Chapter 19 #2
“Aurora, these are my friends,” Ivy says warmly.
“This is Olivia,” she gestures to a tall, blonde woman with soft curls and a look that says she’s not here to mess around.
“Sloane,” she adds with a nod to the woman next to her, a brunette with a sharp jawline and a smile that’s both approachable and knowing.
“And Delaney,” Ivy finishes, pointing to the final woman, who is strikingly petite but exudes a fierceness that immediately draws my attention.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling a little out of place, like I’ve just stumbled into some kind of secret society. But the smiles they give me are warm, not intimidating. There’s a comforting air about them, like they’ve seen it all and still come out on top. “Nice to meet you all.”
Olivia gives me a friendly smile, her hand resting on her slightly rounded belly.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Aurora,” she says. “We’ve all heard a lot about you.”
I blink, surprised. “You have?”
Sloane, leaning against the counter, chuckles. “Don’t worry, it’s all good things. Well, mostly good.”
She winks at Ivy, who laughs.
I raise an eyebrow. “Mostly?”
“Okay, fine, all good,” Sloane concedes. “But we’re all curious about you. And it looks like you could use a friend right about now.”
Her tone is light but genuine, and I can tell she’s not just speaking for herself.
Delaney, her arms crossed in front of her with a quiet confidence, speaks up. “You’ve been through a lot recently. And if there’s one thing we know around here, it’s that this town likes to spin things around. It’s exhausting.”
I nod, my shoulders sagging a little. “That’s one way to put it. It’s like no matter what I do, I’m either being watched or judged. I’m not sure what’s worse.”
Olivia’s eyes soften, and she rests a hand on my arm. “Welcome to the club. Trust me, this town loves to create stories. But we’re not about that. We’re about real talk, real people.” She gestures to her growing belly. “Right now, I’m just trying to survive and avoid the drama.”
I laugh, the tension in my shoulders easing a little. “I can get behind that.”
Sloane’s expression softens too, her gaze thoughtful. “You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. But that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder it all alone.” She pauses before adding, “It’s okay to lean on people, especially when it’s not your mess to begin with.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Delaney cuts in. “Come on, Aurora. Let us be your friends. Tell us what’s going on.”
There’s a kindness about the way she says it, like she’s offering a chair instead of asking for gossip.
I look at the four of them.
Ivy, who looks like she would absolutely start a revolution but make it cute.
Olivia, warm and grounded, one hand unconsciously resting on the barely there bump beneath her “Mama To Be” T-shirt, already in protective mode.
Sloane, much more pregnant and carrying it like a CEO with a quarterly plan and zero tolerance for nonsense.
Delaney, small but unshakeable, arms folded, prepared to defend anyone at this table without hesitation.
And Lani, hovering nearby with a dishtowel and the energy of a woman who absolutely pretends not to listen while hearing everything.
I exhale.
“Okay,” I say. “But if I spiral, someone hand me a pastry.”
“Already planned,” Lani says, sliding a blueberry muffin into range as if she’s deploying emergency equipment.
I take a sip of my latte and dive in.
“They’re reviewing The Hollow’s license,” I say. “Benjamin Wren made it sound like Ryder is personally smuggling bedlam into the town square.”
Sloane snorts. “Benjamin once tried to shut down the farmers' market because the goat yoga lady didn’t file a form in triplicate.”
I blink. “There’s goat yoga?”
“Focus,” Delaney says gently, though her lips twitch.
Olivia leans forward. “He’s positioning. He does this. Finds a weak seam, tugs.”
“We’re not a weak seam,” I say automatically.
Sloane arches a brow. “Emotionally? Or legally?”
I hesitate.
“Both?” I offer.
Ivy slides into the booth beside me, hip bumping mine like we’ve known each other longer than we have. “Here’s the thing about Benjamin. He doesn’t care about safety. He cares about influence. If he can make himself look like the gatekeeper of ‘community standards,’ he gets louder.”
“Louder than Dottie?” I ask.
All of them grimace.
“Dottie just posted a slow-mo clip of you standing up,” Lani says helpfully.
My eyes widen. “Already?”
“Caption says, ‘Mysterious Woman Defends Controversial Bar Owners.’ There are sparkles.”
I drop my head to the table.
Sloane reaches over and pats my hair. “Congratulations. You’re the main character.”
“This is not the genre I ordered,” I mutter into the wood.
Olivia laughs softly. “Trust me. Small towns cycle through villains fast. Last year, it was the bakery because they used almond milk.”
“Almond milk is polarizing,” Delaney says solemnly.
I lift my head slowly.
“This feels different,” I say. And this time, I don’t stop there. “It feels targeted. Like this isn’t just about paperwork.”
They go quiet in that attentive way again.
“He implied trouble would follow Ryder,” I continue. “Like it’s inevitable. Like he knows something.”
Sloane’s expression sharpens. “Implied how?”
“Subtle,” I say. “Predictive. Like he’s waiting for something to happen.”
I stare into my coffee.
“And it’s not just the meeting,” I say quietly.
They wait.
“I came here to scatter my grandmother’s ashes,” I continue. “That was the plan: stay for a couple of weeks. Get closure. Leave.”
Olivia’s eyes soften immediately.
“I wasn’t supposed to stay,” I say, a little breathless now that it’s coming out. “I wasn’t supposed to get involved. I definitely wasn’t supposed to start working at a bar owned by three men with… history.”
Sloane’s mouth curves. “And yet.”
“And yet,” I echo.
“I keep telling myself it’s temporary,” I admit. “That I’m just helping with events. That I’m just… filling time. But I’ve painted walls. I’ve planned fundraisers. I’ve moved above The Hollow for the time being…”
“That’s a sign,” Ivy says gravely. “Trust me, I wasn’t supposed to stay either. I was just visiting my brother.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
She grins.
“I don’t know who I am here,” I say, the words spilling faster now. “Am I the girl passing through? Am I the girl who scattered ashes and left? Or am I the girl who stood up in a gym and defended a bar that technically isn’t hers?”
Delaney leans forward slightly. “What do you want to be?”
That’s the worst question.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“And that’s okay,” Olivia says immediately. “Grief rearranges you. You’re allowed to take a minute to figure out who you are after it.”
That lands deeper than the council meeting ever could.
“I thought scattering her ashes would feel like an ending,” I admit. “But it didn’t. It felt like… a door.”
Sloane nods once. “Endings are usually administrative. Doors are emotional.”
“That’s obnoxiously accurate,” I say.
“Thank you.”
I swallow.
“And now there’s this review. This scrutiny. And part of me wants to run because this is exactly the kind of mess I didn’t come here for.”
“But?” Ivy prompts.
“But,” I say slowly, “another part of me is angry. Because I watched Ryder stand there and not flinch. And I watched Finn stop joking. And I watched Zane go still in that way he does when he’s calculating exits.”
They all clock that.
“And I thought,” I continue, “if someone is going to try to box them in with gossip and fear, I don’t want to be the person who quietly slips out the side door.”
“Okay,” Sloane says finally, businesslike. “So you’re grieving. You’re falling for a town you weren’t planning to love. And now there’s political drama.”
“When you say it like that…”
“It sounds easy,” Olivia interrupts gently.
I blink at her.
Delaney nods. “Staying when it would be easier to leave? That’s not weakness.”
“It’s inconvenient,” I mutter.
“Most brave things are,” Ivy says. “Plus, you have us now, if it’s friends you want…”
Lani sets another napkin down in front of me as if I might cry, which is rude but thoughtful.
“Has anything happened outside of town meetings?” Delaney asks.
I hesitate.
Truck.
Window latch.
Being watched without being touched.
“Yes,” I admit. “Little things. Enough to make you question if you’re paranoid.”
Sloane doesn’t even blink. “Paranoia’s underrated. It’s just pattern recognition with better PR.”
Olivia nods. “You don’t ignore your gut. Especially not when it lines up with behavior.”
“You’re all being very calm about this,” I say.
Ivy smiles sweetly. “Oh, we’re not calm. We’re just strategic.”
That should not be comforting.
It is.
Sloane straightens. “Worst case scenario, Benjamin pushes a review and tries to rattle people.”
“Best case,” Olivia adds, “The Hollow passes everything, and he looks dramatic.”
“Middle case,” Delaney says, “is noise. Social pressure. People choosing sides.”
Olivia nods. “Which means community matters.”
I blink. “Community?”
Ivy gestures around the shop. “Us. The farmers' market crowd. The moms. The small business owners. The people who actually go to trivia night and know what that place feels like.”
Sloane gives me a look. “Reputation isn’t built in council meetings. It’s built in kitchens and coffee shops.”
Olivia smiles gently. “You’re not alone in this, Aurora. Whether you meant to or not, you tied yourself to us when you tied yourself to them.”
“And we protect our own,” Delaney says simply.
“At three months pregnant, I’m hormonal and stubborn,” Olivia says lightly.
“At five months, I’m hormonal and terrifying,” Sloane adds. “No one will want to mess with me.”
“Correct,” Delaney agrees.
“And we have zero patience for men in blazers who say ‘optics,’” Ivy finishes.
I laugh before I can stop myself.
The tension in my chest loosens.
“What do I do?” I ask quietly.
Olivia doesn’t hesitate. “Keep showing up.”
Sloane adds, “Don’t overcorrect.”
Delaney says, “Don’t retreat.”
Ivy grins. “And maybe host a wildly wholesome event at The Hollow just to annoy him.”
My eyes light up.
“A bake sale,” I say slowly.
“Weaponized muffins,” Lani calls.
“Family movie night,” Olivia adds.
“Charity raffle,” Delaney suggests.
Sloane points at me. “You’re an event planner. Turn ‘safety concern’ into ‘town hub.’”
The panic shifts into possibility.
I look around at these women, this unexpected, formidable, cinnamon-scented coalition, and I feel my insides settle into place.
I came here to say goodbye.
To scatter ashes.
To close a chapter.
Instead, I painted walls. Planned events. Defended a bar. And apparently joined a small town war over “standards.”
And maybe I didn’t just come here to let something go.
Maybe I came here to start something.
And if this is high school with better lighting?
I just found the right table to sit at.