Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lucy
I pace the length of Dylan’s childhood bedroom with my phone pressed to my ear, the carpet worn soft beneath my feet. The tension from breakfast still clings to me, heavy and unsettling.
I thought Dylan’s parents were on good terms, but the way they barely looked at each other and the clipped tones in their conversation made the air feel uneasy.
“Lu-Lu Bear!” Aunt Joss’s voice bursts through the line, bright and warm as ever. “How’s Dallas treating you?”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite myself. “It’s good. I just wanted to check in before dinner.”
“Well, aren’t you sweet?” she laughs. “Your mom and dad are here with me. We’re doing our own little Thanksgiving spread.”
I can picture it perfectly. “Let me guess, Dad’s already eating dessert.”
“Two slices of pie,” she confirms proudly. “Minimum.”
I laugh, picturing Dad guarding the remaining pie.
Then Mom’s voice slips in, gentler. “How are you doing, Lucy? How’s everything with Dylan’s family?”
I hesitate, my gaze drifting to the closed door. Dylan is somewhere downstairs, giving me time to call home.
“It’s been good,” I say honestly. “But breakfast was… awkward.”
A pause.
“Awkward how?” Aunt Joss asks.
“His parents had breakfast with us,” I explain. “They’re divorced, and being in the same room brought out a lot of tension.”
“And Dylan?” Mom asks softly.
“He’s handling it,” I say, though the image of his tense jaw and quiet frustration flashes through my mind. “But it made me realize how different families can look.”
Aunt Joss hums thoughtfully. “Different doesn’t mean broken, sweetheart.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, her words settling in. Dylan’s family isn’t loud and easy the way mine is, but they’re still trying. Still showing up.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I think I just wasn’t prepared.”
“Go enjoy dinner,” Aunt Joss adds. “Families are messy, Lu-Lu Bear. The good ones keep showing up anyway.”
After I hang up, the room feels quieter, but lighter, too.
But the silence also leaves room for thoughts I’ve been trying not to have.
Dallas already feels bigger than my life back home. It’s easy to understand how growing up somewhere this large might make possibility feel ordinary.
Dylan belongs in places like this.
Places that move fast. Places that expect something from you. Places where ambition doesn’t seem too large for the landscape around it.
I’ve spent most of my life in smaller spaces—classrooms, libraries, simple streets where everyone knows each other’s names.
That life feels safe. Predictable.
Maybe that’s why teaching has always felt like a natural progression after graduation. But is it really what I want?
Dylan’s life feels like momentum.
And I can’t stop wondering what happens when his momentum carries him somewhere I can’t follow.
Because if I decide that I want to pursue something close to home, it puts distance between us.
Other couples manage distance. That doesn’t mean it would be easy for me.
I’ve never ventured very far. My entire world is back home. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Joss. Even Ms. Thorn and Gretchen. I like the familiar a little too much.
The library. The café.
I have built a life around what feels familiar. Lately, I’ve started wondering whether familiarity is the same thing as fulfillment.
Maybe it’s not safety I’m protecting. Maybe it’s fear.
When I open the door, Dylan is leaning against the opposite wall, scrolling through his phone.
He looks up. “Hey.”
I cross the hallway and wrap my arms around him.
“Hey,” I whisper back, leaning into him.
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
“Don’t be,” he says immediately, pulling back just enough to look at me. He studies my face. “I just wanted you to be okay.”
I rise onto my toes and kiss him, quick but sincere. “I am.”
His eyes search mine. “You’re sure you’re okay? After breakfast?”
“Yes,” I say, steady. “Your family… they’re a little different from mine. But I can see how much they care about you. And that’s what matters. Even if things were a little tense.”
Something eases in his expression. “You handled this better than I did.”
I laugh quietly. “I hid in the bathroom.”
“And you came back.”
Maybe that matters more.
He kisses me once more. “Thank you.”
“Why are you thanking me?”
“For staying when today got uncomfortable.”
“I want to be here. Even when it’s complicated.”
He holds out his hand. “Then let’s go before my mom sends Gemma up to kidnap us.”
I squeeze his hand, ready.
As we make our way downstairs, the sounds of Kate and Gemma drift up from the kitchen—easy laughter, overlapping voices, and the clatter of dishes. It’s the kind of noise that wraps around you without trying, the sound of a family in motion. Preparing. Existing together.
I watch him carefully.
Dylan moves through this house like someone who knows exactly where he belongs.
His shoulders relax. His voice gets lighter.
Even the way he laughs feels different here.
I realize then that loving someone means stepping into a history that existed long before you arrived.
And the truth is, Dylan and I aren’t so different. We both come from families who love us. Even if the structure doesn’t look the same, the heart of it is.
We walk into the dining room just as Kate emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her face lights up instantly.
“There you two are,” she says with a knowing smile. “I was about to come looking for you.”
Dylan grins, completely unapologetic. “We were just talking.”
Kate arches an eyebrow but lets the explanation pass. “Well, dinner’s almost ready. Sit. Relax. Gemma and I have it handled.”
Dylan pulls out a chair for me, and I take my seat, feeling oddly at ease. “Are you sure I can’t help?” I ask.
Kate shakes her head. “Not a chance. You’re our guest.”
Gemma appears then, carrying a platter of roasted vegetables. She sets it down and flashes me a grin. “Actually, Lucy, I was hoping you’d want to come with me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I echo.
“I volunteer at the food bank when I make it back home,” she explains casually. “It’s kind of my thing. I thought you might want to come with me.”
Dylan watches me with a smile, but this invitation doesn’t feel like something I earned through him. Gemma asked because she wants me there.
“I’d love that,” I tell her.
“Perfect,” she says brightly, clapping her hands once before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Kate returns moments later with the turkey, golden and fragrant.
“Breakfast was your father’s idea,” she says to Dylan. “He thought it would be easier than trying to make the whole day work. He said he’ll stop by to say goodbye before you and Lucy head home.”
There’s a flicker in her eyes—relief, maybe—but she doesn’t linger on it. She doesn’t have to.
Gemma insists Kate’s stuffing recipe needs more sage. Dylan steals a roll before the basket reaches him, and Kate threatens to seat him at the children’s table even though there’s no children’s table.
Watching them together—the quiet pride in Kate’s eyes when Dylan talks about football, the way Gemma teases him without mercy—I start to understand something I hadn’t fully grasped before.
Dylan’s future isn’t just a dream he talks about.
Everyone in this room believes Dylan has a real chance. It doesn’t guarantee anything, but it makes the possibility feel close enough to touch.
And I suddenly feel like I’m standing at the edge of something enormous.
Professional football.
He could play for the Larks. Or somewhere neither of us has imagined.
Maybe not knowing exactly what comes after graduation isn’t only frightening. Maybe it’s freedom.
I could travel. See places beyond Willow Creek. I could work in publishing, teach, or finally take my own writing seriously.
Dylan and I could step into a larger world together without either of us disappearing inside the other’s dream.
I’ve spent my life reading about women who become the main characters of their own stories while I remain safely outside mine.
I should work on that.
And as I sit here between Dylan and Gemma, across from Kate, I don’t feel like I’m visiting anymore.
I feel included.
Not because everything is perfect, but because they made room for me without asking me to become someone else.