Capri slung an arm around her shoulders. “You’re not losing us,” she said fiercely. “We’re stitched into your story. Permanently.”
Charlie Grace held up her phone. “Group text stays active. No excuses. Weekly updates. Pictures mandatory.”
“And Zoom calls,” added Lila.
“With margaritas in hand,” Capri offered. “And lemonade for you.”
They laughed, they cried, they promised.
And Reva, standing under the faded glow of the streetlamp with her forever friends beside her, realized something true.
Distance changes a lot of things—routines, conversations, the small, easy moments you take for granted. But real friendship—the kind built from years of laughter, heartache, and everything in between—doesn’t unravel just because the map says you’re far apart.
That kind of friendship just stretches...and somehow, it holds.
At least she hoped so.
24
By Monday morning, news traveled like wildfire through Thunder Mountain. Mayor Reva Nygard was leaving.
Reva barely made it through the front doors of Town Hall without someone grabbing her elbow, pulling her in for a hug, or slipping her a note. She smiled until her cheeks ached. She blinked back tears so many times her eyes burned.
By noon, her assistant Verna Billingsley appeared in the doorway of her office, looking both frantic and delighted.
“I’ve already planned a going-away parade," Verna said, waving a clipboard as if it were a royal decree. “We’ll need floats. Banners. Balloons. I’m thinking a pie contest, too. Maybe a cowbell-off!”
Reva stared at her, dumbfounded. “A cowbell-off?”
Verna nodded vigorously. “It’s where everyone brings their loudest cowbell and competes for the title of Thunder Mountain’s Noisiest Neighbor.”
“I...don’t think we need?—”
“It’s already on the flyer!” Verna chirped, turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway. “Besides, this is a big one. A double celebration. Thunder Mountain is losing both you and our beloved Fleet. We can’t let this sad milestone pass without proper recognition.”
Reva dropped her forehead into her hands and groaned. But under the groan was a smile she couldn’t quite suppress.
Thunder Mountain loved its own fiercely—and sometimes absurdly.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of handshakes, hugs, and familiar faces.
Oma dropped by with a Tupperware container of warm cinnamon rolls, the smell sweet and buttery. She patted Reva’s cheek, leaving a dusting of flour on her skin.
Later, Pastor Pete stopped by, carrying a worn Bible tucked under one arm.
“I know you’re following what your heart tells you,” he said, his voice thick. “But don’t you forget—you’ve got two homes now. Here and there.”
Even Nicola Cavendish popped her head into Reva’s office with a sniffle.
“You’re leaving a mark on this town no earthquake could shake loose,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. Her tiny dog, Sweetpea, yapped in agreement from her designer purse.
Reva smiled and thanked her, feeling the layers of her life here wrap around her heart tighter with each farewell.
In the late afternoon, Reva drove down the street to the sheriff’s department.
Fleet Southcott was already waiting on the front steps, his posture a little more stooped than usual, his badge polished until it caught the sun. He held a battered clipboard in one hand.
“Got your recommendation for the council,” Fleet said, handing over the clipboard. “Gibbs Nichols. Kid’s got spirit.”
