Page 164 of Always Meant for You
Preston nods. “You gave a small town a voice. You made people care. We want that same clarity. That sense of purpose.”
Mabel draws in a slow breath. Her posture stays composed, but I know her. I can feel her mind working. She’s figuring out how it might all fit. How she could manage both worlds. And she could. She absolutely could. But that doesn’t stop the cold twist of worry inside me.
“We’d love for you to come too, Cal,” Preston adds. “You’d bring a valuable perspective.”
“Me?” I try to laugh, but it sounds more like I’m convulsing. “I belong on a tractor. Mabel’s the one who tells the story. I’m better with yield data and soil reports.”
Logan smiles. “The invitation stands either way.”
Mabel turns to me, and her gaze nearly knocks the breath from my chest. There’s no judgment in it. No frustration. Only a quiet ache. And something deeper. A kind of waiting. A kind of wishing. She wants this. And my reaction dulls the joy.
I want to explain. But not here. Not in front of people I barely know, with the weight of too many memories pressing in from every side.
“What did you do before you ran Elverna’s social media?” Preston asks.
I hold still. I say nothing. But inside, everything sharpens. I want the answer too.
Her smile grows a touch too wide. “Mostly freelance projects in New York City.”
“We love New York City,” Preston gushes, sharing a look with Logan. “Did you work on anything we’d recognize? I don’t mean to push. You’re so talented. I’d love to know what brought you back to Elverna.”
There’s no malice in the man’s tone. He’s clearly taken with Mabel and respects her, but it’s the way she responds that has me on the edge of my seat. The tension is coming off her in waves.
Logan checks his watch. “Damn, I’m so sorry to cut this short, but we need to leave.”
“No worries,” Mabel says, the words tumbling out fast as she rises to her feet.
Outside, the light is too bright. The air too thick.
“Ready to go home?” I ask, needing to be back where life makes sense.
“Not yet,” she says. “Let’s walk a bit first.”
I follow her past the curb, past the truck, past the spot where I nearly unraveled an hour ago. She slows in front of the row house with the crooked four.
“What is this place, Cal? What does it mean to you?”
I stare at the number. “I want to talk. I want to tell you. But not here.”
“Then where?” she asks. “Because I want to understand you, Cal. Not the version you show the town. Not the version who carries everything without complaint. I want all of you. Something in you is locked tight, and I can’t pretend not to notice. And I can’t help but wonder if it’s part of the reason youpushed me away when we were kids.” Her voice doesn’t rise. But I feel the tension building.
“I think we’re both holding back,” I say.
“You want to know why I came home. You could tell Preston’s question made me anxious, couldn’t you, Cal?”
“I have an idea, but I want to hear it from you.”
She doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. Finally, she meets my gaze. “You’re right. I don’t want to do this here.”
I exhale, some small relief passing through me, but it’s short-lived. The wedge is still there. We’ve ignored it for too long. If we don’t name it, it’ll only grow wider.
“Let’s get out of Chicago and find a diner or a park,” she offers. “I can check my phone and see what’s outside the city.”
I rest my hand on hers, stopping her from opening her purse. “No, there’s only one place for us to have this conversation.”
She shakes her head slowly. She already knows where we have to go.
“Why there?” she whispers.
