Chapter 9 #2
I perked up immediately. “Oh my gosh. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m looking for.
A food truck is perfect—visible, easy, and everybody loves ice cream.
We’ll get you on the vendor list first thing Monday.
” I glanced around the shop, the hum of conversation and clink of spoons filling the space.
“Honestly, Maggie, you’re already doing something right.
This place kind of feels like the Central Perk of Willowbrook—somewhere people actually want to hang out. ”
Maggie laughed, waving me off, though her cheeks flushed a little.
“Look at you, flattering me while roping me into paperwork. I like you.” She tapped her order pad against the table.
“Alright, I gotta get back behind the counter before the next rush, but we’re not letting you escape too easily.
Tomorrow night—Cookout and game night at Sarah and Matt’s. ”
“Oh, yes! Perfect plan! Oh, you have to meet the rest of the gang!” Sarah chimed in.
“I’d love to.” The words slipped out before I could overthink them. Still, saying yes to one little get-together didn’t mean I was suddenly part of some small-town sisterhood with matching casserole dishes and lifelong vows.
This was just an evening. A couple hours. A chance to be social instead of reorganizing my gel pens by color gradient like a deeply unwell person.
For now, saying yes felt safe enough. Cute, even. Nothing life-changing.
“Perfect,” Rachel said, raising her spoon like a toast. Sarah joined her, smiling that warm, steady smile.
Maggie winked at me, then spun on her heel and disappeared into the swirl of kids and customers, leaving the three of us with our sundaes and the sense that, somehow, I’d just been claimed.
I swirled my spoon through my melting sundae, letting their easy laughter wash over me.
Friends since childhood, kids and husbands, and a whole history that tied them together.
For a second, I felt that old hollow space in my ribs—the one that reminded me I’d never had that kind of forever.
Then I straightened, pasted on my best I-belong smile, and leaned back in my seat like I owned the booth.
“So,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and twirling my spoon between my fingers, “what do people do for fun around here when it’s not fair season? Please don’t say tractor parades, because I saw that situation on my way in.”
Rachel laughed so hard she nearly choked on her sundae. “Okay, yeah, that’s… like, half of it. Tractors and football. Sometimes tractors at football.”
“And church potlucks,” Sarah added, smiling as she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Lots and lots of casseroles.”
We all cracked up, spoons clinking against glass. For a second, it didn’t feel like I was the outsider with the briefcase and the five-point plan. It felt like I’d been sitting in booths like this with them for years.
“I gotta head out,” Sarah said after a while, sliding from the booth. “Matt’ll be home with the kids any minute, and bedtime is a two-person job.”
Rachel groaned. “Fine, fine. I should get going, too. Need my beauty sleep and all. But tomorrow night, we’re on, yes? It’s a whole thing—food, laughter, usually someone ends up crying because they lose at Pictionary.”
Sarah grinned. “That someone is usually Rachel.”
“Lies and slander,” Rachel said, flicking her straw wrapper at her. Then she turned to me. “You want me to pick you up tomorrow?”
“I’m on Mulberry Street,” I said, wiping the table with my napkin. “The little yellow rental with the porch.”
Rachel snorted. “Oh, I know exactly where you live. News travels fast around here.”
I laughed, already nodding. “Then yes—pick me up. Sounds great.”
They cheered, clinking their glasses together again before leaving. Maggie called over from behind the counter as she refilled a soda. “So nice meeting you, Lily! See ya tomorrow!”
By the time I left Scoops, Willowbrook was settling into that slow, Saturday-night quiet—porch lights flicking on one by one, kids chalking hopscotch grids across the sidewalks, someone’s screen door creaking open and shut.
I carried the faint sugar-sweet smell of ice cream with me all the way back down the block to my car.
Carol was on her porch when I pulled into the driveway, a throw blanket around her shoulders despite the mild evening. She lifted a hand in greeting, a soft smile pulling at her mouth.
“Well, if it isn’t our big city miracle worker,” she said as I walked over to her porch.
I laughed, easing down onto the chair beside her. “Miracle worker might be a stretch. But the meeting went better than expected. And the setup at Calloway’s actually… worked. People were excited. Kayla and Jason were rock stars. I even made a couple of new friends today.”
Her smile warmed, proud and a little wistful all at once. “I’m not surprised. Folks here can be slow to warm up, but once you’re in… you’re in.”
I didn’t say what I was really thinking—that I’d gotten pretty good at being the girl people liked instantly, the fun one, the fresh air in a stale room. It was easy when you knew you weren’t sticking around long enough for anyone to notice the cracks.
Winning people over quickly was survival once.
Now it was just habit.
I leaned back, letting the wooden slats press into my shoulders. “Yeah. It felt… good. Now all I’ve got left to do is win over the bookstore grump.”
Carol’s laugh cracked the quiet, low and knowing. “Ethan’s… complicated. But give him time. He needs someone to ruffle his feathers every now and then.”
Her words sent a jolt through me, igniting a mix of excitement and apprehension. Could I really be the one to break through that tough exterior? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying. I quickly pushed the thought aside, forcing a smile and changing the subject.
“So tell me, how long have you been queen of this porch? Because judging by the way everyone waves at you on their evening walk, I’m starting to think you came with the deed.”
She chuckled. “Longer than you’ve been alive, honey. I came here right out of college and never left. Taught fourth grade for thirty years before I retired. Whole town’s passed through my classroom at one point or another.”
That caught my attention. I straightened, turning toward her. “Wait. Fourth grade? You mean you had Rachel, Maggie, and Sarah in your class?”
Carol’s eyes lit with a fondness so warm it almost glowed. “Oh, those three? Yes. I still remember those three huddled together, always sharing secrets, at recess under the big oak tree. They still stop by to see me every week, just like they did when they were ten. Once my student, always my kid.”
I smiled, my chest tugging at the certainty in her voice.
Claimed. Kept. Just like that. A warm ache bloomed beneath my ribs, both yearning and fear tangled together.
What would it even feel like to belong to a place so completely?
To wake up every morning knowing exactly where, and who, you were supposed to be?
The thought made me dizzy with longing and terrified all at once.
I pushed the thought aside, leaning forward with a grin. “Honestly, Carol, you're better at selling Willowbrook than any marketing campaign I could dream up. The whole town practically glows when you talk about it.”
She laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, hush. I’ll stick to my chalkboards. You just work your magic, sweetheart.”
“Deal.” I stood, slipping my blazer over my arm. “Thanks for the welcome committee. I’ll let you get back to your evening, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Lily. Really glad you’re here.”
“Night,” I said, flashing her one last smile before turning down the walk.
By the time I let myself into the little house, the air had cooled and the cicadas were starting up in the trees. I dropped my blazer over the back of a chair, kicked off my heels by the door, and padded barefoot across the creaky floorboards.
I set my briefcase on the table and examined the sign-up sheets.
So many slots were already filled—loopy cursive, blocky print, and Kayla's telltale glitter pen additions.
My finger traced Sarah's neat script, then Rachel's hasty flourish.
Carol had called them "her kids" so matter-of-factly, like belonging was something that just happened, not something you had to earn.
I told myself I was proud of the day—because I was. The pitch landed. The shop buzzed. I’d made friends without even trying. All the boxes I’d mentally listed that morning? Checked off and color-coded. From a business standpoint, it was a win.
So why did it feel like more than that? Why did hearing Sarah talk about her husband, or hearing Carol talk about her students, or seeing Kayla light up at the idea of a concert—make something in my chest ache?
For a minute, I let myself sit with the ache that always came when I thought about how different things could’ve been. One whole minute of quiet, of letting the hollow places in me breathe. Then I blew out a breath, snapped my fingers, and marched over to my stereo. Enough. Sad-girl time was up.
I popped in my perfectly curated mix CD, and within seconds, Aqua was bouncing through the speakers, bright and ridiculous, promising we were all living in a “Barbie Girl” world.
As I cranked the volume, I spun barefoot across the creaky floorboards, laughing to no one but myself.
This was me—unapologetically alive in a place that still felt more foreign than familiar.
But as the music filled the space, I couldn’t stop thinking about Ethan’s intense gaze, how he managed to challenge me without saying a word.
I hated that he could distract me so easily, that one look from him could rattle the confidence I worked so hard to maintain.
I wasn’t here to settle in; I was here to do a job.
But if I was going to stay focused, I needed to figure out how to keep one stubborn, infuriatingly handsome man from taking up so much space in my head.