Page 19 of Those Two Words

“Who is Jo?” a small voice from behind us asks.

We turn to find a curious-looking Lottie staring up at us, twirling one of her pigtails around her fingers.

“She works with your dad and me,” Booth replies.

“The new lady?” The fact she remembers who Jo is from over a week ago but can’t tell me where she left her sneakers two hours ago is astounding.

“Yep, that was Jo. She helps get all the food out from Uncle Booth’s kitchen to feed the customers,” I explain.

“Cool. She was so pretty. She looked like Rapunzel. Can she come to my party? It’s a princess party, so she would like it. I think she’s my friend now.” Smiling brightly, she rocks back and forth on her fuzzy-socked feet. My girl has the biggest heart, but I’m hesitant to let her get too attached to Jo. I know the pain of that all too well.

“She is prett—” Without even looking at Booth, I can picture his cocky grin at my slipup. Scratching my cheek with my middle finger, I continue talking to Lottie. “I don’t think she has time to come to your party, but all your friends will be there. Do you know what princess you want to be yet?”

She brings her shoulders up to her ears in a slow shrug and lets them drop, upset that she can’t invite her “new friend.” Luckily, her birthday is almost two months away, and I’m sure she will have forgotten about Jo by then.

“We can go shopping for a princess dress and tiara next week,” I say with a boop on her nose, cheering her up immediately. Not only does this have Lottie deciding on her birthday party outfit, she also declares that her uncles and I will also be wearing matching tiaras and tutus. No arguments.

After Booth leaves, I get Lottie ready for bed. Once her bedtime routine is done, we choose a story to read in my bed. She begged to fall asleep in my room tonight and demanded I carry her to her “big girl bed” to wake up in the morning.

“This one!” Lottie announces proudly from her spot at the foot of my bed, where she’s dumped out her entire book box at my feet. She skips over to where I’m lying down, waiting for her to decide, and shoves a book in my face before throwing herself on top of me. Despite being a tiny thing, she still knocks the wind out of me.

I look down at the book she’s chosen and see that it’s an older version of Rapunzel that my mom gifted her.

“This one, hey?”

“Yup! It’s like JoJo, that’s what I’m gonna call her,” she says cheerfully. It’s not lost on me that my own daughter would coin a nickname for Johanna that’s so similar to the one I gave her when we were Lottie’s age.

With a nod, I tuck Lottie in close, and we read about the girl with long golden hair, trapped in an ivory tower.

ten

JOHANNA

Today is looking to be a great day already.

My hair did that thing where you put in zero effort and it ends up looking like you’ve spent hours grueling over it. Quinn had my usual waiting for me downstairs and even complimented my hair and freshly painted nails. And to top it all off? March is here, the snow has melted, and spring is around the corner.

It’s my favorite season in New England. We might be known for our fall time, but there’s something so magical and revitalizing about seeing the flowers bud and bloom after surviving another harsh winter. Patrick always teased me for this, but I swear you can smell the sweet, almond flavor of the maple trees as the days get warmer.

I breathe in deeply as I walk down Robin Road, humming along to Dermot Kennedy playing through my headphones, hoping to catch that scent in the air.

Nodding hello to a few people headed to work, I can’t help but smile at how things have picked up since my first week in town. I’m feeling more at ease; those moments of overthinking my decision to move here have now passed, and I’ve made a few new friends who aren’t my dad. Even Amanda told me during yesterday’s session how impressed she was at how I’ve transitioned into a new routine and settled into my new job. It’s not to say I haven’t struggled, it’s how I cope with it and look after myself during those moments that’s key.

I reach the front door of the restaurant and pull my set of keys out of my coat pocket. When the song reaches its crescendo, I don’t hold back singing the chorus out loud, zero shame, because Dermot Kennedy!

A tap on my shoulder has me screeching like a banshee, and I whirl around with my fists raised to defend myself.

I’m about to punch the creeper in the throat and educate him about not sneaking up on women but stop myself before I pop them in the nose. Because I recognize this creeper.

“Well, hello, stranger,” they drawl as my fists drop.

“DEX!” I shout, and throw myself into the open arms of one of my oldest friends.

Chuckling, he returns the hug in a bearlike grip and picks me off my feet with ease.

“Oh my god, I didn’t think you were in town for a while. When did you get back?” I ask as he places me on my feet.

“Two days ago, but I made the most of not having any jobs lined up and slept yesterday away.” He tugs his beanie off his head and runs his hand across his shortly cropped hair. Swirls of black and intricate lettering peek out from the collar of his army-green parka. When Dex turned eighteen, he got his first tattoo, and I don’t think he’s ever stopped. His gray eyes shine bright against his sun-kissed skin from hours of working outside.

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