Chapter Thirty-Two
I push open the door of Ryse & Shine and get hit with the warm, sugary smell of syrup, espresso, and fried dough. Normally, it would make me smile.
Today, it just makes my stomach lurch.
My eyes sweep the café and land immediately on the far corner, where the biggest table sits off to itself. All three of my sisters are already seated.
Every single pair of Storm-girl eyes locks on to me the second I walk in.
So do Imma Jean’s.
She’s behind the counter, hands braced on her hips, her grin as wide as Wyoming itself. There is no hiding from that woman. There never has been.
“Oh hell,” I mutter under my breath.
“I need a mimosa!” I call out as I head toward the table. “A big one.”
Imma Jean laughs, loud and delighted. “Mornin’ to you too, Shelby!”
The girls don’t say a word. They just stare at me as I walk up. For three loaded beats.
Then they all start talking at once.
“Where did you go?”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“Do you have any idea how worried we were?”
“We thought you were dead in a ditch!”
“We drove the roads, looking for you, Shell.”
I stop at the end of the table and hold my hands up like I’m surrendering to a firing squad. “Okay, okay, okay. Just … everybody shut up for one second so I can answer—”
They do not shut up.
Charli is leaning forward, eyes sharp. Harleigh looks half mad, half amused. Matty’s face is tight with worry, her fingers twisted together on the table.
“We checked your room!”
“Your truck was in the driveway!”
“We called the hospital!”
Finally, I lose it.
“This is supposed to be an intervention for Matty, not me!”
The words burst out of me so loud that half the café goes quiet.
That does it.
All three of them freeze, the inquisition halts, and Matty’s eyes go wide.
“An intervention for me?” she says, confused.
Charli doesn’t even look at her. She’s still staring at me. “Great deflection, Shelby. Don’t think this gets you off the hook. We’ll circle back to you.”
I deflate, dropping into the empty chair beside Harleigh. “Fine.”
Perfect. Just what this brunch needs. A double feature.
Imma Jean appears like magic with a tall flute of orange-and-gold bliss and sets it in front of me. “Mimosa,” she chirps, “extra large, as requested.”
She follows it with a platter so big that it almost covers the table, stacked high with thick slices of French toast, dusted in powdered sugar.
My stomach growls so loud that Harleigh snorts.
Imma Jean winks at me and glides away.
I grab my fork and spear a slice of toast like I might never eat again. “Go on,” I say around a bite, waving my fork in a little circle. “We’re skipping me for now, remember?”
Charli turns to Matty, all seriousness. “We’ve noticed there has been some … tension … between you and Caison lately.”
Matty’s head jerks up. “What?”
“You’ve been short and snappy with him,” Charli says. “And you left girls’ night early.”
“And whatever it is, it’s even affecting you at work,” I add. “You’ve been missing meetings and cutting out early for weeks.”
Matty looks from one of us to the other, like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “I have not.”
“Even I noticed,” Harleigh says. “And I’ve only been home five minutes.”
Charli reaches across the table and covers Matty’s hand with hers. “We just want you to know that we’ve got your back. And we’re here if you need to talk about it.”
“Or if you need someone to kick Caison’s ass,” Harleigh adds brightly.
Matty’s eyes go shiny.
Oh no.
I scoot my chair closer to her, instinct kicking in. “Hey,” I say softly. “It’s okay.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying not to cry, and that’s the worst part. Matty never cries in front of people. Not unless something is really wrong.
“You guys,” she starts, her lips trembling, “I was trying to keep it to myself a little longer.”
“You don’t have to,” Charli says gently. “We’ve got you.”
Matty takes a breath that shudders on the way out. “Caison and I aren’t fighting.” Her voice breaks. “We’re having a baby.”
For a moment, the table goes quiet, the clink of dishes and low hum of the café filling the space.
“Oh my God, Matty!” I cry.
Her tear-filled eyes come to mine.
“I’m gonna be an auntie?”
“How far along?” Charli asks.
Matty glances at her. “Um, about eight weeks.”
“Eight weeks,” I say. “So, you’re due in May?”
Matty nods, bursting into sobs.
“Whoa,” I say, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Are we not happy about this?”
“We are. It’s just the wedding was supposed to be at the end of April, and I’m going to be as big as a barn.”
Harleigh scoffs. “Who cares?”
“I do. I wanted to wear Momma’s dress,” she whimpers. “And then there’s your graduation, and I won’t be able to travel.”
“First of all,” I say, “you can still wear Momma’s dress. I’m sure Mrs. Bell can let it out or add some material.”
Mrs. Bell owns a shop downtown called Pockets & Pleats. She handles any of our sewing jobs too complicated for Grandma Evelyn and her antique Singer to handle.
“And who cares if you can’t make it to graduation? It’s one day,” Harleigh says.
“One big day,” Matty says. “I want to be there to watch you walk across that stage.”
“Well, duh, that’s the beauty of technology. We can video-call you, and you can watch it in real time. It’ll be like you’re sitting right there,” I tell her.
She sniffles. “It’s not the same. And I don’t won’t to severely alter Momma’s dress. What if one of you wants to wear it someday?”
Charli waves her off. “Don’t worry. If Bryce proposes, I’m gonna have my dream dress handmade. But I’d like to wear her veil.”
I shrug. “Who says I’ll ever get married? And if I do, I’d like to have Momma’s pearls.”
“And I’ll take her wedding band,” Harleigh says. “So, you take that dress and have it altered to fit you just right. And honestly, a baby niece or nephew is the best graduation present I could ever dream of.”
“Are you guys sure?” Matty asks.
“Absolutely,” we say in unison.
Imma Jean appears again with a glass of orange juice. She reaches over to Matty’s untouched glass. “I’ll just switch this out for you, dear.” Her voice cracks with emotion.
“Thank you, Imma Jean.”
“I’m so happy for you, my love. Miriam would be bursting with joy,” she whispers as she cups Matty’s face.
“You can’t say anything to Grandma or Daddy,” Matty tells her. “We were trying to wait until we were further along to share the news, but I guess we’ll be telling them tonight.”
“I’m a vault.”
We all laugh softly, the tension easing just a hair.
“Right.”
Charli glances at me. “Okay, your turn.”
I choke on my mimosa. “What?”
“Circle back,” Harleigh says with a wicked grin. “Remember?”
Matty looks at me, eyes suddenly dry and serious. “Where did you go last night, Shelby?”
I hesitate.
Just for a second.
And that’s all it takes.
“I bet I can guess,” Harleigh says. “I saw you two dancing last night.”
“I—”
“Dancing with who?” Charli asks.
Matty stares at me impatiently.
“I, um, might have left with someone.”
“Yeah, we got that. Who?” she asks.
“Waylon,” I mumble under my breath.
“I knew it,” Harleigh says smugly.
“You just disappeared and left us with Dixon at the table,” Charli says.
I drop my face into my hands. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“What were you thinking?” Matty asks.
“Obviously, I wasn’t.”
Charli leans back, grinning now. “Well, I hope you had a good time at least.”
I peek up. “Maybe.”
She raises a brow.
“Okay. Definitely.”
Matty blows out a breath. “We’re gonna need more French toast.”
“And details,” Charli says.
“And mimosas,” Harleigh adds, raising her empty glass. “Imma Jean, keep ’em coming.”