Page 133 of Always Meant for You
She pulls back a fraction. “It’s my phone.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth. “Whoever it is can leave a message.”
But then my phone pings.
“We should check,” she says. “It might be important.”
Reluctantly—and I can’t stress that enough—I read the text on my phone, and my gut knots.
She sees my face and goes still. “What is it?”
“It’s from Sally,” I say, scanning the message again. “And it’s not a total disaster.”
Her eyes narrow. “That is not a reassuring statement. Sally was supposed to pick up the farmers’ market passports from the printer. She got them, right?”
I wish that were it.
“Well . . .” I stretch the syllable, not sure where to begin.
Mabel scrambles off my lap and dives into her purse. She pulls out her real passport to reach her phone, and the sight of it knocks the breath from my chest. I wish like hell I could stop my pulse from racing every time I catch sight of it.
She slides it back in and clutches her phone.
She swallows hard. “Before I look at the message, be straight with me. Can we fix it?”
I don’t answer right away. She deserves the truth.
I glance at the screen. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”
“Cal,” she says, her voice tight. “I’ve been building momentum online. The passport isn’t just a cute extra. It’s the driving force to bring in customers. It’s how we’ll get them to visit every stand.”
“I know,” I say. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked. This doesn’t fall on you.”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t fall on Sally, either. She wanted to help. She cares. We all care.”
“I get it. But it’s not broken. It’s slightly off course.”
“Show me. I’m shaking too much to pull it up on my cell,” she says, the rosy color draining from her cheeks.
I angle my phone toward her. She takes one look, then gasps.
I offer a half-smile. “It’s kind of hilarious. In that soul-sucking, want-to-cry-into-a-pillow kind of way.”
Her lips twitch, and she laughs. It’s short. It’s sharp. It’s a little unhinged. But it breaks the tension.
My heart swells at the sound. It isn’t the laughter that gets me. It’s what it means. She’s not crumbling. She’s still fighting.
“I need to think.” Her fingers tap against her thigh. “Okay. We need to move fast. We have one shot to fix this before people start arriving.”
“Tell me what you need, Mabel. You’ve got me. You know I’m all in.”
Her eyes flash toward mine, bright with focus.
This woman is controlled fire.
Her behavior isn’t new exactly. She’s always been decisive. I’ve seen hints of it before. But not with this kind of command.
Maybe New York didn’t change her. Maybe it gave her room to grow into this version of herself.
