She twisted the scrunchie around her wrist. Talking to Zoey about leaving Magnolia Bay had left an ache in Rosalyn’s chest that wouldn’t quit. And as much as she liked the dark-haired, wide-eyed baker, it wasn’t because of her. Or because of Elisa, or Harper, or any of the townspeople she’d connected with. It wasn’t even because of her parents, or her niggling interest at getting back into church, learning how to pray again. All those factors contributed to the ache, but when Rosalyn got very still and honest, it all came down to one.
She was scared of falling.
Falling from her silks, if she went back to performing regularly.
And falling for Cade, if she found a way to stay.
Both potentials felt equally terrifying.
So she sat. Stared at the tent ceiling, lit right now only by rows of string lights, and relived her greatest moments in the spotlight over the years. Complicated inversions. Roll-ups that tested her strength. Flashing camera lights and medals looped around her neck. Invitations and champagne glasses and autographs. Kamikaze drops to the delighted gasps and applause of a packed house.
But there were also gasps of terror that time she unrolled, hit the ground. There was the blinding pain that shot through her knee, the fear that grasped her heart. The clang of ambulance doors and the set line of the doctor’s mouth as he shook his head. Declared her lucky.
Lucky. Was she? Or had God protected her—even from her own agenda and pride? Even though she’d never asked.
Rosalyn blinked up at the striped ceiling overhead, wishing she could peel back the canvas layers, peel back the evening sky dusted with stars, and see what was happening in the heavens.
See where her rusty prayers landed.
She rested her chin on her knees. God certainly didn’t owe her anything. She’d made a mess of things all by herself. And therefore,sheneeded to fix them.
Fix herself.
Thenmaybe she could finally feel the approval she sought.
The tent flap suddenly opened behind Rosalyn, scattering beams of fluorescent light across the ground and over her form. “There you are.”
Cade. She twisted around and blinked, held up one hand to shade her eyes and peer up at him. “Thereyouare.”
He wore dark jeans and a black polo, looking as sharp and put together as always. Though, to be honest, her stomach probably would have dropped the same way even if he’d been in a clown costume. “I haven’t seen you all day.”
The flap dropped back, shielding them again in the dimmer light as he made his way toward her. “Sorry I didn’t respond to your texts earlier. It’s been a little hectic.” He didn’t hesitate or inspect the dirt-packed ground like she’d have expected. Instead, he dropped to the ground next to her, right there in the center of the empty tent, and drew his own legs up. Hooked his wrists around his bent knees.
She studied his profile next to her in the shadows, the line of his jaw. The dimple in his chin. He hadn’t been ignoring her. She’d assumed he was busy all day, but…it was nice to know that’s all it was. “So you heard about the porta-potties?”
“I did. And good thing, or I’d have been really confused when I saw Pastor Dubois toting a family full speed across the parking lot on a golf cart.” He smirked. “Thanks for arranging all that, by the way. My dad called in a request with a different company too, so we should be set soon.”
“That’s good news.”
He nodded. “Better late than never, I suppose.”
“Spill it. What else is wrong?”
“You don’t know?” He didn’t even try to deny it. “You might be the only person in Magnolia Bay who hasn’t seen the news.”
Rosalyn frowned. “What news?” She didn’t like the defeated slump in his shoulders, the forward pull of his brow. He’d been there through all of her issues the past few weeks—listening, forgiving, protecting her from her fears. The least she could do was return the favor.
He gazed upward toward the ceiling, like she’d been doing when he walked in. “Well, I have to admit—its small potatoes compared to the Mafia being after you.”
Rosalyn snorted. “I would love to only have a small potato right now.”
A grin flickered as he cocked his head toward her. “They’re serving cheesy Tater Tots in one of the food trucks. Does that count?”
“Sold. But after you tell me aboutyourpotato.”
He inhaled. Released it. “I’m running for mayor.”
Rosalyn frowned. “But you told me weeks ago when I first got here that you weren’t ready for that. You said, ‘Maybe one day.’”
