Page 5 of Shattered Promise (Avalon Falls #4)

ABBY

Twelve hours later, and I’m back in my studio apartment.

Silence presses in on me from all sides, thick and mildly oppressive.

When did that happen? I spin around slowly, trying to pinpoint the source of the tension wrapping around my shoulders like a wet sheet.

The quiet never used to bother me. My sister once joked that I moved across the country just to get away from the noise of our family.

What she really meant was to get away from them .

It wasn’t mean when she said it, but it was true.

And maybe it worked, for a while. But lately? The quiet feels less like peace and more like something I forgot to escape from.

My apartment is technically tidy, but bare in a way that makes it feel like a long-term hotel stay.

A couch. A bed. A too-small kitchen table I never eat at.

The walls are mostly empty, save for a single print I bought at a street fair and haven’t bothered to hang yet. There’s no time. There’s never time.

I drop onto the couch—one of the three pieces of furniture I own—and stare blankly at the TV screen in front of me.

Exhaustion drapes itself over my limbs, heavy and familiar, but my fingertips twitch with the familiar jolt of unfinished tasks.

I should check my emails. Touch base with my team.

Confirm venue numbers for next month’s benefit gala.

“Five more minutes,” I murmur. A compromise.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I debate ignoring it. Just five minutes of silence. But guilt kicks in fast. What if someone needs me?

I slip my phone free and see it’s a video call from Mom.

Strangely, the urge to hit ignore freezes my fingers. I snap out of it a beat later and swipe to answer with a smile I’ve practiced since high school.

“Hi, sweetheart!” Mom’s face fills the screen, grinning and flushed from the heat of her greenhouse. Her dark hair is swept into a loose knot, and there’s dirt smudged across her cheek and the tip of her nose. “You made it back okay?”

“Yeah,” I say lightly. “Just got home twenty minutes ago or so.”

“Oh, so late? I thought you’d be home a couple hours ago.”

I clear my throat and pull my knees up to sit criss-cross on the couch. “Had a connection this time.”

Her brows wrinkle and she glances away, distracted. “Really? I thought they did direct flights here.”

“Usually, yeah. But this was a last-minute flight, remember?”

“Ah, okay.” She shifts a pot slightly out of view. “Oh! I forgot to tell you. I ran into Jessica Thompson’s mom at the co-op yesterday. You remember Jessica, right? You guys were in ballet together in elementary school." She squints over her shoulder at me, waiting for confirmation.

I flash her a deadpan smirk, tilting my head to the side. "Yeah, I remember Jessica." How could I not? Avalon Falls is small enough that everyone kind of knew everyone by only a few degrees of separation.

She grins, waving her garden-gloved hand in the air. "Anyway, I ran into her mom, Diane, and she said she saw something online about your shoreline project. How fun is that?”

I smile, even as my throat tightens. “That was mostly the team. I just handle the events.”

“Well, either way—it's still impressive. You’ve always had a gift for bringing people together.” She frowns at the plant in front of her. “Lord knows you didn’t get that from me.”

I laugh quietly. “That's not true.” She thinks it's Dad that holds our family together, but it's always been her.

Her eyes twinkle as she looks back at me, but her attention flickers again just a second later. “Anyway, I told her we’re all just so proud of you. It must feel good, right? Seeing everything you’ve worked so hard for finally pay off?”

The tight ache settles behind my ribs again. What started as pride has curdled into pressure. I open my mouth twice before I actually speak. My pulse hammers like I’m about to do something reckless. Like jump off the quarry cliffs back home.

"Yeah. I was thinking maybe I should come home."

She adjusts something near the camera. The video wobbles as she moves a pot offscreen.

“You're always welcome home, sweetheart.

But your dad and I are heading to the craft fair in Rosewood next weekend.

We're even pushing Sunday dinner back. I'm thinking about doing a little booth next year. Selling some plants and hanging baskets, maybe some succulents. Gah, it’s probably a silly idea.” Her words pick up speed by the end, tumbling one over the other.

She shrugs quickly, brushing a hand across her forehead. “Forget I said anything.”

Something flutters and sinks inside me at once. So many emotions hit at once that it’s like being knocked off balance mid-step—confusion, guilt, affection, disappointment. I can't tell if I'm hurt she brushed off my suggestion, or thrown by the vulnerability she shared right after. Or both.

And just like that, the moment— my moment—is gone.

I swallow my own anxiety, pressing it down beneath my breastbone and tucking it between two ribs. I don’t think she’s intentionally misunderstanding me, but her sudden vulnerability throws me off balance. I’d opened the door a crack, and she walked straight past it into something else entirely.

I sit forward and blow out a slow breath. “Wait, back up. You got invited to have your own booth at an arts and crafts fair?”

Mom clears her throat, fidgeting in a way that’s so unlike her it feels like a tell. “Well, I think one of your brothers signed me up on the interest form as a joke, but neither of them is admitting to it.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t sound like them. And even if it was a joke, you should do it.”

Her hand stills on the broad leaf of a monstera. She looks up slowly, teeth catching on her bottom lip. “You think so?”

I’m already nodding. “Absolutely. Your online shop does great already. The fair would be perfect exposure for you. You’ll have to be strategic about your layout, maybe focus on what’s easiest to transport—but yeah. I think it’s a great move.”

Her expression softens. Some of the tension leaves her face, and her smile starts small before it blooms. “Maybe you could help me figure all that out? Since you’re so good at this kind of thing?”

Warmth rises in my chest, curling around something brittle. “Of course.”

“My girl. Always so quick to help,” she says, her voice quiet. “I’m just so proud of you, you know? You’ve carved out your own little space in the world. Following the beat of your own drum.”

I let her voice fill my tiny apartment, a one-sided symphony of affection and good intentions. But with every platitude, the tide of anxiety swells higher.

“Did I tell you Chelsea’s pregnant again? Sixth grandchild for Sandra. And she watches all of them, every day. I don’t know how she does it.”

A push notification rolls across my screen, and my heart stutters.

Mason.

I tap the message before it disappears, letting my mom’s voice fade into the background.

Mason: What did Cora bring for dessert tonight? And did Beau eat it all?

My throat tightens around something I don’t quite have the words for. It’s the first text he’s ever sent that isn’t about Theo. Short and familiar. It lands like sunlight through a crack in a window I thought was closed.

“Abby? Hello? Are you frozen? What’s happening?”

My gaze lifts back to the screen. “Hm? I’m right here.”

Mom tilts her head, brushing a piece of hair off her cheek with the back of her wrist. Her hot pink gardening gloves are nearly neon in the light. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

I force a casual smile. “Just happy for Chelsea, is all.”

Her eyes narrow, like she’s trying to read beneath the surface, and maybe if we were in the same room, she’d be able to. But we’re not.

“Nana Jo always said babies were a blessing,” I add, reaching for safety in nostalgia.

Mom’s face softens immediately. “You’re right. My mother did love babies. She loved all her grandchildren so much.”

The longing in her voice pulls at something deep inside me.

She and Nana Jo were best friends. The kind of mother-daughter relationship that looks more like sisterhood than anything else. Nana used to joke she loved her kids, but liking them was a choice—and she chose my mom every day.

She passed a few years ago, and we haven’t really talked about it since. The grief still sits in the air like pollen. Quiet. Inescapable.

“I miss her too,” I say softly.

Mom sniffs and blinks fast, pasting a smile back on her face. “Well, I should let you go. I know you’ve got an early morning ahead. Don’t stay up too late on account of me.”

“Night, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you, honey.”

She ends the call before I can say more. I sink back into the cushions and pull up my text thread with Mason, heart skipping in that same old, dangerous way. I chew the inside of my cheek, then type.

Me: Vegan ube cheesecake. And it was delicious.

Me: He definitely tried, but Eloise was there. She kept him in check.

Three dots appear immediately, bouncing across the screen.

Mason: She’s the only one who can. It’s kind of terrifying and definitely impressive.

Me: She takes Cora's desserts very seriously.

Mason: As she should. Your sister’s talented. Maybe next time I’ll risk showing up just for dessert.

I stare at that last text for a beat too long. Is he . . . flirting with me? I shake my head, flinging that ridiculous thought free. He’s just being friendly.

Me: Sure, if you want to face my mother’s wrath by skipping dinner and going straight for dessert.

Mason: She can’t be mad at me when I’ve got Theo with me. He’s like my good-luck charm.

I hesitate, then type the words before I can overthink them.

Me: Theo might be your good-luck charm, but I think it’s mostly the dimples.

Mason: Mine or his?

Me: Both. Obviously.

The dots reappear. Then vanish.

I set my phone down and sink deeper into the couch, letting the hope bloom quietly and uninvited. Like something small and stubborn cracking through concrete.

Shit.