Page 114 of Small Town Sizzle

I nod, already formulating a plan. But as much as I want to keep fighting, a part of me is hesitant. I haven’t told Maya anything about this. She’s been through enough, and the last thing I want is to add to her stress. But at the same time, this is her home, too. Her life, her community.

I don’t know how much longer I can keep it from her.

Over the next few days, I throw myself into the fight. I organize town meetings, gather support from people who understand what’s really at stake, and work with Mike to prepare for whatever legal battle Natalie and TJ might throw our way.

But it feels like an uphill battle. Natalie’s lies have taken root, and the promises of jobs and progress are too tempting for some people to ignore. The youth center is under threat, and the wetlands are hanging by a thread.

And through it all, Maya’s silence looms over me like a storm cloud. I want to call her, tell her what’s happening, and ask forher help. But every time I pick up the phone, I stop myself. She needs space.

“Give her time, but don’t quit on her.”

So I wait. I fight. And I hope she’ll return to me when she’s ready. Because no matter what happens, I’m not giving up on her. Or this town. Or the legacy my mom left behind.

Chapter Forty-Two

Maya

The smell of sautéing onions and garlic fills the kitchen, but it barely registers. My hands move mechanically, stirring the pan, flipping through muscle memory while my mind drifts. It’s been weeks since I left Garrett standing on the porch, weeks of hiding here at my parents’ house. I’m not sure if I’ve been healing or just stagnating while making sure the kids are okay, but I don’t know what else to do.

“Maya, you’re burning the garlic,” my mom says gently, breaking me out of my trance.

“Oh!” I jerk back to the stove, turning down the heat and quickly scraping the browned bits off the bottom of the pan.

She chuckles softly, shaking her head as she kneads dough at the counter. “Your mind’s been somewhere else all morning. You sure you’re okay, honey?”

I nod, but it’s a lie, and she knows it. She doesn’t press, though. She hums a tune under her breath, letting the silence settle in.

The sound of the kitchen door creaking open pulls my attention, and I glance up to see Alex walk in, his lanky frame silhouetted against the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. He’s dressed for school but clearly in no rush to leave. He slouches into a chair at the table, leaning his elbows on the worn wood.

“Morning,” I say, forcing a small smile as I pour him a glass of orange juice.

He takes it but doesn’t drink. Instead, he watches me with his sharp eyes—the ones that see way too much for someone his age. “You’ve been quiet, Aunt Maya.”

“I’m always quiet,” I joke weakly, turning back to the stove.

“Yeah, but this is different,” he says, and I hear the teasing lilt in his voice. “You’ve been, like, hermit-level quiet. And as much as I hate to break it to you, staying cooped up in Grandma and Grandpa’s kitchen isn’t going to solve anything.”

I glance at him over my shoulder, my heart tugging at the way he’s sitting there, looking so grown-up yet still so much like the little boy I used to rock to sleep. “I’m fine, Alex.”

“No, you’re not,” he says plainly, leaning back in his chair. “But I get it. You’ve been through a lot. We all have. You know, Garrett’s been at my last two football games. I think you should come to the next one with him.”

I freeze, the wooden spoon clutched in my hand as his words sink in. He’s smiling, trying to tease, but I can see the earnestness beneath it.

“I’m serious,” he says when I don’t respond. “He’s asked me to go to dinner with him. Offered to take me hiking or home from the games. He’s trying. You really should be at the games, too.”

I nod slowly, my throat tight. “You’re right,” I whisper.

“Of course, I’m right. I’m practically a genius,” he says with a grin, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He lets out a sigh, tapping his fingers on the table. “Speaking of the outside world… I can’t believe that we might lose the youth center, and you’re still hiding out here.”

That snaps me out of my haze. “What do you mean?”

“They’re talking about selling off the wetlands and the land around the youth center,” he says, his tone heavier now. “To some big-time developers. Dad’s ex-wife is claiming that Miss Greta stole it from her family and that she was part of the estate.”

My jaw drops open as I realize that Alex just referred to Garrett as dad. That’s new and a huge deal.

“You called him dad.”

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