Page 21 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

T uesday morning brought with it an ordinariness that belied the excitement of the weekend. And last night.

The June sun had just started warming the streets of Pickwick Bend , its light gilding the brick storefronts in shades of amber and honey.

Main Street carried the steady hum of small-town life: the squeak of a screen door opening at The Mimosa Diner , the rhythmic clang of someone unloading crates at Fin to Fork , and the far-off laughter of kids playing in the park.

Rose stood in front of Southern Sips , waiting for the delivery guy who was, as usual, running late.

The smell of coffee grounds and sugar clung to her clothes from the morning rush, and she tapped her boot against the concrete, half-listening to Cindy inside chatting with a customer about peach preserves and town politics.

Her mind, though, was somewhere else.

More specifically, on the way Acen’s fingers had curled around hers the night before. Gentle . Certain . Like he wasn’t trying to convince her—just remind her.

And that was maybe even more dangerous.

She blew out a breath, tilting her head back toward the sky, when a voice cut through her thoughts.

“Earth to Rose .”

She blinked, snapping her gaze forward. Tasha stood there, balancing two to-go cups in a cardboard tray and looking suspiciously amused. The morning sun glinted off her earrings, and her bright floral blouse looked like something torn right from the pages of a summer catalog.

“Sorry,” Rose said, straightening. “ Was thinking.”

“About Acen , I assume?” Tasha handed her a coffee, extra cream. Just the way Rose liked it.

“Thanks. And maybe.”

Tasha smirked. “ You’re not as subtle as you think.”

Rose gave a dry laugh. “ Everyone in this town watches me like I’m a soap opera rerun.”

“Because you are a soap opera rerun. Childhood best friend. Secret heartbreak. Blonde villainess returning from exile. All we’re missing is Declan and Acen dueling it out over you at dawn and a dramatic thunderstorm confession.”

“Don’t tempt fate,” Rose muttered, though the corner of her mouth betrayed a twitch.

They sipped in silence for a moment, the buzz of Main Street humming around them: an old man calling his dog back from chasing a squirrel, the faint ding of the bell on The Mimosa Diner’s door, the sweet smell of buttered biscuits drifting into the street.

Then Tasha said, more seriously, “ Is it real this time?”

Rose stared into her coffee, watching the cream swirl like a slow storm.

“I don’t know. He feels real. Like the version of himself he should’ve been back then. Like he’s doing the work. But then I remember how fast it all fell apart. How fast I fell apart.”

Tasha’s expression softened. “ Trust is a stubborn thing.”

“And fragile,” Rose added. “ Especially when Briana’s sniffing around again.”

Tasha raised her brows. “ Oh , she’s not sniffing. She’s circling. I saw her talking to Declan at the Pickwick Inn last night. They were so intent on their conversation they didn’t even notice me.”

Rose’s head jerked up. “ Declan ? Why would she?—?”

Tasha lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “ She knows he likes you. Everyone knows. And if she can’t get to you through Acen , maybe she’ll try another way.”

Rose groaned, pressing her palm to her forehead. “ This town needs a drama tax.”

“You’d be the first one audited.”

Rose gave her a sharp look, but Tasha just grinned, clearly pleased with herself. Then , her grin faded into something a little more thoughtful.

“Truth is,” Tasha said, lowering her voice, “you should probably figure out what you want from Declan before Briana stirs that pot. You’ve been so focused on Acen being back that you’re ignoring the fact that Declan’s been here this whole time.

Watching , waiting, helping out when he can.

He’s not exactly subtle about being interested. ”

Rose shifted uneasily, heat creeping up her neck.

“ Declan’s … kind. And steady. He’s good for this town, opening that vet clinic.

Folks like him. But I don’t—” She paused, struggling to find words that didn’t sound ungrateful.

“ I don’t know if I feel that way about him.

At least, not the way he seems to feel about me. ”

“Then you need to tread carefully,” Tasha warned, her tone sharpening just a hair.

“ Because Declan strikes me as the type who could weather rejection just fine, but what he won’t tolerate is being played.

And Briana ?” She whistled low. “ She’s going to twist anything you do into evidence that you’re leading him on. ”

Rose scowled into her cup. “ You’d think we were still sixteen the way she acts.”

“Briana doesn’t just want to win,” Tasha said knowingly. “ She wants you to lose.”

The truth of that sank heavy in Rose’s chest

“I am supporting you,” Tasha said, holding up her cup like a toast. “ By reminding you that you are at the center of the Pickwick Bend social hurricane. And Declan ? He’s an unknown element.

Handsome , sure. Sweet with animals, obviously.

But he’s also new. Which means he doesn’t know all the old stories.

Briana can twist those any way she wants. ”

Rose worried her bottom lip. “ So what are you saying? That I should avoid Declan altogether?”

“No.” Tasha leaned closer, lowering her voice as a group of retirees shuffled by with fishing poles slung over their shoulders. “ I’m saying be careful. He might mean well. He probably does. But he’s still a man. And men get caught up in games they don’t understand.”

Rose thought about Declan’s easy smile, the way he had quietly shown up at the game to cheer the team on, how he always tipped extra at Southern Sips like he wanted to make sure he was welcome.

He seemed… steady. But then again, hadn’t Acen seemed steady once, before that summer had wrecked everything?

She swallowed. “ What if Declan’s not a game player? What if he’s?—”

“A safe option?” Tasha finished for her.

Rose gave a weak laugh. “ Yeah . Maybe .”

Tasha’s expression softened, though her eyes were sharp as ever. “ Honey , safe isn’t always the same as right. Don’t use him as a shield because you’re scared of getting hurt again. That’s not fair to him. Or to you.”

Rose let that sit heavy between them, her chest tightening. Tasha had always had a way of slicing straight to the heart of things, no matter how much Rose wanted to dance around them.

She finally sighed. “ You’re right. But I don’t even know what I want. Acen’s back, and it feels like the floor’s been pulled out from under me. Declan’s here, Briana’s circling, and the whole town is watching like it’s the county fair main event.”

“Then maybe,” Tasha said gently, “the only thing you can do is stop worrying about who’s watching and figure out what makes you breathe easier when the dust settles. Who makes you feel like you.”

Rose blinked at her, throat tight.

The delivery truck finally rumbled onto Main Street , breaking the moment. As the driver hopped down to start unloading crates of milk and sugar, Tasha patted Rose on the shoulder.

“Think on it,” she said. “ Acen may be the chapter you never finished, but Declan’s the one standing right here in the margins. Just … don’t let Briana be the one holding the pen.”

And with that, she headed back into the coffee shop, leaving Rose with a knot in her chest and more questions than answers.

That evening, Rose closed the coffee shop late, exhaustion tugging at her spine as she flipped the sign and locked the door.

Main Street had gone quiet, the daytime bustle traded for the hush of crickets and the occasional distant bark of a dog.

Streetlamps cast soft golden halos on the pavement, and the scent of honeysuckle drifted from someone’s trellis down the block.

She didn’t expect to see Acen’s truck parked by the curb.

Her heart gave an unsteady lurch, and before she could figure out what to do, he climbed out, holding a brown paper bag.

“You cooked?” she asked, one brow raised, suspicion mingling with surprise.

“Sort of,” he said, sheepish grin tugging at his mouth. “ I bribed the new diner guy into letting me take his peach cobbler. Apparently , it’s won awards.”

“That’s not dinner.”

“It’s therapy,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering. “ I thought you might need something sweet after wrangling caffeine-hungry locals and retirees all day.”

She considered, then took it. “ You’re lucky I didn’t already eat half a chocolate cake.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t bring a spoon and eat this in the truck alone.”

Rose chuckled despite herself, and they walked to the bench outside Southern Sips .

The bench was one she’d brought from the porch at home, still the forest green color her father had painted it when she was a child and kept freshly painted by her over the years.

She found herself oddly grateful to share it with Acen now.

They sat down, the paper bag crackling between them. He produced two plastic forks, and together they dug into the warm cobbler, passing it back and forth. The filling oozed with sticky sweetness, the peaches perfectly softened, the crust flaky. Rose let the sugar coat her tongue and sighed.

The sky had darkened to velvet, stars blinking faintly above as a few moths danced lazily near the lampposts.

“Your brother texted me,” Acen said casually, breaking the comfortable silence.

Rose paused mid-bite. “ Riley did?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘ Don’t screw it up this time or I’ll make you run sorry.’”

Rose burst out laughing, nearly choking. “ That’s the most brotherly blessing you’re going to get.”

“I’ll take it.”

They sat in silence a while longer, comfortable now, the kind that didn’t require constant talking. Acen leaned back, stretching his long legs out, and Rose mirrored him, both of them staring at the sky as if the stars might whisper answers.

Then Rose said softly, “ Do you remember that night we snuck out to watch the fireworks over the river?”

Acen smiled slowly, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. “ You wore that red tank top.”

She glanced at him, half embarrassed, half amused. “ You kissed me that night.”

“I wanted to kiss you again every day after that,” he said without hesitation.

Her heart tripped over itself, beating faster than she wanted to admit.

She didn’t say anything. Just passed him the cobbler.

But she didn’t pull her hand away when his brushed hers.

And in the stillness of the summer night, it felt like a promise neither of them dared to name.