Candy follows my gaze. "Told you. Give it time. They'll see who you are."
I nod. "You think so?"
"I know so," she says. "This town's got a long memory, but it's got a good heart. You just keep showing up. Keep being kind. That's how you change it."
Her faith steadies me. I sip my lemonade and let the music roll through me. For the first time in weeks, I let myself feel something that isn't fear.
Maybe she's right. Maybe I can belong here. Maybe I can rebuild.
The band starts another song, faster this time. Candy whoops and heads back to the dance floor, waving for me to follow. I stay where I am, watching the swirl of movement, the bright lights, and the laughter that fills the room.
For a moment, I close my eyes. I imagine Asher here—his hand finding mine, his steady warmth against my back, the way he'd smile when he caught me looking at him. It's enough to make my throat tighten.
I open my eyes again, blinking away the ache. The song picks up, while the crowd claps along.
Candy's right. I can't stay stuck in what I've lost. I have to keep showing up.
Chapter 30
Asher
The dance hall sits at the edge of town. Light spills from the windows and lies softly on the dust. Trucks and old sedans crowd the lot. Voices ride the music. Laughter rings out across the gravel. I park crooked because patience is not in me tonight.
Jenna told me to fight. Candy told me where to look without telling me anything at all. I take the steps two at a time and push through the double doors.
Stepping in, I let my eyes adjust. String lights drape the rafters. The band is on the far side of a short stage, and the singer is grinning with the smug satisfaction of someone who just got away with something. Couples sway and two-step. Friends lean against the wall and talk with their hands.
Scanning the room, my eyes pull to her as if they don't have any other choice. She stands near the wall with a lemonade in her hand and her hair loose down her back. The soft cream dress she has on hugs every curve in a way that makes my chest ache. Candy stands beside her, talking with her hands and grinning, a woman with a plan. Kassi laughs at something Candy says, and the sight of her laughing is enough to make every part of me crave her.
My first thought is to cut straight to her, pull her into my chest, and say I’m sorry I let you walk away. My second thought is the one I listen to. This is not only about her and me. It is about all these eyes, and the gossip that spreads in a small town. About my brothers, standing in my kitchen with fear under their anger. It is about the men in trucks who think paper can buy history. If I love her, I love her in front of all of them.
I move through the crowd, and every few steps, someone claps my shoulder or tips a chin. The news about the developers hangs in the air, a storm you can smell before it breaks. Some people look at me with trust. Some, with worry. A few wear that guarded tightness around their mouth, I have come to recognize. I pass Mrs. Turner, who tells me she will bring a pie for the church raffle and that she likes my mother's frosting better—but not to tell her. I promise nothing and keep walking.
Candy spots me first. Her eyes flick with surprise and then settle into relief. She touches Kassi's arm and tips her chin toward me. When Kassi turns, her gaze finds mine, and the noise falls out of my head. She looks braced, but hopeful.
Reaching them, I touch the brim of my hat because my hands need to do something. Candy steps aside, clearing a lane the way you would for a calf to run through a gate.
"Hey," she says, with sly warmth. "I’m going to get another lemonade and let you two catch up."
"Candy," Kassi hisses, a warning and a thank you tangled together.
Candy just winks and disappears into the shift and swing of the floor.
Kassi's eyes lift to mine. "You came," she says.
"I am stubborn," I answer. "It took me a few days to find the right way to say what needed saying. But I’m done thinking, and I’m ready to talk."
"Asher, maybe not here."
"Here," I say, gentle and certain. "Here with every person who thinks they know our story better than we do. I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m going to do something, and you can decide after."
She watches me the way a horse watches a gate that has only ever been opened from one side. There is fear in it, there is trust, and there is the capacity to run. I won't spook her.
The band slides into a softer song, and the floor settles. I cut across to the stage, and the singer sees me coming. We went to school together, and he once pulled me out from under a bull on the rodeo grounds. He lifts his chin, a question without words. I ask with my palm. He nods, taking the mic off the stand.
The room shifts and hushes. I feel Finn and Zach before I find them. They stand near the bar with their arms folded. Mom and Dad aren’t here, and somehow that feels a mix of mercy and ache tangled together.
I take the mic, but it feels wrong in my hand. I have never liked microphones. They make your voice bigger than it should be while smaller at the same time. Curling my fingers around it, I take a deep breath, just as I do before I throw a loop. Then, looking at everyone in the room, I let the truth fall out.