21. Teddy
TEDDY
NATURAL LIGHT
I don’t go back to the woods the next morning.
I think about it more out of habit than anything else.
The thought of grabbing my camera, slipping away into the quiet and chasing after elusive moments that never quite land as I imagine has been my default for so long that the absence of it is noticeable.
But something else is just as palpable. Dannica.
She fits into my space like she was always meant to be there.
The way she looks at the world, with that spark of curiosity, and how her words flow like the start of a story waiting to unfold…
I haven’t been able to think of our conversation.
I spoke to her about being more honest, when I’m hiding too.
And what kind of a person would I be giving all that advice and not taking it for myself?
The thought of spending the day alone suddenly feels like a step backward.
So I don’t. I grab my keys and head into town.
The diner is bustling when I walk in, the low hum of conversation wrapping around me as the door swings shut.
The familiar scent of coffee and fried food envelops me, mingling with the clatter of plates, creating a rhythm that feels like home.
It doesn’t feel like something I’m merely observing anymore.
It feels like something I’m stepping into.
Dannica isn’t at the counter when I first look, which throws me off more than it should. But then…
“There he is.”
I turn and find myself face-to-face with a woman who possesses Dannica’s striking eyes but none of her hesitation. Her posture is straight, sharp, radiating a presence that feels practiced, as if she’s accustomed to being in charge.
“You must be Teddy,” she says, wiping her hands on a cloth and stepping closer.
“Guilty,” I reply, a hint of humor in my voice.
Her eyes track from my face down, then back again, lingering just a second longer than expected. “Hmm,” she hums. “You look less trouble than I expected.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “That’s a low bar.”
“Depends who you ask.”
“And you are…?”
“Dannica’s mother.”
Right. That makes sense.
“Good to finally meet you,” I say, meaning it.
She nods once, still watching me like she’s deciding something. “Well, you passed the first test.”
“I didn’t realize there was one.”
“There’s always a test.”
Before I can respond, a soft, amused sound comes from behind her.
“Don’t mind her. She likes to pretend she’s intimidating.”
I glance past her and, yeah. That must be the grandmother.
She’s settled into a booth, a cup of coffee in front of her, hands wrapped around it like she’s got nowhere else to be, a plate of untouched fries sitting in front of her like she got distracted as soon as her food arrived.
Her gaze lands on me when I look up. It’s warm, but there’s something sharp under it too, something that feels… calculated.
Different. Dannica’s mother looked at me like she was taking notes. This feels more like the woman already has the answer and is waiting to see if I’ll match it.
“Come sit,” she says.
Not really an invitation. I go. The seat across from her is still warm when I slide in, like she knew I would. She studies me for a second, not hiding it, then takes a slow sip of her coffee.
“So,” she says, setting the cup down. “You’re the one.”
There’s no accusation in it. No pressure. Just certainty.
I huff out a breath before I can stop it. “That depends on the question.”
Her mouth curves, just slightly. “Good answer.”
She doesn’t fire questions at me. Doesn’t push. She just… nudges.
A comment here. A pause there. Enough space for me to fill if I want to. And I do. More than I should.
Her smile comes and goes like she’s catching things I’m not saying out loud, filing them away for later. It should feel uncomfortable. It doesn’t. I like it. I like her.
“You’re different,” she says at one point, stirring her coffee absently.
“From?” I ask, curious.
“The people who usually come through here thinking they’re better than the town.”
I lean back slightly, mulling that over. “I don’t think I’m better than anything right now.”
She hums, as if that confirms something for her.
“Good,” she says. “You’ll fit just fine then. I’m Mildred, but you can call me Grandma like everyone else does around here.”
I laugh softly at that, shaking my head. “That feels like a lot of responsibility.”
“It is,” she says easily. “People start calling you family around here, and suddenly they expect you to help move furniture.”
“I can see that. I helped Beverly McNaire with a tire change, and she wanted to set me up with her daughter.”
She watches me over the rim of her coffee cup. “You’d be wise to stay away from that one. Nasty piece of work.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“So what exactly are your intentions with my granddaughter?”
Well. There it is. I choke on absolutely nothing. Mildred doesn’t blink. Behind the counter, Dannica’s mother snorts into a dish towel.
“I think he’s still recovering from the question,” she says dryly.
“I’m gathering information,” Mildred replies calmly.
I glance between them. “Do you all interrogate people like this?”
“Yes,” both women say immediately.
“Good to know.”
Mildred smiles slightly into her coffee. “So?” she presses.
I exhale slowly, buying time I probably don’t need.
“I like her,” I finally admit.
The simplicity of it surprises me because there’s so much more to it. Mildred studies me for another second, and somehow I get the feeling she hears everything I don’t say.
“She likes you too,” she says.
Heat creeps unexpectedly up the back of my neck. “That obvious?”
“To everybody except the two of you.”
“That feels mildly insulting.”
The doors to the kitchen open and I look over as Dannica appears, tying her apron on as she moves. It’s like my body instinctively knew she was there. Her eyes find me almost immediately, surprise flickering across her face before it shifts into something softer.
I take her in. Hair tied back, apron hanging loose at her waist, pen tucked behind one ear. She looks slightly rushed, slightly distracted, and somehow that makes her even more beautiful.
“You’re back,” she says, looking from her grandmother to me. There’s something in her voice that warms my chest before I can stop it.
“Turns out I like it here.”
Her smile softens slightly at that. “Careful,” she says. “That’s how they get you.”
“I’m starting to suspect this town’s running some kind of organized emotional ambush.”
“That sounds right.”
She slides into the booth beside Mildred and snatches one of the fries.
“Hey,” Mildred complains.
“You raised me. You knew this would happen.”
Mildred mutters something about ungrateful descendants while Dannica turns back toward me.
“So,” she asks, resting her forearms against the table, “has Grandma threatened you yet?”
“She implied I’ll eventually be forced into manual labor.”
“That’s basically a proposal around here.”
I laugh softly, and God, it’s easy with her. Too easy. “It would seem many things around here are considered proposals.”
Mildred turns in her seat to look at Dannica. “Beverly tried to set him up with Peyton.”
“I heard about that.” Dannica says.
“You heard about that?” I ask. A horrifying thought occurs to me, Dannica might think I actually entertained that.
She shrugs. “It’s a small town.”
“For the record,” I say quickly, “she didn’t come to the festival, but even if she did, I was never going to date Peyton.”
Grandma and Dannica exchange a look that immediately makes me nervous.
“You look like you’ve been stopped by airport security with balloons in your gut,” Dannica teases.
I lean back and blow out a breath. “I really don’t want you thinking I’m some kind of player.”
Dannica reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I would never think that about you. Especially since you have a reputation for getting spooked after a first kiss.”
I choke again, this time on my spit. “I…That’s not…You can’t just?—”
They start laughing, and Mildred splutters. “God, you really are your mother’s daughter sometimes.”
Dannica bursts out laughing. “It was just too easy.”
I laugh too, relief loosening the knot in my chest as the conversation drifts into easier territory.
And the strange thing is… I can’t remember the last time I sat somewhere like this.
Somewhere warm. Somewhere lived in. Somewhere people teased each other so naturally it stopped sounding like conversation and started sounding like history.
The diner hums around me. Coffee is poured, plates clatter. Someone laughs too loudly in the next booth.
None of it feels intrusive.
It feels alive.
Dannica’s eyes flick briefly toward the camera bag beside me. “You been shooting today?”
“Not yet.”
“You should.”
“I probably will.”
She tilts her head, studying me in that quiet way she has sometimes that makes me feel more seen than I’m entirely prepared for.
“What?” I ask.
“You seem lighter today.”
The observation catches me off guard. But she’s right. I am lighter today. “I slept well.” I wink.
A slow smile curves her mouth as she blushes.
“Slept well, huh?” Mildred gives me a knowing look. Too knowing.
Heat flashes through me.
“Oh my god, Grandma,” Dannica says.
“What?” Mildred asks innocently. “I’m old, not dead.”
Dannica covers her face with her hands while I fail spectacularly at not laughing. When she takes her hands away, her cheeks are pink.
“You are never allowed to flirt in front of my grandmother again.”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“You absolutely were.”
Mildred points between us. “I like this one. He blushes.”
“I’m sitting right here,” I mutter.
“Yes, and it’s delightful.”
Dannica laughs, shaking her head as she reaches for the coffee pot beside the booth, and I catch it. Not just the movement. The moment.
The way the morning light coming through the diner windows catches the edge of her hair. The way Mildred looks at her when she’s not paying attention. Familiar. Fond. Like love worn so long it stopped needing to announce itself.