“I have pie,” I say, holding up the box like a peace offering. “Leftover from the tasting.”
Maggie gasps. “You mean your emotionally loaded pie tasting with your very own Coach Crush?”
“I’m regretting this already,” I mutter, but I’m smiling as I grab plates and set the bottle on the counter.
Within minutes, we’re curled on the couch, pie slices disappearing at record speed, the bottle breathing on the coffee table.
“Okay,” Claire says after her second bite. “Give us the highlights.”
I fill them in — hot dog incident and soda machine rescue reexplained for context, orchard mishaps, the wedding barter agreement, and of course, the pie tasting that felt suspiciously like a date.
Maggie tops off my glass. “And how do you feel?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that your subtle therapist voice?”
“Claire — our self-proclaimed therapist — is rubbing off on me.”
Claire smirks. “Answer the question.”
“I feel... confused. I like him. He’s kind. Steady. Charming, obviously. And he doesn’t treat me like I’m complicated or high maintenance. He just… shows up. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”
“But?” Claire prompts.
“But I don’t want to ruin my reputation, or blur boundaries with a client, or —”
“Fall,” Maggie finishes gently.
I go quiet.
Claire leans in. “Addison, you’re not scared of him. You’re scared of what wanting him might cost you.”
I nod, throat tight.
Maggie sets her glass down and gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “Honey, you’ve been holding the town together since high school. Everyone knows you’re reliable. They trust you. If they see you with someone kind who treats you with respect, they’ll adjust.”
“But what if they don’t?” I whisper. “What if people like Cassandra or Simon keep twisting the story?”
“Then you let your work speak louder,” Claire says. “And let people like us remind you that your life is allowed to include joy.”
That word — joy — hits something raw. Could I have been neglecting my own joy.
Because that’s what Dylan feels like. Joy I didn’t plan for.
“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay.”
Maggie grins. “We’re not saying elope. Just… don’t ghost the good thing because it doesn’t fit in a bullet journal.”
Claire raises her fork. “To unexpected joys.”
We clink pie forks in lieu of a toast, and I think, for the first time in a long time, I might actually believe them.
19
POWER TOOLS & PROMISES
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15
Dylan
