry.”
“I’m not trying to make her cry,” Mack says, though she’s smiling.
“That’s because you’re emotionally responsible,” Nessa shoots back. “I am not.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I glance around again. There’s a quiet kind of pride sitting in my chest that isn’t mine, but close enough to feel it second-hand.
Near the back, I spot Bennet snagging some appetizers from the refreshment table, his eyes following Holly as she walks by. Bennet casually looks over, saying something to Holly in passing. She laughs, genuine and unguarded, while a small blush forms on her cheeks as she spots me.
“Becs!” She smiles and heads over.
Holly saunters over, looking … different. Not physically different in any dramatic way. But there’s something steadier about her, more confident, less bubbly-forced. She's in a soft cream linen set, dark hair down, wearing the salon's logo on a small pin at her lapel like she earned it.
“Hey.” I step toward her. “This is incredible.”
Her shoulders lift slightly, like she’s trying not to make a big deal out of it.
“Thanks,” she says. “I mean—there’s still stuff to figure out: scheduling, inventory, all of that. But … It’s open.”
“You did it,” I say simply.
You can see the moment she lets herself believe that. A smile she can’t contain blooms across her face.
“Yeah,” she says, softer now. “I did.”
I look around and see Lucinda standing near the front, going over schedules with Mandy. She's not behind the desk, not running anything, only working exactly where she belongs.
Holly follows my gaze. “She’s on a probationary contract,” she says quietly.
“Strict boundaries. I rescinded her original offer.” Holly pauses, quieter now, glancing briefly toward Mandy.
"She has other conditions of employment as well.
One is regular attendance … a certain type of meeting. Non-negotiable."
I don't ask what kind of meeting, I don't need to.
Holly's expression softens for just a second, not into weakness, but into something that looks like love for someone you have had to stop carrying.
"She's my best friend," she admits in a tender voice.
"That doesn't go away. But it also doesn't mean I can keep pretending I don't see what I see.
" Holly sighs before continuing, “But she still decided to come back, even with those conditions, needing the job. Plus, I needed the help, and it was short notice.”
The change in Holly’s behavior toward Mandy shows the kind of growth and maturity that isn't easy but earned. Mandy looks the part of a salon employee now, but for once, she doesn’t feel like the center of the room. Holly does, and that’s new.
Behind us, we hear a quiet “excuse me” and the gentle clink of glasses.
“Drinks!” Nessa announces, appearing out of nowhere with a tray. “Because nothing says ‘responsible business opening’ like day drinking.”
“Please don’t get her shut down on day one,” I say, taking a glass anyway.
“No promises,” she replies cheerfully.
Phoenix steps up beside me, quieter than usual, but smiling.
“You okay?” I ask, nudging her lightly.
“Yeah,” she says, a little too quickly. Then softer, “Just … thinking.”
There’s something there. It isn’t obvious, but just enough to register as off. I file it away without pushing. Phoenix will talk when she’s ready. Or she’ll handle it herself, the way she always does. Either way, we’ll be there.
“Okay, but seriously,” Mack says, stepping closer, lowering her voice slightly. “Are we pretending we’re not all wildly impressed right now?”
“I’m not pretending anything,” I reply honestly. “This is really good.”
Nessa raises her glass. “To Holly Hughes. Proving us all wrong in the best way possible.”
We all laugh, and when I glance back at Holly, she’s watching us. There’s a flicker of something in her expression; gratitude, maybe. Or relief, possibly both. I lift my glass slightly in her direction. She nods once, smiles, and moves on to greet customers.
Standing here with my friends, in a space that was once the source of so much tension and pain, I notice that it doesn’t feel like something was taken from me anymore.
There’s a shift in the room—maybe it’s just me, maybe it’s not—but something settles low in my chest, I turn, and then I see him.
Sam’s standing in the doorway, one hand still on the handle like he paused there for a second longer than necessary.
He's cleaned up; dark jeans, a simple button down with the sleeves pushed to his forearms, the kind of effort that looks effortless on him. His eyes find mine immediately. And the look he gives me … It’s not subtle.
Not in a way anyone else would clock, but I do. It drags slowly and deliberately, like he’s taking me in piece by piece, like he’s reminding himself I’m here with him. Heat creeps up my neck before I can stop it.
“Well,” Nessa says beside me, following my line of sight, “that man just walked in like he owns the place.”
“He doesn’t,” I say automatically, relieved that it’s true.
“Mm,” she hums. “No. But he definitely looks like he knows exactly who he’s here for.”
I elbow her lightly. She grins, completely unbothered.
“I read your Capricorn horoscope before I came tonight, obviously,” she adds, lowering her voice like she’s about to deliver something important. “And I can confidently say—you are getting lucky.”
I choke on my drink. “Nessa,” I mutter.
“What?” she says. “I’m just the messenger of the stars.”
Mack snorts into her drink. “You’re never just the messenger.”
Phoenix, quieter but smiling, adds, “She’s also usually wrong.”
“Rude,” Nessa shoots back. “I’m rarely wrong. Only … early.”
I shake my head, but I can’t hide my smile. When I look back up, Sam’s already moving toward me. He doesn’t stop at the front desk. Doesn’t even glance at Mandy. And I notice, and so does she.
For a split second, Mandy straightens, like she’s about to step forward, say something, insert herself the way she always used to.
Then her eyes flick to mine, and she stops.
She turns, picks up a clipboard, and redirects herself to someone else.
It’s a small shift, but it changes everything.
Cascadia is a small town. I can’t avoid her forever, even though I’ll try. At least now things are clear.
Sam doesn’t break stride as he walks in. When he reaches me, his hand settles at my waist, pulling me closer.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply, breathier than I intend.
“You see all this?” He nods around us.
“I did,” I say. “She did really well.”
“She did.”
There’s no tension in it. No undercurrent of resentment, only the truth. Before I can say anything else, someone calls his name.
“Sam Hughes.”
I recognize the tone before I see the man, polished, professional, used to being listened to. Probably someone who works with his Dad. Sam turns after giving my cheek a kiss and a squeeze on my hip. He takes a few steps away, but I stay where I am and listen.
Not intentionally at first. Then … very intentionally.
The man—Talbot, I think I hear—launches into something about a project, margins, opportunity. I feel the old version of myself stir for half a second—the one who wonders what Sam will do. But I don’t move or let on that I can hear. While lingering, I catch something I never thought I would.
“I’d have to talk to my wife first.”
Sam’s words, so honest, ring through my ears, taking me a second to process them.
Sam glances at me then, not asking for permission, but including me in it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“We’ll take a look at it,” he adds.
We. Talbot nods, moves on, conversation over.
Sam turns back to me, one brow lifts slightly, questioning my look. “Your wife?” I ask. “Bold move.”
He beams at me before saying, “Feels right. Even in Hughes Construction, I don’t want to take on projects that create any potential risk without speaking to you first.”
I look at him, shocked at this statement.
I have never been involved in his business decisions, not because I don’t have insight or expertise, but because it was his work.
Now he’s bringing me in, making it closer to ours.
I have to swallow and choke back some tears.
Sam sees it, his hand tightens slightly at my waist, acknowledging the words I can’t say.
“Also,” I add, trying to lighten the mood, leaning in just enough that it’s only for him, “The ‘my wife’ comment?”
“Yeah?”
“Very hot.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, leaning closer, his mouth brushing near my ear. “I’m glad you approve.”
My stomach flips; my body’s reaction to Sam is as annoying as it is predictable, even in public. As I lean in, wanting to suggest we leave, someone calls my name.
“Becca.”
I turn at the sound to see Mrs. Hughes a few feet away, speaking with a couple I vaguely recognize from town.
She gestures slightly for me to come over.
I hesitate for half a second before moving.
Sam’s hand slips from my waist, but his fingers brush mine as I step away.
Not letting go, letting me lead, trusting I can handle it.
“Becca,” Mrs. Hughes says as I approach, her tone measured but not cold. “These are the Whitakers.” The couple smiles politely.
“This is my daughter-in-law,” she adds.
It’s simple, factual. Said with no hesitation or qualification, but something inside me shifts. She rarely publicly acknowledges me, rarely even introduces me.
“And she’s the one behind the tiny cabin out by the river,” Mrs. Hughes continues. “The new builds everyone’s been talking about.”
I blink—that part I wasn’t expecting.
“It’s adorable,” Mrs. Whitaker says. “We drove by last weekend.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
I glance at Mrs. Hughes. She gives a small nod. Not warm, but not distant either.
“I’ve heard you are booking up into next season,” Mr. Whitaker adds.
“Yes, faster than expected,” I acknowledge, trying to hold the surprise out of my voice.
“We’ll have to take a look. Our oldest loves to bring his friends home from college; that is exactly the type of place that would stand out to him and his friends,” he replies.
They exchange a few more pleasantries before moving on, and then it’s the two of us. Mrs. Hughes smooths her hands together once, as if she’s not entirely sure what to do next.
“That was kind of you,” I say.
She shakes her head slightly. “Maybe, but it was accurate.”
A moment passes, and I am unsure how to answer that.
“You’ve done good work,” she adds. “With the property.”
“Thank you.”
She then looks around the salon. “No, thank you.”
I look at her, puzzled, “Um, I’m not sure for what.”
“For this. I know the salon wasn’t your idea, and you were against it, understandably. I also know Holly wouldn’t have been able to pull it off without your guidance. Holly needed someone to be honest with her; you did that.”
She waits a beat before continuing, “I know you think we coddled Holly since her accident, and you’re not wrong. Being a parent is wanting to do everything right for your kids but still messing up.”
Her honesty hits me in a way I didn’t expect. She’s right, my parents did not coddle me, they made me grow up early and made some terrible financial decisions. But at the end of the day, they gave me the best they had and still didn't come out perfect.
The conversation gets too real, and she makes her excuses to leave. When I turn back, Sam’s already watching me. I walk back to him, sliding my hand into his without thinking. He glances down at it, then back up at me.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
“Good. Let’s get home, I have a surprise for you.”