Page 124 of Matchmaking On The Menu

Teddy raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, a playful smirk on his lips. “Try me.”

“I’m going to be writing for the town newspaper!” I burst out, unable to contain my joy.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Seriously? That’s amazing!”

“I know!” I say, practically glowing. “Mrs. Newberry offered me the chance to come in and review the contracts. And the girls are all on board to help out with the diner.”

He steps closer, his excitement palpable. “That’s incredible, Dannica. I knew you had it in you!”

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me at his encouragement. “It feels like everything is finally coming together.”

“Of course it is. You’ve been putting in the work,” he says, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve this.”

I can feel the weight of his words sink in, and I take a breath, letting the moment settle. “Thank you for believing in me. It means more than you know.”

He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering. “Always.”

There’s a softness in his gaze that makes my heart flutter. I take a step closer, feeling the gravitational pull between us. “What about you? How was your day?”

“It was good,” he replies, his smile infectious. “I worked on some new shots for the gallery. But now that you’re here, I think I’ve found my muse.”

I laugh lightly, feeling a rush of warmth at the compliment. “Well, I’m glad I could inspire you.”

“You always do,” he says, his voice low and earnest.

As we settle into comfortable conversation, I share the details of my day, the anxiety, the surprise, the overwhelming support from my friends. Teddy listens intently, nodding along, and I can see the pride in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to run a newspaper,” he says, his tone teasing. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Don’t make it sound like I’m starting a revolution or something.”

“Hey, you never know,” he counters, a grin on his face. “This could be the start of something huge.”

I lean back, considering his words. The thought sends a thrill through me. “Maybe it is.”

We continue talking, the conversation flowing effortlessly as the evening stretches on. I feel lighter, more alive, filled with a sense of purpose I haven’t felt in a long time. It’s as if each word we share is a brushstroke on a canvas, painting a picture of what could be.

Eventually, the conversation shifts to our creative processes. I find myself opening up about my writing, how it often feels like a battle between what I want to say and what I think others expect of me.

“It’s hard to find my voice sometimes,” I admit, my brow furrowing in thought. “I want to write something real, but I’m always worried about how it’ll be received.”

Teddy nods, understanding in his eyes. “I get that. But remember, your voice is unique. It’s what sets you apart. Don’t be afraid to let it shine.”

I smile, encouraged by his words. “Thanks, Teddy. I really appreciate it.”

As the night wears on, I realize just how easy it is to share my thoughts and feelings, to be vulnerable without fear. It’s a breath of fresh air, a reminder that I’m not just a collection of moments or expectations. I am more than that.

Eventually, we find ourselves sitting side by side on the couch, the dim light casting a warm glow around us. I can feel the energy shifting again, the air thick with unspoken words and possibilities.

25

TEDDY

DEVELOPING

By the time Sunday night rolls around, the diner doesn’t feel like just a diner anymore. It feels like something on the edge of becoming bigger, louder, more alive than it’s been in years. A lot of that is Dannica. She moves through it with this steady, determined energy that hasn’t let up since the day Mrs. Newberry walked in and shifted everything. Contracts signed, plans drawn up, ideas thrown around at a pace that would’ve overwhelmed her a month ago, and now she’s right in the middle of it, not just keeping up but driving it forward.

The newspaper has gone from an idea to something real. Something we can point to. Somewhere between late-night conversations, half-finished drafts, and her pacing around my living room muttering headlines under her breath, this came together. Not just a feature on the diner. Not something generic about Boudica Springs. Something that matters.