Chapter Seventeen #2
She was the kind of woman people in town spoke about with a mix of awe and deep, affectionate fear.
A retired drama teacher who never quite retired from performing, she’d traded curtain calls for ghost stories and sequins for more sequins.
She once told me the only lie she ever tolerated was the one she told herself every year about cutting back on champagne.
She had taken to Dig instantly the last time he came down, clasped his face in her rings-heavy hands, and declared him “one of the good ones.” Ever since, she treated him like an honorary grandson.
Me? She treated me like cargo that needed protecting.
Ever since she found out I was pregnant, she’d made it her mission to keep me off my feet and out of trouble, even if that meant swinging by my building unannounced and ringing the carriage bell until I came outside.
Dig, for his part, was eating it up. He waved to every tourist we passed like he was on a parade float and chatted with Franny Jo like they were old drinking buddies instead of two people who had known each other for maybe a week total.
Franny Jo looked back at us with a wide grin and a single, glittery eyelash attached to one eyelid like a festive bird wing. “Ain’t this nice? Just like old times. Remember when I took y’all to that underground roller derby with those vampire people last time you were here, Diggy?”
“Yes,” Dig said, dreamily. “It changed me.”
We kept rolling through the streets in Franny Jo’s open-air buggy, the morning quiet except for the rhythmic clip of hooves and the occasional rattle of the bench beneath us.
Wreaths hung from iron balconies, and storefronts blinked with twinkle lights that hadn’t bothered shutting off after sunrise.
The air was soft and heavy with that stubborn Southern humidity, carrying the smell of pine garland and fried dough from somewhere we couldn’t quite see.
Dig sat beside me, fixing the hem of his shorts like he was getting ready for a party instead of a ride to the coffee shop.
“Only a few more weeks until Christmas,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want to startle the peace. “Any big plans with the brothers?”
I shrugged. “They’re doing brunch with their friends.
They haven’t invited me yet, but… I don’t know.
I think baby and I will be parked on the couch, watching reruns and eating pie without Doyle looming over me like a judgmental fridge warden.
” I gave him a weak smile. “What about you? Please tell me you’re staying here. ”
He shook his head. “I wish, babe. That week’s a war zone at Errico’s. Sal will have me filleted if I don’t show.”
I nodded again, turning to watch the Spanish moss ripple in the breeze.
“You know,” Dig said gently, voice laced with quiet concern, “You’re not as alone as you think. Seems like you and Franny Jo have been thick as thieves lately.”
I squinted at a slow-moving herd of tourists shuffling toward the Telfair, clutching glossy pamphlets and lining up neatly for a trolley ride.
“She’s been taking me to appointments when Doyle or Jordan can’t,” I said, keeping my tone light.
“And I’ve been helping out on her ghost tours, taking fun pictures for her social media. Just… staying busy.”
I kept my eyes on the passing squares, careful to avoid his staring gaze. “Besides, who said I was alone?”
Dig didn’t say anything right away, he only sat there—patient, quiet—the way only someone who’s seen all your worst days and still shows up can. “Tell me about the elopement! God, I can be so shellfish… I mean selfish,” he winked, as I handed him my phone to look through the first photo edits.
“These are so great, Tally,” he said quietly. “You pulled all of it together in just a few weeks, too. It’s amazing.”
“I’ve been taking a lot more photos lately, too,” I said, reaching for my phone to show him the other shots I’d been working on.
“Franny Jo hooked me up with this local photographer she knows, and I tagged along on a maternity shoot last week. Nothing major. I mostly held reflectors and fluffed hair. But it felt good. Like I was doing work that made sense again.”
Dig’s expression softened, the way it always did when I talked about my camera.
“And I’ve been running Franny Jo’s social media, plus the account for this old lady’s club here in town, Lee Wilder’s mom is the president, or whatever. I keep reaching out to the connections I’ve made for a permanent gig, but no bites yet.”
“See, it’s not nothing,” Dig said, stretching his arm across the back of the buggy seat. “You’ve got the eye. You’ve got heart. And you’ve got hustle when it counts.”
I gave him a look, half amused. “Tell that to my inbox full of polite rejections.”
He shrugged. “Maybe they’re not supposed to hire you. Maybe you’re supposed to go off and do it yourself.”
I blinked at him. “What, like start a business?”
“Why not?” he said. “You’ve got the skill. The camera. A town full of pretty people who love to get married under Spanish moss. And a best friend who is more than willing to model fake engagements if you need portfolio content. Use the elopement session as a blueprint.”
That made me laugh. A real one. Small, but real.
For a second, the ache in my chest eased, and there it was—a flicker of warmth, small but stubborn, like hope refusing to take the hint.
***
Our beloved chariot dropped us off at Savannah Coffee Roasters, and we settled in front of the fireplace with a table of charcuterie between us.
Dig, already more than halfway through the plate, looked up at me, wide-eyed. “Why aren’t you eating? You love cheese.”
I sipped my decaf and let the cozy quiet settle over us. “I can’t eat soft cheese, remember? Or deli meat.” I lifted my cup and gave it a small wave. “Or real coffee.”
“Is this a prison sentence or a pregnancy? I’ve never been happier to be biologically excluded from the process.”
We laughed and fell into an easy stretch of silence, the kind that only existed between people who didn’t need to fill space with words. My body was still, but my brain was racing. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, tapping a few thoughts into my notes.
What if I started a business of my own? I’d need to save money, which meant more shifts at the wine shop, maybe some extra gigs here and there.
The holiday season meant places were hiring.
But what exactly would I do? Savannah was full of talented photographers.
If I wanted to stand out, I’d need more than the desperate wave of hope crashing against my soul.
“So,” Dig said, snapping me out of it. “What’s going on with you and the burly, very broody guy next door? Aside from the Rated R dreams. And don’t say ‘nothing‘, because I know you, and this feels very something.”
“Honestly? It’s hard to explain. It’s gone beyond humiliating run-ins and turned into more of Charlie showing up for me in ways no one else has. I just can’t tell yet if it’s because he wants to… or because it’s the right thing to do.”
I could still feel the echo of those moments—his hand steadying me without hesitation, the way his eyes stayed on mine like he was making sure I was really okay. They lingered longer than they should have, enough to leave me wondering what, exactly, we were doing.
“That’s not nothing, Tally. That’s practically a master class in a guy falling for you, and you’re doing that thing where you’ve got the blinders on again.”
I stood and peeled off my sweatshirt, the heat from the fireplace—or maybe whatever nonsense had fallen out of Dig’s mouth about Charlie falling for me—finally getting to me.
I knotted it low around the swell of my belly, letting my hand settle there, quiet and still.
And there it was—that small flicker of pride I didn’t always let myself feel.
The quiet awe of knowing I was growing a life inside me.
“You really do look beautiful,” Dig murmured. He stood and rubbed slow, steady circles over my stomach with both hands, and we stood there, foreheads resting together in front of the fire.
To anyone passing by, we probably looked like the picture of glowing domestic bliss.
A happy couple. Dreamy and in love. Planning a baby shower and buying matching Mama and Dada shirts.
Not a woman doing this alone with nothing but a hopeful heart and a bottle of Pepcid, and her best friend who could barely remember to eat a vegetable.
But for a moment, I let myself lean into it. Let myself believe it was real. Long enough to quiet the ache.
“Well, if it isn’t the cutest couple in Savannah,” came a familiar voice behind us.
We both looked up to see Doyle’s friends, Sutton and Ryan—Lee’s bandmate—heading toward the exit with their arms full of brown paper bags and iced coffees.
Sutton lifted a perfectly arched brow, her gaze flicking from Dig’s hands on my belly to the very little space between us. “Didn’t know y’all were together,” she said. Her tone was light, but there was definitely curiosity tucked inside it.
I opened my mouth to explain, prepared to ramble my way into awkward honesty or pure weirdness—but Dig beat me to it. He grinned and winked, fully committed to the bit.
“Scandalous, right?” he said, pulling me a little closer like we were starring in some sweet, small-town romance and halfway through our press tour.
Sutton let out a quiet laugh, caught off guard. Ryan elbowed her, already focused on unwrapping a cronut from his bag.
“We’ll let y’all get back to it,” he said as they passed. “You promised me we could make out a little after we grabbed supplies for the party you’re catering.”
Sutton rolled her eyes and gave us a quick shake of her iced coffee in place of a wave. Then they disappeared through the door, leaving the scent of espresso and sugar behind them.
I turned to Dig, still blinking. “Dig,” I muttered, elbowing him. “What the hell was that?”
He shrugged with a little too much satisfaction. “What? You’re glowing. I’m supportive. Let them wonder.”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “You know that’s going to come back and bite me in the ass, right?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said cheerfully. “But at least you looked hot while it happened.”