Page 116 of Lost Then Found
“This is a mistake,” I say again, but my voice is quieter this time.
Darren meets my gaze, his expression unreadable. “Then I suggest you prove it.”
He nods once, then steps past me, portfolio tucked neatly under his arm, heading for the door.
I stand there, rooted to the floor, my mind spinning, my pulse roaring in my ears.
This can’t be happening.
But as I watch him tape that orangeCLOSED BY ORDER OF THE REDWOOD COUNTY HEALTH DEPARTMENTnotice to my window, I realize it is.
The bright orange sign glares back at me, the blocky black letters stark against the glass. A death sentence.
The murmur of voices behind me grows louder—regulars whispering, Dawn cursing under her breath, Finn shifting awkwardly near the counter. My skin prickles with the weight of their stares, but I can’t move, can’t turn around, can’t do anything but watch as Darren smooths the tape down with the flat of his palm, sealing my fate.
When he steps back, he glances at me one last time. Not smug, not cruel—just detached.
“If you have any questions, the number for the department is on the notice.” Then, with a small nod, he walks out.
The bell above the door chimes like it’s just another ordinary customer leaving.
It’s not.
It feels final.
Like a door closing.
Like everything I’ve helped build is being stripped away, piece by piece, right in front of me and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat, forcing my feet to move. I step forward, just enough to press my fingers against the glass, as if touching it will somehow make it less real.
But the sign doesn’t disappear. The diner doesn’t magically reopen. The numbers in my bank account don’t suddenly rearrange themselves into something that can fix this.
Behind me, Dawn clears her throat. Her voice is softer than usual whenshe says, “Lark.”
I don’t turn around.
I can’t.
I just stand there, staring at the closed sign on the door of my diner, my home, my last piece of Alice.
And I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do next.
**********
The front door slams open, rattling the walls, and Miller comes charging in like she’s about to drag me out of a burning building.
I don’t look up.
My laptop is balanced on my knees, my fingers hovering over the trackpad as I reread the same health department regulations for the fifth time, hoping I’ve somehow missed something that will fix all of this.
“I swear to God, Lark.” Her voice is sharp, breathless, like she rushed here. “Why thehelldid I just drive by the Bluebell and see a health department notice taped to the door?”
I keep my eyes on my laptop, my fingers clicking through the appeal process. “I haven’t had time to call you,” I mutter.
Miller lets out a sharpha, the kind that means she doesn’t believe a damn word I just said.
I keep my eyes on the screen, scrolling through an appeal form I’ve already started filling out twice.
