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“I remember loving it when I was little,” Mollie replies, pushing at one of her forks with her first finger. “I still didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I do now.”

“Right.” Aubrey picks up her menu. “So what changed your tune about Mollie, Cash? Other than the fact that my daughter is about to inherit millions of dollars?”

“Jesus Christ, Mom.” Mollie stares at her. “At least let us order our drinks before you make a scene.”

Aubrey splays her fingers. “Why beat around the bush? I have a two thirty I need to make.”

My chest twists at the pain that flickers across Mollie’s face.

“Please don’t be like this,” she pleads. “If you’re not going to give him a chance, we’ll leave.”

“And go where?” Aubrey leans across the table. “I’ve raised you your entire life, Mollie. I know you better than anyone. You belong in Dallas. You deserve opportunity, and freedom, and…” Her voice wobbles. “To be around like-minded people. Small towns are where dreams go to die.”

“That’s not right,” Mollie replies thickly.

Aubrey shakes her head. “I’m not wrong.”

Grabbing Mollie’s hand, I give it a squeeze. “Mollie does belong in Dallas. Aubrey, you’re not wrong about that.”

That gives Aubrey pause. She blinks, looking at me. “Are you…are y’all moving in together? Into your condo?” She turns to look at Mollie, who looks at me, a confused look on her face.

I squeeze her hand again.Stay with me.

Mollie’s throat works as she swallows. She squeezes back.Okay.

“Life in Dallas suits Mollie. I’ve seen that firsthand. Bellamy Brooks was born and bred in a city. And now that y’all are about to launch your biggest and, in my humble opinion, best collection yet?—”

“You’ve seen it.” Aubrey’s words come out like an accusation, but I sense the question there.

I dip my head. “I have. It’s incredible.”

“It is. Which is exactly why Mollie needs to be here, in Dallas, to launch it. The publicity she and Wheeler will get from local boutiques alone—oh, hello.” Aubrey glances at the server over her shoulder before looking at us. “Are we ready to order?”

I motion to Mollie. “You ready, honey?”

I don’t miss the way she bites her lip. “I am. You?”

“Yes.”

The girls order wine. When I suggest we make it a bottle since I’ll be having some, too, Aubrey’s expression appears slightly less sour. But it’s when Mollie orders her food after her mom requests a salad that things get really interesting.

She asks the server for a “tavern burger,” which, apparently, is a fancy cheeseburger with two patties, topped with some kind of special sauce. Yes to a side of fries, yes to cheddar cheese, yes to the sauce and the pickles and ketchup.

“I’ll have the same,” I say, handing my menu to the server.

Aubrey, though, narrows her eyes at her daughter. “Mollie, isn’t that going to hurt your stomach? The gluten and the cheese?—”

“They don’t bother me anymore.” Mollie adjusts the napkin on her lap. “As a matter of fact, I’m not sure they ever bothered me. I’ve been eating pretty much everything at the ranch, and I haven’t had a stomachache in weeks.”

Aubrey blinks. “Really?”

“Really. I think…” Mollie waves her hand. “Before I went to Hartsville, I think I knew on some level that I was unhappy, but I didn’t see a way to change anything. I felt like I was doing life right, except my body was screaming at me that I wasn’t.”

“And now you think you are doing it right, because your stomach doesn’t hurt.” Aubrey’s expression is difficult to read.

Mollie looks at me. Looks down at her plate. “I love the ranch, Mom. I know that wasn’t your experience, but living in Hartsville…” She looks at me again. “It’s been healing? That sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. I just feelbetterafter being there. I feel good here too—don’t get me wrong. I like both places. I think I need them both, which is the issue.”

Our wine arrives. Aubrey takes a long, quiet pull from her glass.