Page 28 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

ABBY

Theo babbles as he bangs around plastic blocks, finally hitting the tower I built just for him. It topples and he lets out a shriek of glee that makes my chest go soft. It’s his current favorite thing: destroying block towers I make him.

I sit cross-legged on the porch beside him, one hand pressed flat to the sun-warmed wood like I need to steady myself.

Everything feels steady here. Quiet in a way that creeps up on you—soft breeze, distant lawn mower, the occasional flutter of birdsong.

The kind of quiet that gets under your ribs and makes you ache before you know why.

Inside, Mason’s on the phone. I can’t hear the words, just the low timbre of his voice. I pick up something about a busted Civic and my brother’s name.

I close my eyes for half a second. Breathe.

I’ve been here for a week.

Not officially. Not permanently. Not in a way that makes sense on paper.

But long enough that Mason stopped asking me if I’m coming over the next morning every night I leave.

Long enough that Theo reaches for me without hesitation.

Long enough that I don’t flinch anymore when I hear tires on the gravel driveway to my cabin.

It’s dangerous, how easy this is. How good it feels.

How much I don’t want to leave.

The screen door clicks open behind me, and I crane my neck to look at him.

Mason Porter fills out a doorway in a way that should be illegal.

All broad shoulders and tanned forearms, worn blue jeans and a faded black t-shirt hugging his frame.

He’s got a look on his face like he’s just walked into a room and forgotten why, but when he sees me, that line between his brows smooths out.

He sticks his phone into his pocket and stoops to the porch, picking up a stray block and rolling it between his fingers. “That was Beau,” he says, like it’s a normal thing, like my brother isn’t the human equivalent of a warning siren.

I arch a brow, bracing for whatever comes next. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just some new guy at The Alley, needed a consult on a racing strategy. He’s a new up-and-comer, trying to shave ten seconds off his lap time.

Beau’s stopping by with Vivie soon, since Eloise is heading to book club.

” He rolls the block toward Theo, knocking into the little tower I was making. It falls down, much to Theo’s delight.

“Yeah, I should probably go then.”

His eyes flick to Theo, then to me. “You don’t have to rush.”

But I do. I’m not supposed to be here.

Theo lets out a dramatic yawn and crawls over my leg. I brush his hair back and exhale. “I’ll be back later. What are you guys up to tomorrow?”

It’s an innocent enough question, but my heart doesn’t get the memo, kicking into an uneven rhythm as I wait for his response.

“Hanging out with you.”

He says it like it’s a dare, the edge of his mouth twitching, but there’s no sarcasm in it. I almost laugh, but the sound catches in my chest. I can’t look at him, not with the sun hitting the porch and Theo’s arms wrapped around my ankle making my heart do high-speed donuts in my ribcage.

“Great because Theo and I already made plans to sing along to the Hamilton soundtrack. He seemed pretty into my dramatic reenactment the other day.” I’d been toying around with my new guitar, which plays like an absolute dream. I still can’t believe that I got it for such a steal.

“Sounds like our afternoon is all set then,” Mason says, flashing me a smirk.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out to see the calendar reminder notification.

“I’ve got to head out anyway, or I’ll be late,” I murmur, dropping a kiss to the top of Theo’s head. “But I’ll be around later if you need me.”

“Need a ride?” Mason asks, reaching over and scooping up Theo off my leg. He drops a couple of noisy kisses to Theo’s neck, making him giggle.

Why is that so hot?

I clear my throat and stand up, brushing my hands over my jean shorts just to give them something to do. “Nah, I’ve got a ride. Thanks though.” I scheduled an Uber.

“Alright. See you later, Trouble.”

I skip off the porch and wade through the tall grass, replaying the deep tenor of his voice all the way back to my cabin.

Fiction & Folklore glows like something out of a dream.

The windows are fogged with summer warmth and fairy lights curl across the trim like ivy, soft and golden. A handwritten sign on the glass reads Closed for Bad Bitches Book Club in swoopy cursive. I’d bet my new guitar that Margot wrote that sign—or at least named the group.

I pause for half a second before I push the door open, like stepping inside might shift something in me I’m not ready to name.

Romeo barrels into me before I get both feet over the threshold, paws skittering across the hardwood. He’s wearing a crooked bow tie and has a fresh blowout.

“Hey, handsome,” I murmur, crouching down to rub behind his ears. “You working the door now?”

“He’s head of security,” Francesca calls from behind the register. “Very strict policy. Must love love.”

The room bursts into warmth—hugs and voices and the scent of something citrusy-sweet from the back where Cora’s probably set up the snack table like she’s feeding a village.

Eloise is sprawled across one of the overstuffed armchairs, legs thrown over the arm, a can of something fizzy sweating onto a coaster beside her. Margot’s in the corner, already halfway through a paperback, highlighter in hand like it’s a battlefield tactic.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Francesca glides toward me with open arms, floral dress fluttering around her ankles, and when she hugs me, it feels like being pulled into the center of something soft and steady.

“Abby’s here,” Francesca calls with her arm around my shoulders, like it’s a fact and a celebration in one.

There’s a chorus of greetings, and just like that, I’m folded into the circle. Someone puts a drink in my hand. Romeo climbs into Francesca’s lap. The record player clicks to life with some moody synth-pop love ballad, and Cora starts handing out bookmarks shaped like daggers.

Inside jokes fly like confetti. Something about last month’s pick being emotionally devastating, and Francesca swearing she’ll never forgive Cora for it.

Eloise argues that love interests should come with trigger warnings.

Margot offers a deadpan “They did. You just didn’t read them.

” Francesca dramatically pretends to faint.

I laugh, sip my drink, and let the sounds of them wash over me.

It’s like standing in a sunbeam. One I haven’t quite earned.

Because they don’t know. That I’ve been here for weeks. That I’m hiding out in a cabin no one knows about. That every day I don’t leave makes the thought of leaving worse. That I might be catching feelings for the one man who broke my heart.

Francesca flops down on the arm of the couch beside me and clinks her glass against mine. “Okay, so. Real talk. We’ve been talking about emotionally unavailable men for the last twenty minutes, which means it’s time for the real question.”

“Oh no,” I say immediately.

“Since you and Margot are the only single gals in the group,” she says with a grin, “Any real-life book boyfriends either of you want to confess to?”

I laugh, but it’s too quick. Too light. My heart stutters like it’s tripped over something.

Mason’s face flashes across my vision, stupidly clear.

And suddenly I’m not laughing anymore.

Margot doesn’t even blink. “I’m not telling you anything. You’d make it weird.”

Eloise lets out a sharp laugh. “That’s bullshit. You’ve been sneaking around for weeks. You don’t slink out the door in eyeliner and platform boots at midnight unless you’re getting laid.”

“It’s called being social,” Margot says, deadpan. “I have a lot of friends.”

Eloise narrows her eyes. “Better not be Seven Pines again.”

Something in the air goes taut.

I shift in my seat, pretending to study the condensation dripping down my glass.

I don’t know much about the Seven Pines—just that it’s a crew Eloise got tangled up with not too long ago.

Beau had mentioned them once in passing, in the tone of voice he usually reserved for assholes. Bad news, he’d said.

Margot rolls her eyes. “Okay, kettle. You literally met Beau during the Gauntlet.”

“That’s different.”

“How? It’s literally illegal street racing.”

Eloise leans forward, slow and dangerous. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, kettle ,” Margot replies, tone sugary and insincere, “that you’re being a little hypocritical, is all.” She exhales, slouching back in her chair like she’s already exhausted by this conversation.

Eloise points a finger at her sister. “It’s not the same and you know it. Seven Pines is into a ton of shady shit, Margot. You don’t want to get tripped up in that.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Eloise grins suddenly, the change in expression so abrupt it’s almost disorienting. She leans back like the whole thing never happened. “Okay. Fine. Letting it go now.”

Margot’s eyes narrow. “No, no, don’t do that. Whatever you’re thinking, knock it off.”

“What?” Eloise says, all faux innocence. “I’m not thinking anything. I’m definitely not thinking about how Beau will figure out who you’re slinking off to in the middle of the night with a single phone call.”

Cora cough-laughs into her hand. Francesca pretends to clear her throat but her eyes are sparkling with barely contained laughter.

Margot groans, flicking the edge of a cracker at her sister. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best actually,” Eloise deadpans.

“Whatever,” Margot grumbles. She looks at me with a crooked, conspiratorial little wince. “Abby’s awfully quiet.”

I open my mouth, but I don’t get the chance.

“She’s always quiet when it comes to this stuff,” Cora adds, her voice light, like she’s trying to make me sound interesting instead of lonely. “Abby doesn’t date. She’s already married to her job.”

The room chuckles, and so do I. But it’s the kind of laugh you practice. One that sounds real enough, if you don’t look too closely.

“Guilty,” I murmur, taking another sip of my drink. I let the moment pass, the spotlight shift away from me.

Cora and Francesca dive into a debate about whether the love interest in the book was redeemable or just hot, and Margot mutters something under her breath that makes Eloise snort.

I sit back and watch them—all of them. These women who orbit each other with such effortless intimacy. Who know the inside jokes, the family drama, the history wrapped around every offhand comment.

And I realize I don’t know if I’ve ever had that.

Not really.

Not in a way that stuck.

I feel it all in a sudden rush—the porch at Mason’s place, the sound of Theo’s giggle against my leg, the way Mason looks at me like he wants to memorize every part of me but is afraid to ask permission.

I came here to take a breath. Just a couple weeks, a reset, a pause before life picked back up again.

But somewhere between the silence and the softness, the undoing started.

What if I stayed?

The thought isn’t loud. It doesn’t crash in.

It just . . . settles.

Like it’s been waiting. Quietly, patiently.

For me to finally hear it.