Page 31 of Art of Love

I’m still digging. You were right about the inconsistencies in the report. I’ve found something that might be significant, but I need time to verify before jumping to conclusions.

Give me a couple more weeks. I promise, I’ll have a full update for you then.

—Dylan

She stared at the message for a beat, then hit send before she could change her mind.

Leaning back, she exhaled and let her eyes drift closed. Abe had been honest with her. Brutally honest. And tonight, she had seen the obvious weight that he still carried about Kara in his grief, his questions, and his uncertainty about the past.

She had come to this town chasing the truth. But now, part of her wasn’t sure what she’d do if the truth hurt someone she was starting to care about.

Shutting down her laptop, she stood, rubbing the tension from the back of her neck. Whatever happened next, she’d have to be careful. Not just with what she found, but with whom she trusted. And most importantly, with what she was willing to lose in the process.

She needed ice cream. Walking over to the fridge, she pulled out some Ben and Jerry’s and turned on the news. Halfway through the report, she switched to a crime movie and fell asleep on the sofa with an empty ice cream container on her lap and murder in her dreams.

The next morning, Dylan woke stiff and disoriented, one arm hanging off the sofa and an empty pint of Ben and Jerry’s nestled between two throw pillows like a sad badge of honor. The crime movie had been replaced by some overenthusiastic morning show host who looked far too cheerful for the hour. She groaned, sat up, and winced as her neck protested the night spent curled like a question mark.

After a quick shower and a fresh change of clothes, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. She needed caffeine, a moment of normalcy, and maybe, just maybe, a quiet place to think.

The Brew-Ha-Ha was buzzing with its usual charm. Eclectic music drifted from hidden speakers, the scent of roasted beans, cinnamon, and sugar wafted through the air, and the low murmur of voices could be heard over clinking mugs. Dylan stepped up to the counter and ordered a vanilla latte and a blueberry scone before sliding into one of the deep armchairs near the window with a worn paperback mystery.

She’d barely read two pages before a familiar voice startled her.

“Dylan?”

She looked up to see Lucy standing just a few feet away, her son clinging to her leg. Her newborn was asleep in the stroller. Today, Lucy looked less frazzled but still worn, like someone who hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in years. Her hair was swept up into a messy bun, and her oversized cardigan was speckled with what might’ve been cracker crumbs or glitter, maybe both.

Beside her stood a tall, solidly built man with kind eyes and a baby carrier slung over one arm.

“Troy, this is Dylan, the one I told you about.” Lucy’s voice was soft but edged with nervous excitement. “Dylan, my husband, Troy. He works at the Coast Guard facility.” She sighed. “Can I… would you mind if I sat with you? Troy’s going to take the kids to the park for a bit.”

Dylan blinked, surprised but too polite to say no. “Uh, sure. Of course.”

Troy gave her a small wave. “Nice to meet you.” He bent to scoop Dylan, her namesake, into his arms and murmured something to Lucy before heading out the door without the stroller, holding his daughter and his son in his arms. He looked like an expert dad, not someone who had never cared for both kids before now.

Lucy eased down across from her, exhaling like someone who’d just run a marathon. “God, thank you. I love them, but sometimes I just need one hour without someone screaming or wiping their nose on my jeans.”

Dylan smiled, though she could tell it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No problem.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Lucy nursing her own latte before finally speaking again. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for years. I just didn’t know if you’d want to hear it.”

Dylan’s fingers tightened slightly around her mug.

“I was scared,” Lucy admitted, eyes fixed on the table. “Everything that happened… how everyone turned their backs on you, including me. I didn’t want to dismiss our friendship, but I was a coward. After what I’d gone through, I just wanted… popularity,” she blurted out the last word like she’d just ripped of a bandage.

Dylan didn’t answer right away. The past had settled between them like fog—thick, unspoken, impossible to ignore.

“I named my son after you,” Lucy added softly, “because deep down, I always knew that you didn’t deserve any of it. I am so deeply sorry that I hurt you.”

That nearly undid her. Dylan blinked hard, staring out the window so Lucy wouldn’t see the shimmer in her eyes.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Lucy said, reaching across the table, not to touch, just to be closer. “But if you ever want to talk… or scream… or throw things, I’m around.”

Dylan swallowed the knot in her throat. “Thanks,” she managed. “I’m just… not there yet.”

Lucy nodded like she understood. “I get it. When you are, I’ll be here.” She gave her a weak smile. Dylan nodded slightly in understanding.

They finished their drinks in silence, though it wasn’t quite as strained as before. When Troy returned with the kids in tow, Lucy smiled and gave Dylan a hug that she didn’t expect.

As Dylan walked back to her car, the warmth of the coffee and the weight of old wounds tugged at her chest. Lucy’s words had cracked something open. Maybe, just maybe, not everything from the past had to stay broken.

But that didn’t mean she was ready to forgive.

Not yet.