Page 9

“I’m glad you’re back. I mean it. I’m here for you.” The moment stretched, too loaded for comfort, heavy enough to give me hope.

The way she looked at me was new, different, almost like I was an equation she couldn’t solve.

Maybe that was wishful thinking. But I took the steps by two, lighter in my boots.

At the truck, I peered up. “Wow. Check out these stars. Bet New York doesn’t have a view like this.”

She stepped down to the first stair and peeked, her laugh light on the summer breeze.

“Wow, is right. I forgot how many there are. In the city, too many bright lights cut off the view. I missed this sky.” As if the younger, carefree Lacey had returned, she bounded out to the yard where she twirled, arms outstretched, face tipped to the moon.

I didn’t have words for the beauty before me. Didn’t need them. Resolve slapped me upside the head.

I’d made my presence known to her, offered my help—and there was no going back.

If it took reminding her every single day what was here for her—andwho—I’d do everything in my power to convince her to stay.

With me.

Now and beyond this hot summer in Texas.

5

COFFEE AND COMPLICATIONS

LACEY

I steppedinto Goodson’s Java Co., and the scent of coffee beans nearly bowled me over like a tornado. The farmhouse interior fit well in this ranching community—old green tractor parts decorated the walls, surrounded by barnwood planks, dried floral arrangements, and black-and-white photos from around the region. Yellow-checked tablecloths under plastic brightened the dark wood tables, each anchored by honeycomb candles in mason jars.

Cute but not overdone. Just right—and surprising that Carson had put this together. He had help, I assumed… from Emme?

It had always been his dream to do something like this. And now here I was, stepping into it.

After last night’s fiasco, I’d hoped we could talk. I simply wanted to catch up on life with my old friend—and thank him for everything he’d done at Mom’s house.

Although, while I showered this morning, the towel bar pulled clean off the wall. Then I discovered a leak beneath the kitchen sink. And in the daylight, the pretty blue paint Mom had once used on the porch appeared worn and tired.

I didn’t have a plan. But with a growing list of things to fix, I figured I could at least take care of them while I figured out my life. Maybe sell the place?

No. My stomach lurched at the thought.

As I cried myself to sleep last night, I came to terms with one thing: Carson had moved on. While I stayed away, he’d built a life here. Or maybe he’d never really been mine in the first place.

I still didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I could use a friend. Someone to talk to. I thought maybe Carson could still be that—assuming Emme didn’t mind.

Or maybe I could befriend her too.

Yep. That’d be me—becoming their third wheel. The single friend they’d invite along on outings or try to fix up with others out of pity. Just great.

For a Saturday morning, the café buzzed. Half the dozen tables were filled. I spotted a few familiar faces from high school, but I definitely stood out in my New York style—black linen pants, heels, pin-tuck blouse, a sweater draped around my shoulders, silk scarf tying up my ponytail.

I slipped off my designer sunglasses—a bargain find I’d hunted for like buried treasure at a designer warehouse—and scanned the tables, hoping to spot Carson.

No luck.

I stepped to the counter and smiled at the young woman working there. Her name tag readHailey, and I vaguely remembered her from high school choir—maybe a year or two behind me.

“Morning. Is Carson around?” I asked.