Page 35 of Stick With Me
You’re no fun lol
Night.
Ryan:
Sweet dreams, Sunshine.
FIFTEEN
The cold airoff Lake Michigan whips against my exposed cheeks. I quicken my pace, burying my face into my knit scarf. When I finally spot what I’m looking for, a coffee shop, I pull open the door of Bean There with my gloved hands. Warmth washes over me, and I let out a relieved breath.
I head to the counter for a chai latte and a blueberry muffin, then grab the only available table near the entrance. After opening my laptop, I pull up my business plan. It’s the same one that’s been sitting in my saved files for years, ignored like so many other parts of my life when my focus was on Jace.
Like I told Ryan on the beach, I knew in college what I wanted to do, but it wasn’t until I saw it firsthand that I was able to fully form my business plan: a foster-based rescue that transports pups from the South to the North, where there’s a higher demand and fewer dogs available for adoption.
The plan has been ready since then, but every time I’m about to take the next step, I find a reason to put it off. Now, as I stare at the twenty-page document, that familiar hesitation rises again.
I have nothing stopping me, yet instead of diving in, I’m still holding back. I guess there’s some truth to the saying about old dogs and new tricks. But I moved here to take a leap, to try new things, and to hopefully have a better outcome this time around. I find myself muttering another familiar motto:Just do it.
“Holy crabs, it’s cold out.” A voice rings out over the chatter in the coffee shop. Heads turn as a woman stands in the entrance, vigorously rubbing her arms and shuffling from side to side. Small puffs of air are visible as the door swings shut behind her. Unlike me, she seems completely unprepared for the freezing temperatures, her outfit better suited for fall than winter.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says to the patrons whose attention is now on her, holding her hands up in a show of innocence.
“Guessing you’re not from around here?” I raise an eyebrow, eyeing her paper-thin coat and bare hands. “Also, ‘holy crabs’? Is that new lingo I should know?”
She offers a warm, easy smile. “Ha! No, it’s mom lingo. Finding creative ways to curse is something they skip in parenting books. And yeah, I clearly underestimated the cold. Total rookie mistake.” She gestures to her coat with a dramatic flair, then curtsies playfully. “I’m Ada, by the way.”
“Hannah.” I pause, debating. “I’m kind of new to the city too… Well, I went to college here, but I just moved back.”
Is it weird to ask a stranger to have coffee with me? I can’t remember the last person I met who didn’t know me as “Jace Knolls’ girlfriend.” Meeting new people is hard in general, but making friends when you’re connected to someone in the public eye is even worse. I never knew if people liked me for me or if they were just hoping to get closer to Jace and the spotlight that followed him.
But a friend? That would be nice.
Screw it, I’m here to put myself out there.
“So, maybe this is weird, but we’re both new, and honestly, I could use a new friend. Do you want to join me?” I motion toward my table, shifting in my seat, hoping I don’t come off too awkward.
“Oh my God, yes! Isn’t making friends as an adult daunting? I wish it was as simple as it is for my nine-year-old.”
“It’s been a while since I was six, but kids get straight to the point, right? So, will you be my friend?” I joke, feeling the nervous energy slip away as she grins back at me.
“If I had paper, I’d check the box for yes because it’s not real unless you cement the friendship in crayon.” We laugh as she drops her things on the chair across from me.
She heads to the counter, grabs a coffee, and then joins me.
“So, what brought you to Chicago?” I ask, taking a page fromHow to Win Friends and Influence People, hoping the author is right about people loving to talk about themselves.Look at that: my non-fiction reading actually comes in handy.
“My ex-husband. We share custody of our son, so when he was offered a job here, we followed him. I didn’t love the idea of following a man I’m not even with, but I couldn’t imagine my son growing up so far from his father. So, here we are. What about you?”
“Bad breakup. I needed a fresh start, and Chicago seemed like the right place for it.”
“Oh, yep, I know how those go. What happened? Was he a cheater? One of those people who are rude to the waitstaff? Oh, did he tell your mother-in-law about your sex life, and then you had to endure a lunch with her where she tried to triage your problems like she was a sex therapist?”
I blink, trying to suppress my laughter. “Okay, I’m going to need the story on that last one, because that’s way too specific to be hypothetical.”
She dives into the story, and by the time she’s done, my stomach aches from laughing so hard. Before I know it, I’m spilling my guts too—about my breakup, my new roommate, my business plan, and how I’m now questioning myself when I should be excited to make moves.
It feels oddly cathartic, sharing my story with someone who knows nothing about me.
