Page 149 of Always Meant for You
“I’m starving,” she says, and the tension in my body releases like a valve finally cracking open. “I was so busy talking to folks,” she continues, “that I barely ate a thing today. I didn’t even get to dance.”
I twist a lock of hair from her ponytail. “Do you want to get dinner? I’m sure the old Young sisters could hook you up with some casserole.”
Her smile widens. “As delicious as that sounds, I’m craving ice cream.”
I smile, feeling lighter by the second. “Ice cream for dinner?”
“That’s right,” she tosses back. “And to make amends for your caveman-like behavior with Preston and Logan, you, Callan Horner, are going to buy me a double scoop at the Five and Dime. I know you’re loaded. I’ve seen what’s inside your cash box.”
“You’re loaded too,” I reply, remembering Margaret’s request.
And damn, between the possibility of a city connection and Mabel having the resources to leave town, the tension that just let up returns with a vengeance.
She frowns. “What do you mean I’m loaded?”
“Margaret transferred your first payment,” I say, falling into step beside her.
Mabel slips her cell from her purse. The screen glows faintly against her skin. She stops walking. “Five thousand dollars.”
Her fingers tighten around the phone before she slides it away, next to her passport. I can’t help but see the corner. I inhale a sharp, shallow breath. I can’t help it. I shouldn’t let a passport affect me. I should feel nothing but pride in what she’s accomplished. I want to. But that old pull returns, low and wrenching.
Then the memories surface. Auburn hair catching the hallway light. Water dripping from a cracked ceiling, each drop landing with a slap on stained linoleum. The smell of mildew. And that ache returns. It rises fast, threatening to swallow me whole.
I force a full breath. I’m not a child. I’m a grown man. I’m safe, and Mabel is safe. She isn’t in harm’s way. My head knows this, but my heart—my hyperaware and wired to anticipate the worst heart—keeps sounding alarms I can’t shut off. But I’ve got to try.
“You earned that money. Every cent,” I say, working overtime to keep my voice even.
She slows down as we near the ice cream window at the Five and Dime. “It wasn’t just me. We did this, Cal. The farmers. The shopkeepers. The whole town. We’re a team. A community that pulled together.”
She holds my gaze, and everything else fades away. The noise cuts out. No music, no movement, no low hum of conversations. Nothing lingers from before. No ghosts from the past. Only her. Mabel, clear and certain.
My chest eases. The tension lodged deep in my shoulders slips loose. My pulse finds its rhythm again.
“Hey there!” A teenage girl leans out of the order window. “What flavor can I get you?”
Mabel steps up to the counter, eyeing the tubs behind the smudged glass. “He’ll have a scoop of Rocky Road. I’ll havetwoscoops of whatever’s new.”
I lean against the wall, feeling more like myself. “How do you know I still like Rocky Road?”
She tilts her head. “Do you?”
I don’t bother pretending. “Yeah.”
She grins. “Good to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
“That’s five dollars,” the girl says, handing over the cones.
Mabel takes them and turns to me, eyes dancing. “He’s buying.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I murmur, reaching for my wallet and so damn grateful to be by her side.
Once I pay, I glance over to find Mabel looking down Main Street. I know that look. She’s not scanning for a way out. She’s absorbing it, letting it sink in. And my heart swells.
I nudge her gently. “What flavor did you end up with?”
She hands me my cone, then takes a slow bite of hers. “Oh, this is good, Cal. Strawberries, cream, and graham crackers. It tastes like an Elverna summer.”
Her voice is lighter now, but her expression shifts. Not sad. She’s pulled inward.
