Page 35 of Shift the Tide

Pete nodded. “Good. Any issues?”

Izzy hesitated, then sighed. “Some of the local orgs are hesitant about partnering with an outside nonprofit.”

Pete frowned, considering. “They want assurances that we’re not just another group parachuting in, making promises we won’t follow through with, and then leaving. Makes sense. So, we double down on the partnerships and the mentor program. Show them we’re here for the long haul.”

"That’s a great approach.” Izzy sipped her water quietly.

The fear of overstepping was always there, a persistent worry in the back of her mind. Izzy had joined the foundation after Pete had already built it from the ground up. It was her baby, her passion project, fueled by years of dedication and hustle. Izzy didn’t want to be the person who came in and disrupted that delicate balance. She never wanted Pete to question whether hiring her had been the right move, or worse, to regret bringing her into something so personal and meaningful. That worry kept Izzy constantly on edge, making sure she stayed in her lane, never pushed too hard, never took up more space than she felt she deserved — regardless of the dozens of reassurances from Pete, the imposter syndrome was still too palpable. Even as her role grew, even as she began leading her own projects and seeing successes pile up, that nagging voice always whispered:Be careful. Don’t screw this up.

Danica reappeared then, phone in hand, looking amused. “Kiera just sent me a picture of the girls with their chickens.”

Pete laughed, already reaching for Danica’s phone. “Are the chickens finally growing on her?”

Izzy raised a brow. “Chickens?”

Danica handed it over. “Apparently, her parents got them while we were in San Diego.”

Pete squinted at the screen, then snorted.

Danica grinned. “Eliza named hers Chiquitita. Quinn named hers… and I quote… ‘Chicken Nugget Rocketship.’”

Pete let out a delighted cackle. “That kid is going places.”

Izzy grinned, looking over the photo. Kiera, standing in the sun, her daughters beaming beside her, dirt smudged on her cheek, smiling like she belonged in the garden — it was a vision Izzy hadn’t expected to hit her so hard.

The near-kiss at the bar had been intense, leaving her heartbeat rattling in her chest like a loose drawer every time she thought about Kiera’s face so close to hers. She was so surprised by that split second where it had felt like inevitability had them both in its grip. Then there was the next morning, the quiet, disarming softness of sharing space together, just the two of them in that shy silence. The vulnerability of it all, the way Kiera had looked at her like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want the distance between them anymore — it was too much. And then, finally, the kiss in the kitchen — desperate, intense, charged with every bit of pent-up tension they’d been dragging around since college. It had left Izzy spiraling.

It had all felt so wrong when Kiera had pulled back, and offered her a nervous, hesitant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Every millisecond after that felt like walking barefoot across glass, and Izzy had bolted in embarrassment. Kiera’s openness over the weekend made Izzy realize she hadn’t been fair to Kiera. And Izzy, as much as she hated herself for it, kept second-guessing every word, every look, every touch. Now, shedidn’t know how to be around Kiera without feeling like she was waiting for the floor to drop out from under her again.

So she left. It was easier to throw herself into work, to stay busy in the endless tasks and responsibilities that came with Second Star, than to give herself even a moment to consider what might have happened if Kiera hadn’t given her that look of regret. Seeing Kiera like that — close enough to taste but still somehow oceans away — was too much. And Izzy wasn’t sure she was strong enough to keep pretending that it didn’t hurt. It was easier to put space between them, easier to convince herself that it didn’t mean anything.

She’d been so doing well at that until Danica announced, “I invited Kiera over for dinner.”

Despite a perfectly settable with wine and food, an odd heaviness filled the room. Izzy felt it with every stolen glance, with every moment that her eyes almost met Kiera’s before darting away. Pete and Danica noticed it, too. Pete kept raising an eyebrow at Izzy, as if waiting for an explanation. Danica — always the peacemaker — kept trying to smooth the conversation over, filling awkward silences with pleasant small talk that nobody actually responded to.

Kiera looked effortless as always — perfectly fitting jeans, an oversized button-down shirt. But Izzy couldn’t shake the feeling that something seemed just slightly different about her. Maybe it was the way she kept adjusting the cuff of her rolled sleeve or how she tucked her hair behind her ear one too many times. She looked like herself, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort beneath it all.

“So, Kiera, how are the girls adjusting to the chicken life?” Danica asked.

Kiera smiled, but it looked a little strained. “They’re obsessed. They check on them first thing in the morning and last thing at night.”

Pete chuckled. “Better being obsessed with chickens than some other terrible thing, like drag racing.”

Kiera laughed. “I mean… when you put it like that…”

Danica laughed, too, but Izzy could feel her own shoulders tensing. The small talk felt forced, the energy between her and Kiera humming like a frayed wire. She barely tasted the food. Every time Kiera shifted in her chair, Izzy felt exceptionally aware of her presence.

After dinner, they ended up in the kitchen together after Kiera offered to clean up and Izzy was volunteered to load the dishwasher. They moved around each other in a quiet, careful dance. The clatter of dishes, the rush of running water, the excuse to keep their hands busy — it all felt like a buffer against the truth hanging between them. Izzy rinsed a plate, her fingers scrubbing at a stubborn bit of sauce as if the task required her full concentration. Kiera moved behind her, reaching for the fridge to put away leftovers, her arm nearly brushing against Izzy’s back. Izzy felt the shift of air, the warmth of Kiera so close.

When their arms finally did brush, the touch was fleeting, but Izzy’s entire body felt electric. The last time they were alone in a kitchen together… The entire room felt suddenly too small.

Finally, Kiera cleared her throat. “Izzy… can we talk?”

Izzy inhaled, nodding once. "Yeah." The word barely came out, her throat tight. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss since it happened. And now, with Kiera standing there, waiting, looking at her with hesitation in her eyes, Izzy felt like she was seconds away from combusting into a thousand pieces of nervous energy.

They stepped out onto the porch and sat on the swing, a slight breeze cool against Izzy’s skin. The air carried thefaint scent of salt and fresh-cut grass, the distant sound of music drifting from a neighbor’s open window. A dog barked somewhere down the street, followed by the muffled sounds of people lingering outside in the late spring warmth.

With her fingers curled around the wooden swing arm, Izzy fought to relax her stiff shoulders but felt utterly tense. Her pulse thrummed unevenly, and for a second, she let herself look at Kiera, taking in the way the porch light cast a glow over her features, the way her lips pressed together like she was waiting for something.

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