Epilogue #2
1. Don’t waste even a drop.
2. Pumpkin-spice is a four-letter word.
3. Whipped cream is for pies.
4. You want fast, soulless coffee? Go to Starbucks.
5. Don’t want your barista to judge your life choices? Good luck.
“She’s the Grounds Guru in these parts,” a woman in her seventies, who didn’t look a day over forty said, her accent so similar to Queen Elisabeth Vivi expected her to gently wave her hand at the peasants.
She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who’d long stopped needing to prove herself. Silver threaded through her hair like deliberate strokes of light, and her clothes—simple, impeccable. She seemed to belong to another era of grace.
“So does that mean I’m boring and bland and predictable?” Vivi asked, embarrassment thick in her voice.
“Darling, authenticity suits you far better than embellishment. You’re strong, daring, and entirely capable on your own.”
Vivi breath caught and her eyes stung. It was just a silly comparison to coffee, but it was the nicest thing someone had said to her in a long time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I needed to hear that right now.”
Before she could say more, Jo was back. “Black neat, for New York,” she said and slid the cup across the bar. She crooked grin daring Vivi to say something else.
“The accent’s that bad?”
“It’s making my ears bleed.”
Vivi picked up the cup and took a deep breath of the steam and groaned. “This smells delicious. What is it?’ she asked taking a sip. The hot liquid stung deliciously as it slid down her throat, warming up her belly.
“Black Ivory coffee,” Jo said with a mischievous grin. “The beans are predigested by Thai elephants and pooped out.”
Vivi nearly spit it all over the Jo, who pointed to the sign over the bar. Right, ‘Don’t waste even a sip’. Vivi barely forced herself to swallow the coffee, gagging a little in the process.
“Welcome to Pine Ridge,” Jo said and then, with a salute, disappeared to help someone at the end of the bar.
She turned to thank the older woman, who had all but vanished, like a fairy godmother in Prada.
With no excuse left, Vivi took a seat at the bar that overlooked Main Street. The sun was setting, creating shadows that mimicked the forest of ponderosa pines lining the mountains surrounding the small rustic town.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Glow, what’s today’s Glow Up exercise?
” she asked her AI self-help coach, which she purchased on Instagram late one night after her boyfriend confessed he’d taken an overseas job—and sold his flat.
Their flat. Well, he owned it. But they’d shared it—for three years.
They’d shared the mortgage, the utilities, the broken dishwasher, the broken toilet, the remodel, and so much more. Stupidly, she’d never added her name to the title. Never insisted because she’d never wanted to make a fuss.
A chipper AI voice came back with, “Glow & Tell Daily Challenge: You have fifteen minutes to confess three secrets to three strangers. Singing along with Adelle in the shower doesn’t count.”
Okay, Vivi. Just three secrets to three strangers.
She had to get it right. There were only twenty-eight of her thirty days left to find an place to live and get her life in order.
At least the outline of a plan would be nice—or she’d have to admit defeat and move back in with her mother.
Even worse, if her mother’s guestroom filled up first, she’d have no choice but to follow the human embodiment of every bad decision Vivi had ever made—Lewis.
Sure, Singapore sounded exotic and tropical but, man oh man, it would feel like one more pound added to the albatross that had been wrapped around her neck for most of her adult life.
Talking to people IRL wasn’t her strong suit. Now, give her a computer, a stack of dating bios, access to the internet and she was damn eloquent. Poetic she’d been called. But right then she couldn’t even form a word.
Maybe if she wrote it down first.
She opened her notes app and began swiping this way and that, her fingers flying over the screen with hyper-speed from muscle memory.
Three secrets I’ve never told a soul
1. I’ve never had an orgasm with someone else in the room.
While true, it was too embarrassing to say aloud. Plus, the trick to successful admissions, like in dating bios, was to say just enough to get a visceral reaction without trauma dumping. And that was a story meant for her diary.
Vivi went to delete the confession and accidentally hit the speech button.
“Shit. Shit, shitty, shit, shit!”
Oh God. Abort mission. Delete. Undo!
But it was too late.
“I’ve never had an orgasm with someone else in the room,” Glow’s announced as if she were the authority on self-made orgasms.
Vivi’s eyes went wide.
The coffee shop went still.
Then a low whistle cut through the silence.
The whistler in question was a tall cup of coffee, with broad shoulders and a face that looked like it had been carved to annoy her.
From two stools over, he tipped his cowboy hat with the kind of slow grin that made her want to sink straight into the floorboards.
“Well now,” his voice was a lazy and flat like a true Montanan, “far as confessions go, that one sure beats ‘I stole a candy bar in second grade.’”
Her cheeks burned. “I meant—I didn’t mean—forget I said that. Well, that she said that.” Vivi held up the she in question.
“Can’t,” he said, his grin deepening until two deep dimples appeared. His gaze flicked to her designer cowgirl boots that still had the tag on them. “See, boots, some things a man just feels obligated to rectify. And lucky for you, I’m a fixer by nature.”
“Funny, Cowboy. You look more like the breaking-things type,” she volleyed back, surprised at the bite in her tone.
Vivi was a people-pleaser by nature. It went as far as apologizing to mannequins when she bumped into them.
She lived in constant fear of disappointing anyone, which meant she said “yes” more than she should, swallowed “no” like a bitter pill, and smiled even when her cheeks ached.
But with this man it was like her polite-filter was on the fritz.
He chuckled, a low, dangerous rumble that curled under her skin. “Guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to find out which.”
Again, he raised her hackled, a reaction even Lewis couldn’t stir in her. There was something about this guy that brought out her worst. And she didn’t like it
She snatched her purse off the bar top and stood to leave. Only her phone felt heavy in her hand.
This was only her second task, and she was considering giving up. Just like that. One embarrassing moment and she was ready to throw in the towel? Then she remembered what her mom had said just two days ago.
“Honey, this isn’t about running away, it’s about finally giving yourself permission to stop living for everyone else.
This is your chance to step outside that little box you’ve built, to get uncomfortable, and to dig deep until you figure out who you really are.
And who you want to be. For once in your life, be bold. ”
Vivi sat back down and turned to the stranger at the table behind her. He was Paul Bunyon’s bigger, twin brother. Logs for arms and a beer belly that threatened to spill out of his Grateful Dead shirt, the bar stool groaned under his weight as he turned to face her.
“Excuse me,” she said sticking out her hand.
“I’m Vivi and I have to tell three different secrets to three different strangers and it has to be a secret I’ve never told anyone.
I once ate an entire sheet-cake by myself.
In one sitting. Chocolate with raspberry filling.
No shame.” She put her fingers a centimeter apart. “Well, a little shame.”
“What’s your third secret,” Cowboy whispered from beside her. He’d taken it upon himself to scoot closer.
“What?”
“You said you need to tell three different secrets to three different strangers. What’s your third one?”
“I already told you one.”
“No, you told the entire bar one. Would you prefer to do that again?”
Vivi looked down at her watch. Twenty seconds and counting.
“It will be so much fun,” Paul Bunyon said and stood. “Can everyone quiet down. New York here has a confession for us all.”
The crowd fell silent once again and Vivi’s tongue went dry.
“Spill, spill, spill,” Einstein said, and the shop went wild with cheers. Before she knew it the entire bar had joined in the chant. Except Cowboy. Who was staring at her with a grin that was all charm and challenge.
Racoon eyes and all, Vivi stood.
A humorous chuckle and a few whistles came from the peanut gallery. Vivi cleared her throat and waited until there was silence. Then mumbled, “I accidentally flashed a whole restaurant because my skirt got caught on the chair. I stood, my dress stayed.”
“Can you speak up, honey,” Paul Bunyan said. Vivi cleared her throat and said in a raided whisper, “I accidently—”
“So we can hear you,” Cowboy said.
Taking a breath, Vivi blurted out, “I accidentally flashed a whole restaurant because my skirt got caught on the chair. I stood, my dress stayed.”
Bunyan raised his hand. “I’m Spud. I’ve been married twice, divorced once, and married my cousin’s sister on accident. Still counts.”
“That’s, um, very brave of you to admit,” Vivi said with a straight face.
Another hand went up. This one from behind the bar. It was a girl in her early-twenties who wore an oversized hoodie, pink highlighted hair, a nose ring, and a glossy pin that read, “Barista of My Own Life”. “I’m Annabelle.”
“Hi, Annabelle,” everyone shouted like this was an AA meeting.
“Sometimes I sneak chocolate chips into regular drip coffee when no one’s looking.”
“Wow, that’s quite a story,” Jo deadpanned. Annabelle went about wiping down the counter.
“Not as good as mine,” a handsome man in a ballcap said. “I once told a woman I loved her, and she left me standing at the alter in Vegas.” His eyes locked on Jo’s and when he finally smiled, it was slow, careful, as though warmth was something he’d had to relearn. “What’s your secret, Blue?”
“I once shanked a guy who asked me to spill my secrets,” Jo said and before Vivi knew what was happening, people were spilling their secrets to each other.
A small smile tilted her lips. She’d done this. She’d been bold and taken a big step forward and it had ignited people coming together. Maybe there was something to this Glow Up app.
If only it were that easy to fix her own life.
Cowboy leaned against the bar, one eyebrow quirked. “Want to know my secret?”
Vivi folded her arms, tapping her foot. “Pass.”
He chuckled, a low rumble that made her cheeks betray her with a faint blush. “Could be fun.”
“Fun?” she repeated. Nothing about sharing a secret with this man sounded fun. Secrets meant intimacy and the last thing she needed with a man—especially this man—was intimacy. “No thanks.”
Cowboy’s grin widened, mischievous and impossible to ignore. “Suit yourself, boots. But don’t come screaming at me when you walk out of here with those peach panties stuck to your ass.”
With a squeak, Vivi spun around like a dog chasing its tail. There it was. Her neon peach thong clinging to her rump by static electricity and karma.
#
“Mom, this is a mistake. The website lied. I swear the photos were taken in a parallel universe where ranches are charming and smell like cookies.”
“Oh, honey,” Gloria’s voice chimed. Even over a video call it was warm and homey. “It’s not a mistake. It’s rustic. It has character. You just need to give it a chance.”
Vivi’s eyebrows shot up. “Character? It looks like someone tried to build a set for a horror movie directed by a drunk carpenter. The ad promised a rustic, ranch getaway and, I quote, the perfect place to recalibrate and find inspiration and healing among the sweeping acres of wildflowers and wildlife. There’s a judgmental goat, a suspicious patch of mud, and that fence—if I lean on it, I might trigger the next apocalypse. ”
She flipped the phone screen so her mom could take in the horrific scene.
Gloria chuckled, the kind of laugh that made Vivi want to scream and laugh at the same time.
“You’ve spent your entire life bending yourself into knots to make other people happy.
Chasing someone else’s dreams, trying to be the solution to every problem.
When was the last time you did something just for you? ”
Vivi’s stomach twisted. She wanted to snap, to say, I don’t have time to figure myself out, I’m busy surviving this place, but the truth gnawed at her. “I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” Gloria said softly, her voice like a hug. “That’s why you’re there. Not for the barn or—whatever that shadow is behind the shed. You’re there to figure out who you are when nobody else is around.”
Vivi exhaled sharply, looking at the pile of hay and the suspiciously watchful rooster. “Mom, I feel like my entire identity just got kicked in the butt by a mule and left to ferment in the mud.”
“When your father left, I felt the same way. Like my whole identity was wrapped up in being a wife and a mom. I spent so much time becoming the woman people needed, I forgot how to be the woman I needed. I don’t want that for you,” Gloria said.
“Now, sleep on it. One night. Tomorrow, you can make decisions with a clearer head and maybe a little less manure on your shoes.”
Vivi glanced around the ranch again, her suitcase wheels covered with mud, her new boots already scuffed. “Fine. One night. But if I wake up tomorrow and the rooster has formed a militia, I’m leaving.”