Chapter 13 #2
The conversation drifted into whether Frank should add the brownies to the permanent menu, which became a debate about whether the diner menu needed updating at all, which somehow became Emily and Evan disagreeing about whether their mom's lasagna was better than Frank's chili, which was clearly a very old argument with very established positions.
I pulled out my phone. Two hours had gone by already. The market started at eight, but I needed to be up at five to have time to do my morning chores.
One brownie. Then home.
Frank reappeared with a plate. Six brownies, cut thick, still steaming faintly at the edges. He set them in the center of the table.
The smell hit first. Dark and rich, with something underneath it, the espresso, warm and slightly bitter, cutting through the sweetness just enough.
I reached for one.
The edges were crisp and the center gave way entirely, dense and fudgy, and the salt hit at the very end, just a flicker of it, and I closed my eyes for a second.
“Well?” Frank was watching us all with his arms crossed, performing patience badly.
“Frank.” I looked up at him. “These need to be on the menu.”
“That's what I thought.”
The table agreed loudly and at length, and Frank looked satisfied enough to float back to the kitchen.
I ate the rest of my brownie and told myself that was it. One brownie as promised. I'd been good. I'd shown up, I'd laughed, I'd participated, and now I was going home like a person with responsibilities.
Then I looked at the plate.
One brownie left. Sitting there. Warm, fudgy, criminally good.
“Okay,” I said. “How are we doing this?”
“Doing what?” Abby asked.
I pointed at the plate.
Five people looked at one brownie.
“We cut it,” Emily said immediately.
“Into five pieces?” Evan's expression made his feelings clear.
“You cannot cut a brownie that size five ways. That's crumbs,” Nate added.
Emily nodded. “Okay, he's right.”
“There's a very elegant solution to this.” Nate leaned back in his chair. “Saddest story wins.”
Evan frowned. “What?”
“It's from Notting Hill.” I smiled at Nate. “The dinner scene.”
“Never seen it.”
“Evan.” Abby stared at her fiancé.
“What? It's a rom-com.”
“Only the greatest rom-com,” I corrected. “Okay, fine. Saddest story gets the brownie. Who's going first?”
Everyone looked at Evan.
He spread his hands. “What?”
“Go on,” Emily said.
He leaned back, completely unbothered. “I've got nothing. I'm marrying the most beautiful girl in Alder Creek in a few weeks. Life's good.”
The table erupted. Emily booed first, loud and immediate. Abby covered her face with both hands, laughing. Nate slow-clapped twice before stopping.
“That's disgusting,” I said. “Genuinely offensive. You didn't even try.”
“Zero shame,” Emily added.
“Zero,” Evan confirmed, reaching for his beer.
“Emily.” Nate gestured at her. “Your turn.”
She straightened. “I have spent the last month fighting four separate contractors to get our house finished before fall. Four. And one of them had the audacity to call me insufferable.”
“You are insufferable,” Evan said.
“What? No, I'm thorough.”
Nate was already grinning. “Em. That's your job.”
She pointed at him. “It is absolutely not—”
“You run a construction company.”
“That's not—”
“You literally get paid to fight contractors.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. “That brownie is mine and I will hear no further argument.”
“Rosie.” Nate turned to me, still grinning. “Please save us.”
All eyes landed on me.
I looked at the brownie. Then back at them. Four faces, open and waiting, expecting something throwaway. A bad date story, maybe. A cancelled flight. Something light enough to make them groan and hand over the brownie and move on.
I opened my mouth.
“I don't know if I'll make enough money to keep the farm running. The tax bill alone almost wiped me out. And if I fail—” I stopped, laughed a little.
“Walt gave me that farm because he believed I could do it.
He drove away with a clear conscience, thinking he'd left it in good hands.
If I have to pack up and go back to Seattle, I won't just lose the farm.
I'll spend the rest of my life knowing I let him down.”
Silence.
Abby's smile softened. Emily sat very still. Even Evan had the decency to look slightly pained.
Why did I say all of that?
“So.” I cleared my throat. “That's mine, I think.”
Silence held for exactly one second longer than comfortable.
Then Abby reached across and slid the brownie toward me.
“You earned it,” she said.
I reached for it.
“Hold on.” Nate's hand came down gently on my wrist. He was looking past my shoulder toward the entrance, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I think we need to hear one more.”
“Who—”
I turned around.
Cal stood just inside the door, still in his work jacket, hair slightly disheveled, scanning the room. His eyes found our table. Found me.
One corner of his mouth moved. Just barely. Like he hadn't quite decided to let it happen yet.
Something in my chest went loose and warm all at once, the way a held breath finally releases, and every single thought of self-doubt I'd had dissolved completely.
He crossed the room, stopped at the edge of our table, and looked at the remaining brownie.
“Am I late?”
“The mare?” I asked.
“Both fine. Foal's up already.” He glanced around the table. “What did I miss?”
“Saddest story competition,” Nate said. “One brownie left. Rosie was about to win.”
Cal looked at me.
“She had a pretty good one,” Abby offered.
“I had the best one,” I corrected.
His eyes stayed on mine a beat longer than necessary.
“Sit down, Cal,” Emily said, already sliding to make room. “It's your turn.”