Page 119 of Lost Then Found
Miller flicks her eyes up from her phone, deadpan. “You’d be terrible at crocheting.”
I let out a frustrated noise, my fingers twitching with the need to throw something. “I’m not gonna let you do whatever this is by yourself.”
Miller sighs, pressing a hand to her chest in mock emotion. “Wow. You actuallydolove me.”
I glare.
She grins. “Look, you sitting here, glaring at the health department website like it’s gonna tell you who framed you, isn’t doing anything. You need to be with Hudson. Be a mom for a bit. Let me handle this.”
“I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
Miller’s brows lift. “You think being Hudson’s mom is nothing?”
I open my mouth, then shut it.
She smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
I exhale sharply, my fingers digging into my sides. “If you need me todo anything—”
“I’ll let you know.” She moves toward the door, already scrolling through something on her phone, probably plotting her next move. “In the meantime, maybe go outside. Breathe some fresh air. Look at a tree or something.”
I narrow my eyes. “I hate you.”
“Love you too.” She winks, then disappears out the door.
I stand there, staring after her, caught somewhere between disbelief and resignation.
Like hell if she thinks I’m just gonna sit at home while my diner is closed.
I start pacing, barefoot against the hardwood floor, my arms crossed tight over my chest like they might be the only thing holding me together. My mind spins through the same cycle of worst-case scenarios, each one worse than the last.
I have some savings. Enough to keep the lights on, pay the mortgage, make sure Hudson doesn’t go without. It’s not nothing.
But it won’t last forever.
If I can’t get the Bluebell back up and running soon, what happens then? What happens to my staff—people who have worked for me for years, who depend on those paychecks to keep their own families afloat?
Dawn has a mortgage. Finn just moved into his own place. I don’t have time to sit around and wait for things to fix themselves.
My pulse pounds against my temples, the frustration clawing up my throat.
The slam of the front door makes me jolt.
Hudson bursts in, grinning, covered in dirt from head to toe. His baseball uniform is streaked with dust, his socks pulled up unevenly, the front of his jersey untucked.
Through the sliver of the open door, I catch a glimpse of Boone’s truck idling in the driveway. Hudson waves goodbye over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him and turning toward me.
“You will not believe what happened at practice,” he says, practically vibrating with excitement as he kicks off his cleats. “So we’re doing this rundown drill, right? And Ben—who, you know, takes baseballwaytoo seriously—decides to get all fancy with it. Starts running backward to tag out Jake, except he doesn’t see Coach behind him, and Coach’s holding, like, an entire Gatorade, and they just—” He claps his hands together, grinning. “Boom. Whole thing goes flying. Coach’s soaked.”
Despite everything, a small, tired smile tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“He’s never letting Ben live that down,” I say.
Hudson laughs, pulling off his socks. Dirt clouds the air. “Not in a million years.”
He tosses his socks toward the laundry room—they miss, but he doesn’t seem to care—before straightening, suddenly serious.
“Hey, uh, I know this kind of sucks but Coach says I need new cleats,” Hudson says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And probably new pants too.”
