26. Dannica
DANNICA
LOCAL WOMAN ACCIDENTALLY ACHIEVES DREAM
I stack the papers carefully in my arms, as if they might somehow know this is important and decide to behave accordingly.
The corners are already threatening to bend, and the top copy keeps slipping, reminding me that I am, in fact, not in control of everything, which feels on theme for today.
The town library comes into view, and my pulse kicks up a notch—not because I don’t know what I’m doing, but because I do, and that makes this worse somehow.
This is real. This isn’t a draft or a maybe or a one-day thing. This is happening right now.
I push through the doors, nod at the librarian, who already knows exactly what I’m carrying, and make my way to the newspaper bin that hasn’t held an actual newspaper in over a decade.
That thought hits me again as I start stacking them neatly, every edge aligned, front page visible, my grandmother’s face looking back at me with that steady, unshakable presence that somehow feels even stronger in print.
My throat constricts, but I push through it, adjusting the last stack like that somehow matters more than the fact that I’m standing here, putting my words out into the world for people to pick up, to read, to judge, to love, to ignore, or whatever they’re going to do with them.
I’ve barely stepped back before one of the librarians takes the first copy, moving quickly but carefully, like she doesn’t want to seem too eager, even though she absolutely is.
Then another copy goes. Then a third, this time from a man who pretends to be looking at something else before casually grabbing a copy like it just happened to be there and he just happened to need it.
I swallow hard, my fingers curling slightly at my sides like I don’t quite know what to do with myself now that the thing is out there and no longer mine to control.
More people drift closer, early morning regulars, and I suddenly feel like I’m standing in the middle of something I shouldn’t be watching too closely, like if I stay I’ll somehow ruin it.
So I leave. Not because I don’t want to see, but because I do. And I’m not sure I can handle it all at once.
The air outside feels cooler against my skin, and I stop on the library steps, my body lagging slightly behind the moment my life apparently changed.
Which feels dramatic, but also accurate.
Ten minutes ago, it was still mine. Mine to tweak and stress over and obsessively reread at two in the morning. Now, it belongs to everyone else.
I start walking toward the diner, my feet moving automatically while my brain continues short-circuiting in the background.
People are reading it. Right now. Actual people.
Voluntarily. And Grandma is on the front page looking like the patron saint of diners and emotional resilience.
She didn’t even complain about the photo.
Honestly, that alone should qualify as modern journalism’s greatest achievement.
I turn the corner, seeing a woman on a bench, tossing crumbs to a cluster of birds at her feet while her husband sits beside her, the paper spread open in his hands as he reads something out loud, and whatever it is makes his wife laugh.
Those are my words they’re reading. And suddenly, it feels significantly more terrifying than it did five minutes ago.
My chest tightens again, but this time it’s different.
A few steps farther and the café comes into view.
Two people at a small table, coffee cups in hand, both leaning over the same spread, pointing at something, talking quietly between sips.
One of them turns the page with careful fingers like it matters. Because it does.
A man walking his dog passes me, the leash loose in one hand, the paper tucked under his arm so casually it catches me off guard. Like it belongs there. Like Boudica Springs having a newspaper again is the most natural thing in the world.
My heart squeezes painfully around that thought.
I stop walking. Oh my gosh, I did it. I actually did it.
Not perfectly. Not dramatically. Not with fireworks or some big, life-altering moment that changes everything all at once.
But I did it. I became the thing I’ve been circling for years.
And I didn’t need anyone to hand it to me. I built it. We built it.
I swipe quickly at the tear that escapes before anyone can accuse me of becoming emotional in public before nine in the morning. Frankly, that feels like a dangerous precedent.
I blow out a breath and start walking again, faster this time, because there’s somewhere I need to be.
The diner looks strangely quiet from the outside.
Too quiet.
I glance through the window and immediately narrow my eyes.
Everyone is sitting far too normally. Shelly is pretending to drink coffee while visibly vibrating in her seat.
Luke is grinning into his menu like he has a secret.
Even Quadri looks composed, which somehow makes her the most suspicious of all.
And then I spot Teddy near the back booth.
He’s leaning against the wall, coffee in one hand, watching the whole thing unfold with a look that tells me he knows exactly what’s about to happen.
Traitor.
His mouth curves slightly when our eyes meet, and warmth blooms instantly through my chest anyway because apparently my survival instincts are deeply compromised where this man is concerned.
I point at him through the glass.
“You knew,” I mouth accusingly.
His grin widens. Oh, he absolutely knew.
I push the door open.
“Surprise!”
I jump. Like a full-body, heart-in-my-throat, tray-dropping kind of jump. Thankfully, I’m not holding anything because that would’ve been so embarrassing. Which is dumb since I suspected something was going to happen.
The entire place is packed. Shelly, already halfway through a cheer. Mary bouncing like she might combust. Quadri leaning casually but with that unmistakable glint of satisfaction in her eyes. Luke by the counter with a grin that says he’s been waiting for this moment specifically.
“Are you kidding me?” I breathe, my hand pressed to my chest like I can physically calm my heart down.
“No,” Shelly says immediately. “We are not kidding you. This is a very serious celebration.”
“You did it,” Mary adds, like she still can’t quite believe it.
Teddy stays slightly back while the others crowd around me, but every time I glance up, I catch him watching me with pride in his eyes, which makes my chest feel too full all over again. Like this matters to him almost as much as it matters to me. Which is… a lot to process before coffee.
“We did it,” Quadri corrects, but her gaze stays on me, letting me know she sees me.
Tears prick my eyes. God, these people. I barely have time to process it before someone steps forward from the side, someone I don’t immediately place until she speaks.
“Hey.”
I turn. Peyton, Beverly’s daughter, stands there, looking nervous. Beside her is a girl I’ve never seen before, fingers laced with hers, offering me a small, encouraging smile.
My back immediately goes up, and I suck in what I hope is an inconspicuous breath.
“I just—” she starts, then stops, clearly regrouping. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
That was not on my bingo card.
“For what?” I ask, genuinely thrown because Peyton is not known for apologizing. I force myself not to narrow my eyes. What the hell has she done now?
“For being awful,” she says bluntly. “I was immature and kind of… a lot.” She huffs out a small, awkward laugh. “I know I treated you like shit, and I’m sorry.”
I legit don’t know what to say, so I just keep blinking.
“I had a huge crush on you,” she continues, “and I didn’t know what to do with that, so I just… made it your problem instead.”
I stare at her.
LOCAL WOMAN DISCOVERS FORMER BULLY WAS GAY PANICKING. DOES NOT HAVE APPROPRIATE RESPONSE PREPARED.
“Oh,” I say, because that’s all I’ve got.
She winces. “Yeah.”
Her girlfriend squeezes her hand slightly. “She’s been working on it.”
“I have,” Peyton insists quickly. “And I just, I wanted to say you didn’t deserve any of that. You were always… really cool. And confident. And it intimidated the hell out of me.”
I look at our past differently. I look past the bullying and see the fear underneath it.
Growing up with Beverly McNaire as your mother probably meant growing up in a house where there was a very specific idea of who you were supposed to be.
And judging by the way Beverly tried to shove Peyton toward Teddy, despite Peyton being gay, I suddenly have a feeling Peyton spent a long time trying to survive herself.
That doesn’t excuse what she did, but I understand it a little better now.
I squeeze her shoulder. “You know for a long time—until recently, actually—I hated you for looking through me the way you did. But if you hadn’t treated me the way you did, I don’t think any of this would’ve been possible.”
I look around at the people gathered to celebrate something I never thought I would achieve.
Luke leans toward Diane from their booth near the window. Considering they’d met because of my friends’ disastrous schemes, I should probably stop pretending accidents don’t happen for a reason.
“Told you,” he says to Diane far too loudly. “Unresolved feelings.”
Diane pats his cheek gently. “Sweetheart, every person in this diner has unresolved feelings.”
“That’s beautiful,” Luke says, looking genuinely moved.
I’m not entirely convinced Luke understands what’s happening around him at any given moment, but somehow he thrives. I have a feeling Diane is going to show him the way.
I turn back to Peyton. “Thank you,” I say, pulling her in for a hug to let her know I mean it. “I hope you’re doing well?”
“I am.” She shoots a glance to her partner, and I can see she really is doing well. “You really were very cool,” Peyton adds quickly. “Like aggressively cool.”
I chuckle. “No one has ever described me as aggressively cool.”