Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Abilene
Sunday
Sometimes I wonder how other people walk into a crowd and just… belong. How they move through space like they already know their place in it.
I’ve never felt that way, especially not at the Sunday potluck.
Maybe it’s the number of people. Maybe it’s the noise.
Maybe it’s the pressure of small talk, the kind that feels like I’m wading through wet sand.
Standing here on the edge of the churchyard, fingers curled around a paper cup of sweet tea that’s already gone lukewarm, I feel like an outsider peeking through a window at someone else’s life.
From my little corner under the shade of a pine tree, I watch the world unfold.
Children dart between tables fast as sugar-fueled hummingbirds.
Betty Lou from the Buckhorn Diner yells at someone to make room for her casserole.
Music floats from a portable speaker, something twangy and cheerful that doesn’t match the tension in the air.
And the sky, dark around the edges, hangs heavy with the scent of oncoming rain.
No rain yet, though. Just the kind of thick, muggy pressure that makes my bees restless, and me too.
“Tryin’ to hide?”
The voice comes from behind me, and I flinch before turning, expecting a stranger.
Instead, I find Maeve with her brightly patterned scarf blowing in the wind like a flag, declaring she’s already in charge of everything happening here.
“I’m not hiding,” I lie softly.
Her eyebrows lift. She doesn’t believe me. “You’re standing under a tree, practically facing away from literally every person here.”
“I’m… observing.”
“Mmhmm.” She grins. “Well, observe yourself over to the dessert table at some point. We have three lemon bars leftover, and that’s a crime.”
I nod because Maeve expects a nod, and she squeezes my arm before sweeping off to reorganize a tablecloth that’s threatening to blow away.
She’s a cheerful hurricane, impossible to stop and impossible not to admire from a safe distance.
I breathe in slowly and look back at the crowd.
This would be easier if there were bees here.
Bees, I can read. Bees, I understand. With bees, the rules are clear.
With people… not so much.
A child shrieks a little too close, and I shift further under the tree, trying to look like I’m not… well, hiding.
But then:
“Miss Abilene!”
I blink.
And then I see them.
Eliza and Caleb.
Two tiny, unstoppable whirlwinds of energy barreling toward me across the grass.
Eliza’s blonde braids are coming undone, little wisps flying everywhere. Caleb’s shirt is untucked and missing a button that I’m fairly certain was there yesterday. Both are holding half-melted chocolate chip cookies in their fists.
I barely have time to put down my tea before they collide into my legs.
“Whoa, easy, easy! Hi!”
Eliza bounces on her toes. “Do you have any honey sticks?”
Caleb nods vigorously. “Please?” he adds as an afterthought.
“Of course.” I reach into the little canvas tote I brought, just in case. I always bring honey sticks to the potluck because, well… the twins always find me. “What flavors today?”
“Purple!” Eliza demands.
“Yellow!” Caleb says at the exact same time.
“Lavender and lemon again,” I say, handing each one. “Remember to pace yourselves.”
Eliza rips hers open with her teeth.
“We’re not pacing today,” she says proudly.
“She’s right,” Caleb adds. “Daddy said it’s a ‘no rules’ day.”
Oh no.
That sounds exactly like something Jesse would say.
The twins run off again, presumably to wreak havoc in their new, honey-fueled forms, but I don’t get the chance to escape back into my observing corner.
Because the second they run, their father appears.
Jesse jogs toward me, brushing a hand through his too-long hair, which curls just slightly at the ends from the humidity. His shirt is rumpled, his cheeks flushed from chasing the twins, and one of his boots has a suspicious smear of frosting on it.
And still, he looks unfairly good.
Life really is unjust.
“You’re a lifesaver,” he says, stopping in front of me with a breathless grin that hits me low in the stomach.
“It’s no problem,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“No, no. Don’t downplay it. Those two were about thirty seconds away from starting a small uprising.”
I laugh softly. “Honey sticks stop uprisings?”
He shrugs. “Yours do.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Well. I’m glad they help.”
“They help,” he repeats.
And suddenly the world feels warmer.
Jesse wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, glancing out over the crowd. “You, uh… you looked a little alone over here.”
“Oh.” My stomach pinches. “I’m okay.”
“I know. But it’s potluck law that nobody stands alone.”
“Is it?”
“Absolutely,” he says solemnly. “Punishable by having to eat Terry Johnson’s experimental chili.”
I smile. “That sounds intense.”
“You have no idea.”
He steps closer, just a little. Not enough to crowd me, but enough that I feel the space change.
Enough that I feel him.
“So,” he asks, leaning lightly against the tree trunk beside me, “why’re you over here instead of in the midst of everything?”
I pick at the rim of my paper cup. “Crowds aren’t… they aren’t my favorite.”
“Ah.” He nods. “You get quiet when you get overwhelmed?”
I blink.
He says it as if it’s not a flaw. It’s just… information. A detail. Something to understand, not fix.
“I guess,” I murmur.
He nudges my shoulder gently. “Nothing wrong with that. I get loud when I’m overwhelmed.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I talk too much. Make too many jokes. Try to distract myself.”
That… tracks.
“You seem comfortable.”
He lets out a single breathy laugh. “That’s what I want people to think.”
I look at him then.
Behind the grin, behind the mischief, behind the easy charm… there’s a tiredness there, too.
The wind shifts, carrying the smell of rain and the sharp whisper of pine. Jesse notices it too, and he looks up at the clouds, squinting.
“Storm’s getting closer,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.” The tension under my ribs tightens. “My bees felt it this morning.”
“Smart little things.”
“Smarter than us,” I agree, smiling faintly.
He grins. “I believe that.”
We stand there, just the two of us beneath the pine tree, the potluck bustling on the lawn like a different world entirely.
His shoulder is nearly brushing mine. His voice is warm and easy in my ears. And my heart is beating far too loudly for someone who is definitely not falling for her neighbor.
“So,” he says after a moment, rocking back on his heels, “if I asked you to come sit with me and the twins, would that be—”
“Yes,” I blurt.
His eyebrows shoot up.
My hands fly to my face as heat floods me from scalp to toes. “I mean, yes, that would be okay. I’m not, ugh. I’m not usually this direct.”
He laughs gently. “I like direct. Makes my life easier.”
Before I can think of a reply, two small voices shriek from across the yard.
“Daddyyyyyy!”
Jesse flinches. “That’s either the sound of joy or the sound of imminent disaster.”
I squint. “Caleb has frosting on his face.”
“Okay,” Jesse says, nodding, “so… disaster.”
We both watch as Eliza chases Caleb through the crowd with a plastic cup full of lemonade, sloshing sticky liquid everywhere she goes.
Jesse sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Those two will be the death of me.”
“They’re sweet,” I say, unable to stop the smile growing on my lips. “Insane, but sweet.”
He glances at me then, with a soft, warm expression. An expression that makes me feel seen in a way I’m not used to.
“You’re good with them,” he says.
“I like them,” I admit.
“They like you too. A lot.”
My chest does a strange, fluttery thing that I try to suppress.
“And,” he adds, quieter this time, “I like you, too.”
My breath catches.
He doesn’t seem to realize he said it out loud until the silence stretches between us, thick enough to hold. His eyes widen just slightly, as if he’s only just processed his own confession.
“I mean,” he says quickly, “I like talking to you. You’re easy to talk to. Comfortable. And funny. And you listen. And—”
“Jesse.”
He shuts up immediately, eyes bright with embarrassment.
I laugh softly. “It’s okay.”
His shoulders drop, relieved. And I do the unthinkable.
I step closer.
Just a tiny bit.
Just enough to let him know I’m not running away.
“Come sit with us,” he offers again.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He grins, this wide, radiant thing that makes his whole face light up, and somehow my heart manages to beat even faster.
He gestures for me to follow, and as we walk out from under the tree, the smell of rain intensifies. The clouds darken overhead, and a shiver runs through me, though not entirely from the storm.
The twins see us and sprint over, nearly tackling Jesse’s legs. He scoops one under each arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Family meeting!” he announces dramatically. “We have a guest.”
Eliza gasps. “Is it Miss Abilene?”
Caleb claps. “Yay!”
My heart melts so fast it’s a little embarrassing.
“Yep,” Jesse says, setting them down. “But you two have to behave.”
“We’re bein’ havin’,” Caleb insists.
Eliza nods. “We’re super havin’.”
“That’s not even close,” Jesse mutters.
I laugh, biting my lip.
We sit together on the blanket the twins dragged over—sun-faded, grass-stained, but soft. I smooth my hands over my knees, suddenly hyperaware of how close Jesse is.
He sits beside me, legs stretched out, leaning on his hands behind him, and I can feel the warmth from his body even though we’re not touching.
And the strangest thing happens.
I don’t feel anxious. Not like I usually do.
Because even though the world is noisy and the storm is coming and there are dozens of people everywhere… Jesse is easy.
Safe.
Warm.
He asks me questions.
Listens to the answers.
Laughs at the parts I meant to be funny.
And the twins snuggle up beside me like I’m someone they’ve known forever.
At one point, Eliza hands me a wildflower she picked and says, “It’s for the bees,” and I tuck it behind my ear, fighting tears at how small and kind her gesture is.
Jesse sees it. Smiles softly.
Doesn’t comment.
He doesn’t have to. Because I think I know what he’s thinking.
And maybe I’m starting to let myself think it, too.
The storm gathers overhead, the sky darkening like the valley is bracing for something big.
But for now, sitting on a soft blanket with honey stick wrappers at my feet, Jesse’s shoulder brushing mine, and two small children curled against my side…
I don’t feel alone. I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.