Page 252 of Lost Then Found
It’s strange, the way something can take so long to build and still feel like it showed up all at once. Like I blinked and there it was—this place, this moment, this future I didn’t think I’d get to have.
I used to think coming back home would feel like giving something up. Like slipping into a version of myself I’d tried too hard to outgrow.
But now?
Now it just feels like I was always going to end up here—like every road I took was circling back to this ranch, to him, to her.
It’s not the life I planned. But it sure as hell is the one I want.
And that counts for something.
Maybe it even counts for everything.
Chapter 29
LARK
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. “You’ve dealt with harder things. Like childbirth. And tax season.”
The mirror over the sink is too small and lit with that weird yellow bathroom bulb that makes everyone look mildly jaundiced, but I don’t look half as panicked as I feel, so I’ll take the win. My ponytail’s neat. Clean shirt. No coffee stains. No mascara smudges. I look fine. Capable, even. Like someone who can walk into her own damn diner and handle her business.
It’s technically my day off, but I showed up just after six, unlocked the back door like muscle memory, and flipped the lights on before I could talk myself out of it. I told myself it was to catch up on paperwork and make vendor calls, but I know that’s not why I’m here.
Today’s the day I fire Dawn.
She’s not in yet. Won’t be for another thirty minutes. I’ve got her folder sitting on my desk and a backup hire already lined up—a college student named Erica who came in wearing Converse and talked about food safety like it was a religion.
She’s going to be great. She’s not the problem.
The problem is that this place won’t feel like the Bluebell without Dawn yelling from the kitchen about how people who order poached eggs after 10a.m. deserve to be escorted out.
She’s been part of this diner for years. Longer than me. Longer than most of the furniture. She was Alice’s right hand, and whether I wanted her to be or not, she became mine too. Even when she barked, even when she hovered. Even when she made me feel like I didn’t quite know what I was doing sometimes.
But she crossed a line, and now there’s no way around it.
I exhale, pressing my palms into the sink. The porcelain is cool beneath my hands. My chest feels tight, like the air is sticking on its way down.
This is what it means to be the one in charge. Sometimes it’s spreadsheets and cinnamon roll orders. Sometimes it’s letting someone go who used to feel like family.
I look at my reflection one last time and force a breath through my nose. “You’re going to do this with professionalism, like the bad bitch that you are. And absolutely no sobbing in the walk-in freezer afterward. Great.”
I push open the door and walk out.
In the past three hours, I’ve balanced the register, confirmed next week’s produce delivery, filled out Erica’s onboarding packet, and sent a reminder to the HVAC guy, who’s conveniently forgotten we still don’t have reliable heat in the back pantry. I’ve crossed more off my list than I usually do in two days just trying to stay busy, to avoid the inevitable.
Dawn’s already clocked in, standing near the register, one hand resting on the counter as she chats with a couple of locals seated at the front booth by the window. They’re laughing hard—one of them dabs at his eyes with a napkin, the other thumping the table like he can’t take any more.
Dawn’s in her element. Easy. Loud. Funny without trying. She tosses a quick grin over her shoulder, then goes right back to the story, hitting the punchline like she’s been waiting for it all morning.
For a second, I just watch her.
The Bluebell won’t sound the same without her.
“Dawn,” I say, just loud enough to cut through the chatter. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Her eyes find mine. She tilts her head, curious, then nods and calls overher shoulder, “Josie! Front’s all yours, sweetheart.”
Dawn follows me into the office, calm as ever, like this is any other shift. She closes the door behind her and leans back against it like she’s settling in for a casual chat.
