Page 160 of Always Meant for You
“I misspoke,” I say, feeling a bit stronger. “Iwantto be here, Mabel.”
She looks back over her shoulder. “I don’t think you do.”
I squeeze her hand. “I do.”
“You’re trembling.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just . . .” I pause. “We want to help as many people as we can. Especially kids. I bet this pantry helps the children in this neighborhood.” I’ve got to anchor myself to something. Otherwise, I’m going down, and I don’t want to take Mabel with me into that hell.
She watches me. “I’m sure you’re right.”
I nod, breathing through the ache.
A click cuts our conversation.
“Welcome!” Logan calls, opening Mabel’s door.
Preston stands beside him, his grin wide and unguarded. We’ve come a long way from that tense meeting after the first farmers’ market. Mabel’s the one who talks to them nearly every day, but I’ve joined a few of those calls—especially when the conversation shifts to output, harvest timing, and supply logistics. I’ve gotten to know them well enough to trust they’re in this for the right reasons.
Preston helps her out. “We’re so happy to see you and so grateful for the donation. The volunteers can unload while we give you a tour.”
Logan leans in. “I hope you don’t mind a short visit. We’re a little pressed for time today. One of our restaurants across town has an electrical issue. And the electrician just messaged. It’s always something in the restaurant business.”
“We’ll take whatever time you’ve got,” Mabel answers warmly.
Thank God, she’s so good at this.
She meets my gaze. “How about you open the truck for the volunteers?”
I nod. She knows I need to move, need a second to get a grip. I step into the sticky heat, circle the truck, and pull the door wide. Cold air rushes out in slow spirals. I can hear her making small talk with the chefs, but I can’t concentrate on the conversation.
I clear my throat. “The crates are labeled,” I say to the volunteers. My voice scrapes at the edges, but I hold it steady. “Can I help you unload?”
A young guy with glasses waves me off. “No thanks, sir. We’ve got it from here.”
I glance at Mabel. She’s watching me from the corner of her eye.
I come to her side and slide my hands into my pockets.
Just breathe. It’s a short visit.
“Do I smell a casserole?” Preston asks.
“You do,” Mabel says, reaching into the cab of the truck, then passing the dish to the man. “Betty Young made it for you with heirloom tomatoes, radishes, and mountain rose potatoes. She remembered how much you liked the last one you tried.”
“My husband hasn’t stopped talking about that casserole,” Logan adds.
Mabel hands him a bakery box. “And these are from Elverna too. Gluten-free muffins, fresh amaranth, and strawberries. The crates in the back contain a variety of produce, grains, flour, milk, and cheese.”
Logan’s eyes light up. “This is terrific. I’m excited for this partnership. We’ve wanted to source from small farms, but juggling that many vendors became a real headache. You’ve solved that with Eat Elverna.”
“I can’t take any credit for that,” Mabel says softly. “The co-op was my older brother Jamie’s idea. And Cal’s too. Cal was my brother’s best friend.”
“Was?” Preston asks, his brows knitting together.
“My brother passed away a little over four years ago, during the transition to sustainable farming. Cal’s been leading the co-op,” Mabel explains.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Preston says, quieter now.
