Chapter 3
SADIE
Same books. Same cookies. Same Sadie.
The words have been echoing in my head for the past hour as I drove out to Firefly Farms, then stopped to notarize a property deed for Marcie Jenkins, then swung by the community garden to make sure the produce cart was full.
It wasn’t, so I picked a few tomatoes, cucumbers, and squash to round it out—because of course I did.
Who else was going to do it?
When I open the door to my house, the quiet greets me like an old friend—familiar, dependable, and suddenly unbearable. I want to melt into the walls, become vinyl and floorboards.
Is this how an identity crisis begins?
Becoming one with inanimate objects? Trying to hide from the life you’ve built that seems to run perfectly for everyone else?
I sigh, placing my library books on the kitchen counter and letting my purse slip off my shoulder to the floor. I go to the fridge, where I cross Go to the library, Notarize papers for Marcie, Go to the bank, and Take produce to Firefly Farms off one of my lists.
Then I add Run into ex-boyfriend just so I can run a line through it.
I stare at ex-boyfriend a little too long, replaying the way heat licked at my skin when he leaned in. I hate that my body betrayed me, how it wanted his warmth to linger.
My phone buzzes again in my purse. I’ve been ignoring it, which isn’t like me, but I’m just so tired. So alone. So . . . the same. Apparently.
I fish out my phone from my purse, dread dropping like an anchor through my body when I see there are thirty-two messages.
I see a few texts from women from church, the animal shelter, and my mom.
Hallie Harper just had a baby girl, so I know somewhere in there is a message requesting me to put together a meal train.
But I know most of the messages reside in one text thread—the one with my sisters.
I tentatively open it, my phone instantly alerting Sophie and Emma that I’ve read their messages.
Sophie
OH MY GOSH! Did you run into MILO CARTER?!
Emma
Wait . . . what? Milo? As in Sadie’s Milo?
Sophie
Of course it’s Sadie’s Milo. What other Milo Carter do we know?
Emma
Well, excuse me for clarifying!
Sophie
And yes. He’s back. Took a job at the high school. Football coach and history teacher.
Emma
Classic combo.
Sophie
Right? But Laura texted me and said Sadie and Milo were talking in the grocery store.
I knew it wouldn’t take long for news to spread of our run-in.
I sigh and roll my eyes before reading the rest.
Emma
Sophie
Did he try to kiss you, Sadie?
Emma
He wouldn’t try to kiss her. It’s been a million years . . .
Sophie
It’s been ten, but you know Sadie. She’s been pining for years for that man.
Have I been pining?
Anne Elliot is a character I’ve always despised, and yet . . .
Emma
She has not!
Yes. Thanks, Emma. I haven’t been pining. I’ve just been living life.
Sophie
Why else has she not dated anyone?
Emma
Because she lives in Dusty Hollow . . .
Sophie
I could find a man in Dusty Hollow.
Emma
That’s not exactly fair. If a man has lips, you consider him dateable. Sadie has standards.
Sophie
Are you saying I don’t?
Emma
If the shoe fits . . . which reminds me. Did you take my Crocs?
Sophie
Ew. No. Why would I take your Crocs?
I nibble at my bottom lip, contemplating what to say. I’m the oldest, which means wrangling chaos usually falls to me . . .
Sadie
Sophie, I did see Milo today. Nothing happened. Emma, I have your Crocs. Remember, you let me borrow them a few weeks ago to start preparing the community garden?
Both read it immediately.
Sophie
Nothing happened? Well, that’s disappointing.
Emma
Oh, yes. I remember! How was it seeing Milo?
How was it seeing Milo?
Jarring. Warm. Like I wanted to become a pebble stuck in a gap of the sidewalk.
And there I go again, wanting to become an inanimate object.
Sadie
It was fine.
Sophie
Is HE still fine? I mean, I know he is. He’s on TikTok.
My phone slips a bit in my hand at that. TikTok?
Emma
He is?
Sophie
Yeah, posts about teacher things. Pretty boring stuff but he’s not boring to look at.
Emma
Gross, Soph! You can’t be ogling our sister’s ex-boyfriend.
Sophie
Is that true, Sadie?
I sigh again. Sisters are exhausting.
Sadie
I’ve got things to do. And I don’t care, Sophie. It’s not like you won’t move on to the next man tomorrow. How’s Jeremy, by the way?
Jeremy was four boyfriends ago. Although I don’t think Sophie considers them boyfriends.
Sophie
Rude.
Emma
Love you, Sadie!
Sadie
Love you both.
I set my phone on my kitchen counter, screen down, and take a deep breath. My eyes dart around my house trying to find something to distract my mind, but the white walls feel sterile, and I haven’t bothered to decorate in the six years I’ve lived in this house.
I pick it back up to reply to the other messages.
Yes, I’ll set up a meal train right now.
Oh! That’s terrible. I’ll be praying for her. Yes, I’ll set up a prayer chain.
Dinner next Friday sounds great, Mom. I’ll bring dessert.
Yes, the gardening schedule is up on the Facebook page. I quickly pull it up to check. Your day is next Tuesday.
Yes, I’d be more than happy to foster a litter of puppies until you can find new homes for them. I’ll be right there.
All messages read and answered. No one left behind.
I glance at the clock, shove away the thought of a warm, relaxing shower, and grab my car keys.
It’s not just people who count on me. Puppies do, too.
Three hours later, surrounded by puppy whimpers, pee mats, and shredded newspaper, I finally open The Notebook.
I inhale the pages, close my eyes, and instantly see swans and feel raindrops on my skin, but then, instead of Noah’s laughter, I hear Milo’s—the kind of laugh that makes you grow still and aware, feeling like butterflies are landing on your arms, your shoulders, and your neck.
My eyes open wide, and I slam the book shut.
Why is he back? After all this time?
We were just kids when I told him to leave.
I knew what that full-ride scholarship meant for him, and I had one of my own.
His to Notre Dame. Mine to the University of Texas.
We were both given opportunities that we could never get back.
And we were eighteen. The years felt forever then, as if we had a constant supply.
I remember the first time I saw him when he visited his grandpa for Christmas. I wasn’t sure what it would be like—seeing him when he wasn’t mine. I stood frozen on the sidewalk.
He hadn’t changed much yet. It had only been six months. He wore his hair a little longer. I’d chopped my long dark hair to my shoulders.
The moment he saw me, his grin spread out wide and warm. He walked toward me confidently, a different kind of steadiness in his stride. Immediately, his fingers were combing through my hair. “I like it.”
“Hello to you, too,” I replied, slightly breathless, my skin tingling with familiarity and the tension of time passing.
“How are you?” he asked, his blue eyes bright.
“Fantastic,” I answered, and it was the truth. I loved my college classes. I was taking twenty-four hours, which was cautioned against by my advisor for my first semester, but I wanted to soak in all the things I could, read all the things I could. “You?”
“Focused on my game,” he answered.
“As you should be.” I smiled at him, knowing there was something special about Milo Carter. Knowing he wasn’t just a football player, but someone who intimately knew the game like I knew my books.
My belief in him wasn’t misplaced.
It was a simple run-in, and yet it didn’t feel so simple for me. I longed for him to lean in and kiss me, to make the hundreds of miles that separated us nonexistent. But I didn’t feel like life was that simple, and he didn’t lean in.
He went back to Indiana and only came back for one other Christmas before his life began to grow roots elsewhere. I went back to the University of Texas until sudden family responsibility pulled me back to Dusty Hollow, and I’ve never left.
I meant to. It wasn’t meant to be long-term. Now I have a mortgage and a 401(k).
The smallest puppy in the litter, a little guy with curly white hair and dark eyes, lets out a shrill bark.
I toss my book to the side, walk over to the pen I’ve set up in my living room, and pick him up. He nibbles at my arm with his tiny sharp teeth.
“Ouch!” I yelp before settling back down on the couch, trying to wrestle the fluff ball into submission. “It’s bad manners to bite, sir.”
His eyes seem to droop in an apologetic way. My shoulders soften. “I’m sorry.”
Then he sinks his teeth into my arm again, drawing blood.
“Hey! My arm is not a chew toy,” I scold, gently thumping him on his nose.
He whines as I lift him up so I can stare directly in his eyes as he hangs in the air where he can’t use his teeth as weapons. He looks so small and innocent, but puppy-dog eyes do not work on me.
Well, actually, they do. Puppy-dog eyes are exactly what convinced me to work a booth last summer at Firefly Farms during their huge community event.
It was luau themed, and I spent six straight hours in a synthetic grass skirt in August heat, smiling through sweat and chafing while serving tropical drinks from real pineapple cups.
The puppy whines again, bringing me back to reality.
“Listen. This was not how I planned my Friday night, either. Both of us aren’t exactly where we want to be. Me in Dusty Hollow. You in my living room. But it’s where life has led us, sir.”
He blinks at me.
“Now, we need to set a few ground rules, such as—”
There’s a gentle knock at my front door.
I pull the puppy back into my chest, looking down at him. “Best behavior.”
I walk to the front door, swinging it wide open before even thinking to see who it is, and—“Milo,” I say a little too breathlessly.
In the dim light of my front porch, he looks softer, his edges all smoothed from the glow. “Hi, Sadie and . . . who’s this?”