We turned to see Austen MacAvoy hustling toward us, her dark hair pulled up in a messy bun, scarf flying in the wind. Rhett’s little sister had a way of moving through the world like she’d decided it was lucky to have her, and most of the time, I agreed.
Right now, I tried not to crumble when she opened her arms and wrapped me in a big, warm hug without asking.
“I am so glad you’re all right,” she said into my hair. “Rhett texted me after they got the fire out, and I swear my heart stopped.”
“I’m fine,” I lied into her shoulder.
She pulled back and gave me a once-over that said the lie wasn’t fooling anyone. “You look like somebody used your feelings for target practice.”
“Accurate,” I said.
Austen’s gaze flicked toward the empty pavement. Her mouth tightened. “I hate this. Rhett says it could’ve been so much worse, but this? This still sucks.”
Understatement of the year.
“We brought her to see what’s left,” Pepper said. “Which, as it turns out is… not much.”
“Still smells like smoke.” Austen wrinkled her nose before her expression brightened in a way that made me instantly suspicious. “But hey, there is one good thing.”
I eyed her warily. “Please do not say something about doors closing and windows opening, because I swear?—”
“No, no, nothing Pinterest-y, I promise.” She lifted her hands. “I mean the fundraiser. That thing is doing numbers.”
“The what?” I asked.
“The GoFundMe?” Her brow furrowed like I’d asked what coffee was. “You’ve seen it, right?”
I blinked. “What GoFundMe?”
Austen’s eyes widened. She looked over at Pepper, Allie, and Meghan like this was some kind of elaborate prank they were all in on.
Pepper winced. “Okay, so… in our defense, we thought somebody had already told you.”
“Told me what?” I demanded.
Meghan dug her phone out of her back pocket. “Hang on. It’ll be easier to show you.”
The three of them huddled together for a second, thumbs flying. I stood in the cold, feeling like the only person who didn’t have the script.
Finally, Meghan turned her phone screen toward me.
At the top, in big, bold letters, was the title:
BRING POUR DECISIONS BACK TO HUCKLEBERRY CREEK
Underneath it was a picture I recognized—a shot one of my regulars had taken during the fall, the truck framed with pumpkins, me laughing at something off camera. Somebody had slapped that up as the header image and written a description underneath that made my chest hurt:
Our town runs on Pour Decisions—on Jess’s early-morning coffee, her late-night kindness, and the community she’s built cup by cup. After a devastating fire, her beloved truck is out of commission right in the middle of the busiest season of the year. Let’s help her rebuild, reopen, and return to the heart of Main Street where she belongs.
They’d set a goal.
The current total sat beneath it in big green numbers.
I stared at it. Blinked. Checked again.
“Is that…” My voice came out thin. “Is that… real?”
“Refresh it,” Pepper said.
