Meghan swiped down. The number jumped by another fifty dollars.
“It’s real,” Allie said. “And it’s climbing.”
Hundreds of names filled the screen. Some I recognized instantly—teachers, shop owners, half the parents of the kids who stopped by after school. Others were anonymous, simply “Huckleberry Neighbor” or first name only. Donations ranged from five bucks to three digits. One line in particular snagged my eyes:
Anonymous—$2,500
Can’t function without your gingerbread latte. Please come back.
A sound escaped me—something between a laugh and a sob.
“That’s an eye-watering amount of money, Jess,” Austen said gently. “People are stepping up. Businesses, too. The hardware store kicked in. So did Henderson’s. Even the mayor. Half the firehouse, from what I can see.”
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn’t budge. “Who… started it?”
“Username says HCKReadsRomance,” Meghan said.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course it does.”
That would be one of the town’s unofficial Facebook admins. Possibly three of them. They operated like a Greek chorus with better memes.
“I did share it,” Pepper admitted. “But I didn’t start it. That was in my notifications before they’d even cleared the street.”
“Same,” Allie said. “I boosted it once. Maybe twice.”
“Three times,” Meghan muttered.
“Traitors, the lot of you.” But my heart wasn’t in the complaint. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the screen. In ugly app font and low-res photos was proof that this town cared whether Pour Decisions existed. Whether I existed in the spot I’d carved out for myself.
I’d always told myself it was about the coffee. The convenience. The caffeine. That if I disappeared tomorrow, they’d grumble and move on.
Apparently… not.
Heat pricked behind my eyes. I blinked hard, but tears still blurred the screen.
“Hey.” Meghan looped her arm more firmly around my waist and tucked me in against her side. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not.” My voice cracked. “But this is… I don’t even know what this is.”
“Love,” Austen said promptly. “And a town-wide caffeine dependency.”
That startled a tiny, broken laugh out of me. One lone tear escaped and slid down my cheek. I swiped at it with the heel of my hand, annoyed and grateful and overwhelmed all at once.
“I don’t deserve this,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Allie said.
“Seconded,” Meghan added.
“You absolutely do,” Pepper said firmly. “Jess, you’ve been pouring into this town for years. Let them pour back for once.”
I stared at the total again. At the comments that went on and on.
You gave my kid a free cocoa when she was having a bad day.
Your truck was where I went after my divorce.
You remembered my order when nobody else remembered me.
