“And the time he pulled that lady’s car out of the ditch on County Road 8,” Dorothy said. “Didn’t know her from Adam.” She shook her head. “He saw she needed help and stopped.”
“Baby, that boy would help anybody,” Lola said, laughing. “It’s the way he’s wired. You get in a bind, he’s right there.”
Help anybody.
The words landed a little differently.
I took a sip of coffee to hide the way my throat went tight. “Yeah,” I said. “He’s… very big on showing up.”
Mrs. Atkins nodded vigorously. “He can’t help himself. I swear, if someone tripped over a curb in Birmingham, he’d feel it in his bones and go running.”
“He’d give you the shirt off his back,” Dorothy said. “Literally. You should’ve seen him with all those kids’ toy drives. Hauling boxes, building bikes, making sure every child had something under the tree.”
Lola looked at me over the coffeepot, eyes soft. “You picked a good one to partner with, Jess. For the festival,” she added, but her mouth curved like she was aware of exactly what she was doing.
Heat crept up my neck again. “We’re a good team,” I said carefully. “For the event.”
“And for your truck,” Mrs. McKenzie said. “He’s put in a lot of hours on that, hasn’t he?”
My mind flashed to his hands braced on either side of me, the way he’d murmured, “You’re not alone in this,” and meant every syllable. “Yeah,” I said softly. “He has.”
“Doesn’t surprise me one bit,” Mrs. Atkins said. “He’d do that for anybody in your situation.”
It was said so casually. No malice. Merely a simple statement of fact.
He’d do that for anybody.
My smile stayed plastered in place, but something low in my stomach clenched. I understood they meant it as a compliment. Look what a good man he is. Look how selfless. Look what a pillar of the community you’ve snagged there, sweetheart.
But the old, familiar voice in my head translated it differently:
You’re not special.
You’re not an exception.
He’d have shown up like this for whoever happened to own that truck when it burned.
Another story bubbled to the surface, uninvited.
You’re nobody to me.
The words didn’t land with the same sharpness they had the day I overheard them by the gym doors. That wound had been cleaned out, stitched up, his explanation laid over it like a careful bandage. I believed him. I did.
But apparently, there were layers to this particular scar.
Back then, I’d heard,“You’re nobody,”and translated it into “I imagined everything.”
Now, listening to these women who adored him, I heard he’d do this for anybody and translated it intoyou still might be imagining you’re different.
Logically, I knew that was unfair. He hadn’t exactly been subtle about wanting me. That expression in his eyes when he’d said, “I’m done watching you walk away.” The way he kissed me like I was the only thing on his mind. The way he’d murmured, “I like feeding you,” and then gone pink when he realized what he’d admitted.
But fear doesn’t listen to logic.
Fear hears: of course he came through. Of course he put in hours. Of course, he made grand gestures. That’s what Powell does. For everyone.
Dorothy reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t look so worried, baby. Tomorrow’s going to be wonderful. And if anything goes sideways, you’ve got half the town at your back.”
I forced a breath out. “I know. I’m just… tired.”
