Chapter Ten Girl Chat And A Pact
Lydia
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my legs still felt like they were humming.
I wasn’t tired, just awake. Like my body had decided this wasn’t the moment to settle down, not when it was still replaying the sound of the engine catching, the way the truck had finally rolled forward instead of dying beneath me.
My hands felt different, too. Looser somehow, like they had remembered something useful.
The stairwell smelled faintly of cinnamon and sawdust, which had become the scent of this place in my mind. Progress and chaos blended together. Below me, voices drifted up from the lobby, softened by distance and walls. Laughter. Someone calling someone else to look at something. It made me smile.
I pushed the apartment door open carefully and stepped inside.
The space was exactly what it always was. Too small, too full, but completely ours.
The living room barely fit the couch, which pressed against one wall like it was bracing itself.
A narrow coffee table sat crooked in front of it, cluttered with mugs that didn’t match and a bowl that currently held three candy canes, two hair ties, and something I suspected might once have been a cookie.
Shoes lined the wall by the door in a loose interpretation of organization, each pair telling a story about whoever had kicked them off last.
Meri sat cross-legged on the couch, a book open in her lap, reading glasses perched on her nose. She looked up the moment the door clicked shut.
“You’re smiling,” she observed.
I froze, then tried to smooth my face. “Am I?”
“You are,” she replied calmly. “It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
Kitty was sprawled on the floor with her back against the couch, phone in hand, scrolling with the intense focus of someone who had absolutely been waiting for me to come upstairs.
“You drove,” Kitty announced without looking up. “I saw you leave the lot and later return. The truck stalled less by the end. You must have finally figured it out.”
“Thank you for that ringing endorsement,” I said, toeing off my boots.
Meri closed her book slightly, holding her place with one finger. “You didn’t quit.”
“I considered it,” I admitted, shrugging out of my coat and draping it over the back of a chair already burdened with at least two other garments. “Several times. Loudly.”
“But you didn’t,” Meri said.
“I hate quitting more than I hate failing,” I replied dryly recalling Meri’s previously spoken words.
Kitty snorted. “That explains… most of your personality.”
I dropped onto the edge of the couch beside Meri, careful not to knock her book. The adrenaline was finally ebbing, leaving behind something warm and fizzy in my chest, like accomplishment trying to decide if it was allowed to stay.
“I drove through town,” I said.
Kitty’s head snapped up. “You didn’t. With that truck?”
“I did,” I said. “I drove slowly with supervision.”
Meri lifted an eyebrow. “Supervision?”
I hesitated for half a second too long.
Kitty grinned. “The cop must have gone with her. He’s pretty brave.”
“He has a name,” I said automatically.
“And that name is?” Kitty prompted.
“Ephram,” I said, trying very hard to sound normal.
Meri watched me over the top of her book. “You said that carefully.”
“I said it correctly,” I replied.
Kitty laughed. “You hugged him.”
I stiffened. “You did not see that.”
“I absolutely saw that,” Kitty said. “It was quick, but it was sincere.”
“Why are you spying on me?” My face heated. “It was reflexive. I was excited. It was inappropriate and very brief.”
Meri smiled faintly. “Those are usually the most honest moments.”
I groaned and leaned back against the couch. “Can we please talk about literally anything else.”
“How about Cousin Collin,” Kitty said mischievously.
I sat up. “No.”
“Yes,” she said, sobering. “We need a plan.”
Meri sighed, marked her place with a bookmark before closing the book and setting it aside along with her reading glasses. “We really do.”
The earlier tension crept back in, subtle but persistent. “He hasn’t said anything to me, at least not directly, but I have seen him hovering like a vulture. It’s as though he’s deciding if I’m next on his list to propose to.”
“Which is worse,” Kitty replied. “Because now he’s thinking about you.”
“He’s always thinking or talking too much,” I muttered.
“He’s staking you out,” Kitty continued. “Lucy noticed. I noticed. Mom definitely noticed, even if she’s pretending not to.”
Meri folded her hands in her lap. “Waiting someone out isn’t romantic.”
“No,” I said with a groan. “It feels like erosion.”
Kitty nodded. “Like if he just stays long enough, you’ll give up.”
“I won’t,” I said immediately.
“We know that,” Kitty said. “But he doesn’t.”
Meri leaned forward slightly. “Which means we stop letting him corner anyone.”
I blinked. “Anyone?”
“All of us,” Kitty said. “Because today it’s you, tomorrow it’s someone Meri or I.”
Meri nodded. “We make it a rule.”
“A pact,” Kitty said.
I looked between them. “What kind of pact?”
“If any of us notices that one of us is cornered by Collin,” Kitty said, warming to the idea, “we immediately say she’s needed somewhere else.”
“Urgently,” Meri added.
“And then we physically escort her away,” Kitty finished. “No debate. No explanations.”
I smiled despite myself. “That feels dramatic.”
“It’s preventative,” Meri said.
“And deeply satisfying,” Kitty added. “Maybe, just maybe, he will get the hint.”
“All right,” I said. “Deal.”
I stood and moved into the kitchenette, which was really just a counter, a sink, and a stove that behaved when it felt like it. I poured myself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, grounding myself in the cool surface.
“I changed the float,” I quietly announced.
Both of them looked at me.
“I toned it down,” I continued. “A lot. No moving parts and no elaborate set pieces. Just… something manageable since time is short.”
Meri smiled. “That sounds wise.”
“Greenery,” I said. “Secured properly with battery lights. Low profile so the wind doesn’t catch it. Maybe a bench in the truck bed if we can anchor it.”
Kitty sat up straighter. “We can decorate.”
“Yes,” I said. “I was hoping you would say that.”
Meri nodded. “I can source ribbon.”
Kitty grinned. “I will bring chaos.”
“Controlled chaos,” I said.
“Absolutely not,” Kitty replied.
I laughed, the sound easing something tight in my chest.
“He helped me think through what’s realistic,” I added quietly.
Meri tilted her head. “He, being the handsome Ephram.”
I felt a small stab of jealousy but put it aside. Ephram was simply a helpful person. “He did help.”
“And how does that make you feel?” Kitty asked, far too casually.
I stared into my glass. “Seen and not managed. That feels… new.”
Meri’s expression softened. “You did something hard today.”
I nodded. “I did.”
“And you didn’t do it alone,” she said gently.
“No,” I agreed. “But I also didn’t give up control.”
“Exactly,” Meri said.
Kitty slid off the floor and scrambled to her feet, already energized by the word decorate.
“Okay,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s talk aesthetics.”
Meri glanced at her. “That’s a dangerous opening.”
“I’m serious,” Kitty said. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
I laughed and moved back toward the couch, sinking down beside Meri again.
My legs finally felt heavy, the adrenaline giving way to the dull ache of effort.
I closed my eyes briefly and pictured the truck again, the way it had looked parked under the lights.
It was solid and capable. “I was thinking of greenery along the sides of the bed. Pine or cedar, something that smells like winter without shedding too aggressively.”
“Nothing that will prick people,” Meri said without looking up.
“Yes,” I said. “We can weave some ribbon through it.”
Kitty nodded. “Lights?”
“Battery-powered,” I said. “Wrapped through the greenery, secured properly so they don’t come loose or catch.”
Meri glanced up. “Anything in the bed of the truck?”
“Low profile,” I said. “No tall arches. No signs taller than the cab.”
Kitty made a face. “You’re killing all my fun ideas.”
“I’m preventing a lawsuit,” I replied dampeningly.
She considered that. “Fine.”
I shifted, leaning forward now, elbows on my knees. Talking it through made it feel more real, more achievable. “I thought maybe a bench in the middle. Something simple. I was hoping Dad and Mom would sit on it and wave to everyone.”
“That could work,” Meri said. “As long as it’s anchored.”
“Yes,” I said. “Bolted if possible.”
Kitty blinked. “You’re saying words like bolted now.”
“I had a very practical conversation,” I said.
“With the cop,” Kitty said lightly.
“With someone who understands how to put together a float,” I replied.
Meri smiled faintly.
“And signage?” Kitty asked.
“Small,” I said. “Tasteful. Just the inn’s name. Maybe a wreath on the front of the truck.”
Kitty clapped once. “We can make that.”
“Yes,” I said. “That’s why I need you.”
Meri set her book aside again. “What do you need from us, specifically?”
The question was gentle, but it caught me off guard anyway. I wasn’t used to asking for help in neat categories.
“I need hands,” I said honestly. “And opinions. And someone to tell me when I’m overthinking.”
Kitty raised her hand. “I was born for this.”
Meri nodded. “I can source materials.”
I exhaled slowly, relief spreading through me. “Thank you.”
Kitty waved it off. “You drove a truck today. You’ve earned backup.”
That made something warm twist in my chest again. I stood and wandered toward the small window, looking out over the quiet street below. The inn’s lights glowed softly, steady and patient.
I replayed the drive again, unbidden. The way the engine had sounded when I finally stopped fighting it. The way Ephram had stayed calm, even when I stalled again and again. The way he hadn’t grabbed the wheel or talked over me or rushed me through the hard part.
I hated how much that mattered.
“Stop that,” I muttered to myself.
“What?” Kitty asked.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, turning back around.
Meri studied me . “You’re overthinking again.”
“I do that,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied. “But now you’re doing it with… momentum.”
I frowned. “Is that bad?”
“No,” she said. “Not always.”
Kitty flopped back onto the floor. “So tomorrow morning, we decorate.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And tomorrow afternoon, parade logistics,” she continued.
“Yes.”
“And tomorrow evening, we remain alert for Collin sightings,” she finished.
I laughed. “Yes.”
Meri folded her hands together. “About that.”
I looked at her.
“The pact,” she said. “We should rehearse.”
Kitty’s eyes lit up. “Oh, absolutely.”
I stared at them. “You want to rehearse extracting each other from conversations.”
“Yes,” Kitty said.
Meri nodded. “Briefly.”
Kitty jumped up and pointed at me. “Okay. I am Collin.”
I groaned. “No.”
“Too late,” she said, already puffing herself up. “Lydia, might I trouble you for a word—”
“Meri,” I said quickly.
Meri stood immediately. “Lydia is needed in the kitchen.”
“Urgently,” Kitty added, breaking character to grin.
Meri took my arm and steered me three steps away.
I burst out laughing. “That was fast.”
“Efficiency is key,” Meri said.
Kitty resumed her Collin posture. “But surely—”
“Kitty, it’s your turn,” Meri said calmly.
Kitty grabbed my other arm. “Bathroom emergency.”
We dissolved into laughter again, the sound bouncing off the walls.
“Okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I feel safer already.”
“That’s the point,” Meri said, reclaiming her seat.
The apartment settled again, quieter now, cozier. I felt the day finally starting to loosen its grip.
“I’m proud of you,” Meri said suddenly.
Kitty nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
“For the truck,” Kitty clarified. “And for not letting today beat you.”
I nodded, the words landing deeper than she probably realized.
Eventually, the conversation drifted. Kitty started talking about ribbon colors. Meri reopened her book. I leaned back and let the sound of them fill the room.
When I finally stood to go to bed, my body felt heavy in the best way. Earned tiredness from an honest effort.
Tomorrow would be busy. The float still wasn’t built. Collin was still downstairs, still watching, still waiting.
But tonight, I had driven a truck.
And tomorrow, I wouldn’t be doing any of it alone.