Page 98 of Beloved Beauty

Krishna raises a brow but doesn’t press, just hugs me one-armed, careful not to jostle Vivian. “Come back soon. I think she already loves you.”

My throat tightens as I nod. “I will.”

The wind chime sings again as I step off the porch, and I swear the air is different—lighter and heavier all at once. Like I walked in as one version of myself and walked out carrying something I didn’t arrive with.

Not in my hands but in my heart.

And that thing I thought was just a moment? It’s still there. Still whispering. Still growing.

Streetlights flicker past in a blur, soft gold against the shadows, and for once I don’t fill the silence with music. I just sit with my thoughts.

The quiet. The weight of what’s going through my heart and head. The wondering.

It’ll pass. That’s what I tell myself.

It’s just the new baby smell and soft onesies and Krishna glowing with that new-mama energy. It’s the way Kye looked at both of them as if they were his whole world wrapped in flannel and sleepy smiles. It’s the sweetness of it all.

Yet, I’m certain a shift has happened inside me. Holding Vivian has cracked open a part of me I’d been keeping sealed.

I’ve spent so long clawing my way out of what I came from. Building something worthy. Chasing softness when I was taught survival. And now, for the first time, I’m wondering what it might mean to give that to someone else. To build someone from scratch and teach them love before they ever have to unlearn fear.

This feeling’s probably nothing. Just hormones and nostalgia and the echo of a baby’s breath against my collarbone.

But I know better. As I walk toward the door of our house, I sense it. Something’s begun.

A seed in my soul is whispering.

Chapter 29

Magnolia Sebring

We don’t bother with formalities or the front door. Violet and I slip through the side gate and follow the winding path toward the back patio. I’ve got a casserole dish hot enough to burn through my forearms, and she’s carrying a container stacked high with her homemade lemon bars.

Laughter spills through the air before we even round the corner—glasses clinking, country music drifting low and twangy from the outdoor speakers. The air smells of lime and something grilled to perfection.

I nudge the gate open with my hip and call out, “We brought carbs and sugar.”

A pitcher of margaritas sweats on the counter, flanked by a neat row of matching glasses that glint under the patio lights. A woman I haven’t met—Addison, I’m guessing—leans against the railing, one sandal dangling from her toes, margarita already in hand. Chloe’s tucked onto a barstool, mid-story, her hands flying like the words don’t work unless she’s conducting them. Behind the outdoor kitchen island, Laurelyn lifts the margarita pitcher, two empty glasses waiting.

“Salt rims for y’all?” Laurelyn asks, already reaching for a lime.

“Is it really a margarita without one?” Violet asks, laughing.

I lift the casserole dish like it’s a prize. “Hope everybody’s hungry.”

Laurelyn comes around the counter and pulls me into a quick hug. “Whatever that is smells of melted cheese and salvation.”

“Captain Rodney’s dip.”

She lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Magnolia. I haven’t had that since I lived in the States. I forgot it existed.”

“What’s Captain Rodney’s dip?” Chloe asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Only the greatest cheese dip ever to grace a Southern table.”

“Then I need it in my life.”

I hand off the dish and take in the scene—candlelight flickering in hurricane glass, fairy lights strung like constellations above us, the scent of lime and smoke in the air. Tonight will be soft, sparkling chaos that only happens when good girlfriends gather, tequila flows, and someone else is in charge of the kids upstairs.

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