Nick took a sip of coffee, eyes on hers. “Then start with this.”
They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the clink of forks and the low murmur of conversation filling the Rustic Pine around them. Charlie Grace wrapped both hands around her mug, stared into it for a beat, then looked up at Nick, eyes clear and direct.
“All right,” she said, her voice low but steady. “You asked for ten minutes, so here it is. No holding back.”
She took a breath and launched in, her words tumbling out faster than she expected. “The other day, Reva, Capri, and I met at Lila’s to take down the nursery…”
Nick’s expression filled with tenderness. “I’m listening.”
“Camille’s gone back to school, and...well.” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. She looked across the table and shook her head. “All our hearts are breaking for Lila—grieving a loss no woman should ever have to endure. And yet, she moves through each day with a quiet strength that doesn’t come from willpower or bravery, but from the simple, brutal fact that she doesn’t have a choice. Life keeps going, whether you’re ready or not. And Lila, somehow, keeps going too.”
Nick was quiet for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee mug. Then he looked at her, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it. “You’re a good friend, Charlie Grace. Don’t underestimate how much that matters, even when you and the others can’t fix it.”
“Reva took everything—crib, rocking chair, even the little bins with woodland animals on the front. Said she’d make sure it all went to good homes. You should’ve seen the way she loaded it all into her SUV like she was prepping for a covert mission.”
Nick chuckled, but Charlie Grace shook her head, eyes soft. “Something’s off with Reva, though. She had to let Fleet Southcott go. Nearly broke her heart. And I think the thing with her Grand Memaw is hitting her harder than she’s letting on. Reva always carries more than she shows.”
She paused, then leaned back in the booth. “You know, back in high school, she once organized a fundraiser car wash for the debate team because the school cut their budget. She made all of us wear swimsuits and tank tops—said the boys would drive through twice if we did.”
Nick laughed. “Did it work?”
“Oh, it worked. Raised over eight hundred dollars in one Saturday. But here’s the best part—Reva convinced our principal it was educational. Said it was ‘applied persuasive strategy in a real-world economic context.’” Charlie Grace grinned at the memory. “The woman’s been talking her way into impossible solutions since we were sixteen.”
She sobered then, her voice quieting. “But lately, it’s like her spark is dimmed. I just...I don’t know. I hate not knowing how to help.”
Nick reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers. “Maybe just being there is enough right now. Sometimes that’s all people need.”
Charlie Grace nodded, grateful. But in her chest, something stirred—like a thread pulling tight between her desire to be there for her friends and the helplessness of not knowing how. She hated that feeling—of standing on the sidelines when all she wanted was to fix something, anything.
Nick seemed to sense the tug-of-war inside her. His gaze softened, then brightened with a flicker of something playful.
“I’ve got just the thing you need right now,” he said.
Charlie Grace arched a brow. “What?”
He leaned back, lips tugging into a grin. “It’s a surprise. But be ready Saturday morning. I’m picking you up. No ifs, ands, or buts. It’s a date.”
She gave a mock sigh. “Fine. But what am I wearing to this mysterious cure-all?”
Nick’s eyes drifted over her, slow and deliberate, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Just what you’ve got on is fine.”
She narrowed her eyes, amused. “So...mud-splattered and mildly exhausted?”
He laughed. “Exactly. Wouldn’t want you any other way.”
18
Capri stirred beneath the quilt, the morning sun slipping through the cracks in the blinds and warming her bare shoulder. She reached for Jake, but her hand met only cool sheets. A sigh whispered from her lips—half disappointment, half curiosity. She sat up, brushing her hair out of her face.
And then she saw it.
A tray rested on the bedside table, carefully balanced and waiting. Two cinnamon rolls glistened under a soft drizzle of icing, and next to them sat a tall glass of orange juice, already beading with condensation. A small white vase held a single sunflower—bright, cheerful, and unapologetically bold.
Just like Jake.
Her breath caught, then released in a soft, surprised laugh. She traced the rim of the glass with one finger, her gaze landing on the sunflower. She didn’t need grand gestures. This was enough. This was everything.
Her phone rested on the nightstand; screen dark until she picked it up. An idea bloomed—quick and unpolished, the way most good ones were. With her thumb, she tapped out a short message.
