Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

From the Kitchen of Verbena Fullbright

Cold ingredients will make cake batter dense and lumpy and prone to curdling. Ain't nobody wants that. Letting the ingredients come to room temperature will ensure a smooth mixture with lots of air bubbles that will expand in the oven, making the sponges nice and fluffy with an even texture. Just like cakes, time can also work wonders for warming up to people who might've once been a little cold.

Tessa Jane

On Tuesday afternoon, the big red barn's kitchen was buzzing as all three of the Sugarbirds flitted about the space. I was set up at the frosting station, and the knuckles on my right hand were starting to ache from gripping the electric hand mixer—or whizzer, as Aunt Bean liked to call it. Using a stand mixer for this task, like the Sugarbirds did, made much more sense. Truly. But because Bean preferred to make frosting this way, exactly like her mama had taught her, I did, too.

"There's magic to be found in tradition," she used to tell me when I asked why she didn't make the switch.

I liked being part of that tradition. Very much so.

When she left an hour ago for a doctor's appointment, choosing Addie to drive her, she'd said to me, "It's a great day for you to get caught up with the Sugarbirds, peanut. You'll be in good hands with them as you settle in here."

Settle.

It sounded so appealing. Being with the Sugarbirds, where there was a sense of friendship, coziness, and sweetness, made me want to stay. Made me want to make another attempt at baking the shop's trademark cakes even though I'd given up trying a long time ago, failing time and again.

As a Bee Gees record played on a turntable in the corner, Willa Jo Digby peeked over my shoulder. She was a tall, broad woman who had a thick brown braid laced with silver strands, kind grayish-brown eyes, and a deep longing to visit her grandchildren in California, who she saw only once a year because travel costs were simply too expensive. The need to see them pulsed off her, rattling the bangle bracelets on her wrists. Sad, silvery jangles.

I wished I could make a donation to her travel fund but any extra money I had at the end of every month was donated to my mother's secret society. Many around here would be quite shocked to see the bottom line of my bank account.

The most shocked would probably be my granddaddy. Every month he gave Mama and me generous stipends, using money from the trust account he'd inherited from my grandmother. Although he made it clear he didn't like sharing the money, he was dutifully following Gigi's wishes. She'd been giving Mama and me an allowance for as long as I could remember and requested the practice continue after her death. I was honestly surprised he was complying, though I shouldn't be. Not with the way he wanted my and Addie's land. He knew he had to stay on my good side.

"Absolutely beautiful," Willa Jo said, still peeking in my bowl.

She was one of three Sugarbirds, named for their sweet natures and incessant chatter, chirping, and squawking. Friends since grade school, they were now in their midsixties and had worked in the bakery for what felt like forever. Individually—and especially as a whole—they were the most hardworking, salt-of-the-earth people I'd ever met in my life and truly felt like family.

"Thanks, Willa Jo," I said.

She was talking about the bowl of ermine frosting I was whipping up. Made with a cooked milk and flour base, it was an old-fashioned frosting, light and fluffy, that had the texture of whipped cream. It was less sweet than a classic buttercream and Bean used it—or a variation of it—for a few of her cakes like her Luminous Lemon cake and Red Velvet Delight.

Willa Jo leaned a hip against the worktable. "Not that I expected anything less. Considering that fancy degree of yours."

Though her husky voice was pleasant, cheerful even, I heard an undercurrent of concern. It was as if she worried that while I was here helping out I'd swap out Bean's humble cakes for petit fours or mille-feuille. Or use a Swiss meringue buttercream instead of the ermine.

The Sugarbirds needn't worry. Nothing was going to change.

As the scent of Aunt Bean's vanilla extract swirled in the air, I switched off the whizzer to change out the flat-edged beaters for a whisk attachment. Willa Jo still loomed, and trying to put her mind at ease, I said, "I've had no better teachers than y'all."

A chorus of "awws" drifted through the room, then Willa Jo added, "We're real glad you finally found your way back here, honey. Right where you've always belonged."

Just like that, my shadow darkened. I pasted on a fake smile. "It's like old times." After all, this humble barn kitchen was where I'd learned to bake.

"You took your sweet time getting here," Pinky Doucet, another of the Sugarbirds, said on a laugh. "We expected you years ago."

Something that felt like grief welled up in me, and I forcefully tamped it back down.

"Hush now," Delilah said. "Clearly, Tessa Jane gets her time management skills from her auntie."

Delilah and Bean liked to say they'd been friends since the womb—their mamas had been pregnant at the same time. Delilah was a tiny but solid workhorse of a woman, always moving, always going, always pushing forward. She'd been married for thirty-six years, had raised three boys—and tragically buried one of them—and now had six grandchildren keeping her busy when she wasn't working full-time.

Again, I forced a smile and turned the whizzer back on. It was true Aunt Bean's inner clock tended to run a bit behind, but the reason I hadn't shown up here years ago looking to become a Sugarbird had nothing to do with timing. And everything to do with pain.

It hadn't always been that way. Once, a long time ago, I dreamed about working alongside Bean and the Sugarbirds, and making the cakes—oh, the delightful cakes.

Eventually, however, Granddaddy had robbed me of that dream after he'd become fixated on me mastering Aunt Bean's recipes. Every day after school, I'd bake a cake for him. And every day I failed to replicate Aunt Bean's magic.

It was all too easy to recall him saying, "It's not good enough!" before throwing a cake I'd made into the trash.

Aunt Bean had always said that it took only following her recipes for the magic to happen, but no matter how hard I tried, I simply could not infuse my bright side into a cake.

Not back then.

Not now.

At the reminder, it took everything in me not to flee the barn, to escape the vanilla-wrapped reminders that I'd never measure up to what was expected of me.

From either side of the family.

As I worked on the frosting, I thought about the summons I'd received this morning, hand delivered at first light by my granddaddy's assistant, Jenna Elkins. He was throwing a black-tie party at his home on Friday night and I was expected to be there.

I'd known I couldn't avoid him forever, but I'd been hoping for a longer reprieve.

I wished I could ask Aunt Bean—or even Addie—to come along. Someone to act as a buffer. But there was no need for them to be miserable, too.

As music filled the air, my thoughts stayed with Addie. Something had changed between us yesterday at the bakery. Shifted. Began?

I wasn't sure. I was still wary of letting her in. Afraid of being hurt yet again. Still, I had to admit it had been nice for a moment there, the two of us feeling like a team. Feeling like we had each other's backs. Feeling like sisters.

Pinky wandered over, sidling up to my workstation. After the briefest pause, she said, "We were real sorry about what happened with Carson, Tessa Jane. The way we see it, he's dumber than a box of rocks."

Pinky's voice was light and breathy, making her outrage toward Carson sound more like indignation. She fully embraced her name by wearing all pink and even dyed her angled bob a shade of fuchsia.

"Dumber than dirt ," Delilah exclaimed.

Willa Jo crossed her arms. "He's so dumb, he could throw himself at the ground and miss ."

Honestly, I'd expected the Sugarbirds to say something about my disastrous wedding as soon as I'd walked in the door two hours ago. Their restraint was impressive.

"A right coward." Delilah edged closer to join the conversation. Fire flickered hot and bright in her dark eyes as she tsk ed. "We couldn't believe him leaving you standing there like that."

They all stuck their hands in their apron pockets and rocked on their heels, waiting for me to fill in some blanks.

Hives formed on my chest as I tried to banish the image of me waiting behind a floral hedge for Carson to take his place at the end of a flowery aisle. And waiting. And waiting.

"Did he ever explain himself?" Pinky asked.

I switched off the whizzer. I'd known these questions would come, and I'd tried preparing myself by practicing answers on the long ride to town. Things like "some things aren't meant to be" or "it was probably for the best." But standing here, I couldn't quite force the words from my lips.

They felt… too little.

And I felt too brittle.

I shrugged. "Not really."

He hadn't needed to. I knew full well why he'd fled.

I forced myself to loosen the death grip I had on the bowl of frosting. Feeling all kinds of anxious, I absently reached for my star pendant, only to realize, yet again, that I wasn't wearing it. Aunt Bean had given the star to me right after my daddy had passed away and each and every time I held it tightly, it calmed my restless soul, giving me the same feeling as one of Aunt Bean's hugs. I suspected it wasn't a coincidence—that somehow, some way, she'd managed to put a little of herself into the gift, so that I would always be able to feel her love. I'd worn the necklace constantly right up until my birthday last February. That was when Carson had presented me with a heart-shaped diamond pendant that he'd expected me to wear instead.

Even though I'd stopped wearing his gift after our breakup, for some reason I hadn't returned to the routine of wearing my star every day, which only showed how out of sorts I'd been. I made a mental note to text my mama and ask her to send it to me, because lately I was feeling the need for its comfort more than ever.

A horn honked, a staccato bleat, and we all turned toward the sound as the Bootsie's Blooms delivery van rolled up to the door.

Delilah's eyebrows lifted. "Anyone's birthday? Anniversary?"

We all murmured no and moved in closer as Stan Reeves sauntered in, carrying a purple cellophane-wrapped basket. He was a big teddy bear of a man who reminded me of Santa Claus, with his white hair, beard, and bushy eyebrows. And, of course, a big belly that jiggled like bowl full of jelly when he laughed.

"Afternoon, ladies. My, don't it smell like heaven in here?"

It truly did. The sponges for the Vanilla Dream Cream cakes, a vanilla cake with a silky custard filling, were currently baking, infusing the air with Aunt Bean's divine vanilla scent.

"I've got a delivery for Miss Tessa Jane." My eyes widened as he stepped up to me, handed over the basket. "Good to see you, sweetie."

My cheeks were hot, and I felt the itch of a hive starting on my arm. Who on earth had sent me a gift basket? "You too, Mister Stan. How're your grands?"

"They're teenaged terrors." He grinned broadly. "But I love every hair on their troublemaking heads."

Delilah slipped him some money from the petty cash tin, and he thanked her. Then he took a good long look around, his smile faltering ever so slightly before saying, "I best be off. Y'all have a good day."

Once he was out the door, Pinky let out a light laugh. "Poor guy."

"What? Why?" I set the basket on the edge of the counter and the Sugarbirds closed in around me.

Delilah said, "He has a crush on Bean, but can't seem to work up the courage to ask her on a date."

Pinky added, "He hasn't been in a relationship since his wife passed six years ago, bless his heart, so he's a bit rusty when it comes to the dating game."

Willa Jo poked her with an elbow. "You should give him tips. You've mastered that game."

Pinky laughed, not offended in the least. She was proud of being a serial dater. "I've offered. He turns red as a ripe cherry tomato and starts stuttering about needin' to fix his carburetor or some such nonsense."

Stan and Bean? Suddenly, I could see them together. I could see it quite well. "How does she feel about him?"

All their faces softened, and I saw the love for my aunt clearly in their expressions. Delilah smiled. "She fancies him. Won't admit it, of course, but she's been sweet on him since high school."

Pinky said, "I've told her a million times she should just ask him out."

"And a million times she's said no," Delilah added.

Aunt Bean was a fascinating mix of old-fashioned and forward-thinking. She loudly and proudly embraced Willa Jo and her lifelong partner, Mary Beth, but asking a man out? No way.

Not that she'd been pining away. She'd been in plenty of relationships through the years, but one by one they always petered out, and she'd simply say, "He's not the one."

Now I wondered if Stan was.

"Enough about all that," Delilah said. "I'm going to bust of curiosity if you don't open up that basket. And you don't want that on your conscience, do you? Me busting open?"

Willa Jo said, "I've seen it happen a time or two before. It's not pretty."

Delilah whapped her with a tea towel. "Hush your mouth. I'm always pretty, even when I'm busted open."

I laughed, loving them, and tugged on the basket's elaborate bow. The cellophane unfolded like petals on a flower. A card was tucked into the assortment of goodies nestled inside the wicker, but at seeing the contents, I knew immediately who had sent the gift.

"What on earth?" Delilah picked up one of three packages of Grasshopper cookies.

Also in the basket were two bags of hazelnut coffee from a local roaster and coffee mug that had an adorable cartoon grasshopper printed on it.

I opened the card anyway.

Grasshopper, my apologies for bugging you.—Stinkbug

The apology held little water with me, since I knew Ty had sent the basket only because Aunt Bean had scolded him. However, if it meant that he'd be on his best behavior from here on out, I'd accept it.

"Stinkbug?" Willa Jo said as she read over my shoulder. "Who's that?"

There was no point in hiding the truth. All she had to do was place one call to Stan's sister, Bootsie, at the flower shop to get the scoop. Bootsie was a talker. "Ty Underwood."

Delilah's eyes widened, glinting with interest.

Pinky elbowed me playfully. "I can give you a few dating pointers as well."

"Seems to me, it's Ty who's needing the pointing. Tessa Jane ain't been in town but a minute and he's already in the doghouse? What'd he do?" Willa Jo asked. "Do we need to have a come-to-Jesus meeting with him? I've got some free time this afternoon."

Smiling, I said, "Aunt Bean already gave him a talking-to." I tucked the card back into the basket and threw the wrapping away. "We're good now."

"All right, but so help us if he bugs you again," Willa Jo said, and Delilah and Pinky nodded. "Now, what's the meaning of the nicknames? I know there's a story there."

It was old news, water under the bridge, but I was ready to tell them all about it anyway simply because I was enjoying their friendship. Feeling like I belonged.

It was the sound of a dog barking that stopped me. I tipped my head. "Is that the infamous Hambone?"

Pinky said, "No doubt. He's the best cake-hunting dog around. In fact, it's the only thing he hunts. That dog is a lover, not a fighter."

"Should we call Miss Ernie?" I asked. "To let her know he's loose?"

"I'll send her a text, but usually Hambone wanders on back home after visitin' a spell," Willa Jo said.

I wiped my hands on my apron and walked to the front of the room to look outside. The bare branches of a pecan tree seemed to be shivering on this cold, gray day. Snow was being predicted for the weekend, and it was such a rarity in this area that I was having trouble believing the forecast.

Willa Jo gathered up scraps that had been trimmed off one of the vanilla cakes and squished the pieces into small balls. "He comes by two or three times a week," she told me. "He's going to be right sorry when we move back to Market Street."

Or he'd simply start showing up there. Coonhounds were excellent trackers.

Delilah pointed through the glass door toward the woods on the far side of Aunt Bean's expansive lawn. "See there, that dot of cinnamon? That's Hambone."

The reddish blur seemed to be galloping. The echo of his barks filled the air, faint explosions of sound.

Delilah frowned. "But something don't sound right. Usually he's baying, not barking his dang head off."

He did sound a bit frantic, now that I listened carefully.

As the dog zoomed past the farmhouse, we all hurried outside and gathered on the stone walkway. His big ears flopped with each step he took. His jowls flapped. And as he neared, I noticed a long, broken rope trailing behind him. How it hadn't snagged on anything during his adventure here was beyond me.

But then I saw the starlings. They circled overhead, dipping and rising, gleaming like freshly polished silver against the gray clouds, their iridescence glowing in the dull sky. Their movements were jarring—up, down, left, right—sharp turns, not smooth like usual. Almost… desperate.

Goose bumps rose on my arms.

Hambone zoomed past the cars parked on the cement pad next to the barn, hurdled a low hedge, and ran straight to me. The rope, I noticed, was a tie-out—its clasp remained firmly attached to Hambone's collar. The other end was missing its snap hook.

"Here, boy." Three cake balls sat on Willa Jo's palm.

Despite Hambone's sweet tooth, he didn't seem to have any interest in her offerings.

"Well, I'll be." Willa Jo clucked her tongue. "That's a fine how do you do."

I picked up the nylon rope, and once I had it in hand, Hambone jogged off.

Pinky's quiet voice was as crisp as the cold air as she joked, "Looks like he's taken a shine to you, Tessa Jane. He's wanting to take you for a walk."

I stayed where I was, and as soon as he felt resistance, he came racing back to me, his long nose in the air as he howled his displeasure. I patted his head, running my fingers over his silky ears. I didn't agree that he'd taken any kind of shine—I thought he'd been led to me. By the starlings. Something was very wrong.

Worry lines creased Willa Jo's forehead. "He's sure in quite the tizzy, ain't he?"

I looked upward. The starlings were flying toward the woods where Hambone had emerged. On the other side of those woods stood Ernie Underwood's house.

I said, "I think we should check on Miss Ernie."

Delilah searched my gaze for a long second before pulling a phone from her pocket. "I'll call over there right quick."

We all waited, watching her. Finally, she hung up and shook her head. "Went to voicemail."

My heart was racing. "Someone should drive over. Just to make sure everything is okay."

"I'll go." The words were barely out of Willa Jo's mouth before she was heading for her aging minivan, her long strides and determination making quick work of the short distance.

"I'll go with you," Delilah said.

Pinky looked back at the barn. "I'll stay here. There are cakes in the ovens. I'll get in touch with Ty. Give him a heads-up."

"I'll stay, too." I handed Hambone's rope to Delilah. "Please call when you know something."

"Will do." She started toward the minivan, but instead of trotting off with her, Hambone sat down at my feet, refusing to budge. She tugged on the rope. "Come on, Hammy."

He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and whimpered.

Delilah said, "Best you come along, Tessa Jane."

It wasn't a request. "Yes, ma'am."

Once I started toward the van, Hambone fell in step with me. I checked the sky just before climbing into the back seat. The starlings were circling over the woods.

A minute later, we were flying down Bean's driveway, the balding tires on the van lamely spitting bits of chipped slate behind us.

Hambone kept his nose to the window as we sped along a narrow two-lane road bordered by tall pine trees.

The ride was quiet. No talking. No music. No nothing, except the sound of our breathing and the road beneath the wheels. We passed the local cemetery, then the driveway that led to Sawyer Gray's cabin. Not long after that we crossed the bridge that spanned a thin ribbon of Sassafras Creek and Willa Jo slowed to turn in to Ernie's paved driveway.

Hambone started crying again, and I ran a hand down his back. He was trembling, which made my nerves kick up a notch, even though nothing looked amiss.

The lengthy driveway led to a small bungalow painted a sunny shade of yellow, with trim done in a cheerful purplish-blue. A mud-splattered SUV was parked in a leaning carport. Fenced in behind the house was a barn-style outbuilding painted the same shade of blue as the shutters: Ernie's glassblowing studio.

In a blink, we were all out of the van and standing in front of the door, where Delilah started alternately knocking loudly and ringing the bell.

Willa Jo reached around her for the doorknob, giving it a turn. "This ain't no time for visiting etiquette, Delilah."

As soon as the door swung open, Hambone howled and raced inside, making a beeline for the kitchen. We quickly followed.

Ernie was unconscious, sprawled on the floor, blood staining the thin silk scarf wrapped around her head. An upper cabinet was open. A step stool was upside down by her feet. As Hambone licked her face, she let out a small moan.

I heaved a sigh of relief that she was alive even as I worried about the head injury.

Willa Jo nudged Hambone out of the way and knelt on the floor next to Ernie. She picked up one of her hands, and held it tightly. "Ernie, can you hear me? Say something, darlin'."

Ernie moaned again and mumbled something I couldn't quite make out.

"It's not bossiness, woman," Willa Jo said, emotion making her voice shake. "It's leadership skills."

Delilah paced as she talked to the 9–1–1 dispatcher by name and asked for an ambulance.

Hambone was crying and wiggling, trying to find a way around Willa Jo to get to Ernie.

"Hambone, come," I said. He threw a look at me, as if debating whether to comply, but finally trotted over to where I stood in the wide opening between the living room and kitchen, out of the way. I bent down and gave him a hug. "Good boy, Hammy. Good boy."

Through the window above the sink I saw the starlings sitting on the studio's roofline. I didn't question how they knew to send Hambone for help. Or why they chose to intervene. I was simply grateful.

When I looked back at Hambone, he was creeping toward Willa Jo, his dark nose pointed at her pocket. He snuffled, then bayed.

Willa Jo laughed. "I suppose you done deserve a treat, being a hero and all." She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the small cake balls he'd dismissed earlier. His jowls shook as he chewed happily.

Ernie wiggled, like she was planning to sit up, and Willa Jo said, "You stay right there. Banged your head but good when you fell. Help will be here soon enough."

Just as she said it, Delilah called out, "Ty's here."

I turned toward the front door and braced myself as he ran up the front steps and into the house, saying, "I was already on my way here when I got the call about my mama. Is she okay?"

"She's in the kitchen," Delilah said, stepping aside—and sidestepping the question. "An ambulance is on the way."

He barely spared me a look as he ran past me and dropped down at Ernie's side. His hand was shaking as he picked hers up and patted it tenderly. "It's going to be okay, Mama. Everything's going to be okay."

Hambone was doing circle eights, and I was trying not to cry. Because when Ty had looked at me, I hadn't seen his usual disdain. Instead I saw only the shiny love he had for his mother swimming in a pool of anguish and apprehension. In that unguarded moment, I'd caught a glimpse of his heart and his true nature and wished he wasn't so set on hiding it all the time. Because it was utterly beautiful.

Ernie blinked her eyes open. She mumbled something again, but this time I heard her plainly as she said, "About time this hard head of mine came in handy. Don't you worry none. I'm going to be just fine."

Then her gaze slid right past him, to me, her eyes the same color as her son's.

She smiled weakly. "It's real good to see you, Tessa Jane, minus the circumstances and all. Don't suppose you brought those cookies of yours I love so much?"

It was late. And cold. And dark.

The cloud cover hung low in the sky as I crept through the backyard on tiptoes as to not disturb the sleeping ducks, and climbed over the fence, to avoid the creak of the hinges on the back gate. Aunt Bean and Addie were already in bed for the night, and I didn't want to disturb them.

To my left, Sawyer's cabin was a mere silhouette, but I could hear the trill of the starlings in the woods as I made my way through the pasture, heading toward the star crater. The birds were chattering as though talking amongst themselves, probably wondering what I was doing.

I wasn't quite sure myself.

All I knew was that I'd been pulled toward the starlight tonight. Had to see its glow up close and personal, even though at this hour it was well into its waning period. By midnight, the crater would be dark and it would stay that way until the following evening when the aurora would rise again, blooming like a mystical night flower.

I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my coat and hurried along, my steps sure and steady despite the uneven terrain. Although the sky was pitch-black, the faint glow of the starlight nestled inside the crater was enough to guide me along. The night was fairly quiet but for the sound of the birds and the wind. The field had closed to visitors at eleven, nearly half an hour ago, so no one was around.

No one but me.

As I walked, I thought of the journal that Granddaddy had unearthed years ago, the one that had sparked his obsession with this land. It had belonged to Abner Wingrove, who'd been in his late forties when the star fell from the sky. The weathered, faded pages of the journal had been full of Abner's daily thoughts, humorous musings, poems, limericks, and doodles. It also contained the story of how he'd once won a farmhouse and a large plot of land in a back-room card game and decided it might be a good time to give up his gambling lifestyle for good, put down roots, and become a farmer. However, when he quickly discovered the difficulties of farming he sold the land to the highest bidder at an auction and happily went back to his gambling ways.

That bidder had been the teenage son of Clara Fullbright, a hardworking widow and mother of two, who'd been bidding on her behalf.

Little could Clara know that less than three years later, the early-evening sky would suddenly be filled with light as a fiery shooting star fell from the heavens. It landed in one of her fields with a dynamite-like explosion and blast of heat, creating a huge dust cloud. Windows around town had broken. Farm animals had gone wild, escaping their stalls and pens.

Charity, Clara's nineteen-year-old daughter had raced from the family farmhouse to the field to find her mother, who'd been out harvesting cabbage for the night's supper. But there had been no sign of her mama.

According to his journal, Abner had been one of the many townsfolk who'd rushed to the farm to see what all had happened. As night fell and the search for Clara continued, he noticed something glowing near the woods, not too far from the crater. Upon further inspection, he'd found what he believed to be a piece of the broken star and described it as a gemstone that looked like a chunk of grayish glass, about the size of a pecan. Even though it lost its glow as soon as he picked it up, when he held the star in the light of his lantern it sparkled like a diamond. Before he could make sense of what he found, a silvery bird came out of nowhere and plucked the broken star right out of his hand, carrying it away.

No one had seen it happen. And no one believed him when he told the story.

In his journal, he reflected on whether he'd imagined the occurrence until the next night, when the aurora fully appeared, glowing brightly. Glowing like the gemstone he'd found—but on a much grander scale.

Grass crunched as I followed the curve of the crater upward toward its entrance point. When I was younger, I'd read Abner's journal cover to cover many a time. I'd been captivated by his writings. He looked at the world around him, a challenging world to be sure, with humor and grace and kindness. Although he was a gambler, he often gave money away to those in need. He took in an injured bird and nursed it back to health. His doodles were often nature scenes. A caterpillar on a twig. The whiskers of a cat. The veins of a leaf. His poems had been whimsical, almost feeling more like nursery rhymes.

I'd been heartened by the similarities between us. Heartened by the fact that there was a male Wingrove who wasn't cold, distant, and greedy.

A cool wind blew as I paused at the entrance to the starwalk, the wooden walkway that curved around the crater, as I took in the sight before me. The reaction at seeing the light was incredibly emotional. It was as if it reached inside me, making me feel all the feels. It was blissful and spellbinding, joyful and overwhelming in the best possible way.

Tears came quickly to my eyes as colors flickered, the green, gold, silver, and blue melding together seamlessly. Even as faint as it was now, the aurora was stunning. Breathtaking. Mesmerizing.

I pressed my hands to my chest as though I could capture these feelings and hold them there forever. This awe. And the knowledge that even on the darkest night, light could still be found. Whether it was here, in a luminous crater, or deep within a heart, a soul.

In the distance, the starlings still chattered as I stepped onto the starwalk and into the light. I was immediately engulfed with a sense of calm, and I soaked in the peace of the moment.

Until I realized I wasn't alone.

Ahead of me on the walkway stood a man, his hands braced on the railings, his head hung low.

I froze, unsure what to do. No one should be out here. Not even me.

Yet, the starlings weren't swooping in, so I knew he didn't pose a threat.

I turned to go, not wanting to intrude, when I heard, "Grasshopper?"

Slowly, I faced him. "Stinkbug?"

"What're you doing out here?" he asked, sticking his hands into his pockets.

"What're you doing out here?" I returned.

Light swayed under the walkway, ebbing, as I took a step closer to him. That's when I noticed tears glistening in his eyes, and my breath caught. "Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"Is your mama—"

"She's doing all right. She has to stay in the hospital, though, while they run a bunch of tests."

His voice held no hardness. No derision. Only exhaustion. I could only imagine the day he'd had.

I resisted the urge to give him a hug. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. But thanks. I should get going. I need to collect Hambone and a few things for my mama."

I realized he must've come here on foot. Ernie's house wasn't too far away through the woods.

"You don't have to go just because I'm here. Stay. Especially if you're needing the clarity right now. I'll go."

He dragged a hand down his face and sighed, a deep, soul-weary sigh. When he looked at me, I saw a warmth in his eyes I'd never seen before. "I think I got what I needed. But if you're fixin' to leave, can I walk you back? I don't like the idea of leaving you out here alone."

I held his gaze for a long moment, suddenly questioning if the clarity he'd been seeking here tonight had to do with me . As I studied his face, and saw no trace of animosity, deep down I knew it to be true.

Because I fully understood what it must've taken for him to ask to walk me home, for him to even be worried for me, I didn't push back. Instead, I accepted the peace offering for what it was. "All right."

As we headed off into the night, toward the farmhouse, I noticed the starlings had gone quiet. I couldn't stop thinking about how I'd felt compelled to go to the field tonight. Of all nights. And couldn't help wondering if the starlings had played a role in our truce—and in Ty Underwood walking me home in the dark.