Page 48 of Forever To Me

I grin. “Fair enough.”

She snorts, going back to work, and for a second, I let myself just be here.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had this—the kind of easy banter that isn’t hiding anything sharp underneath. No competition. No pretending. No waiting for the other person to stab me in the back.

Just laughter. Just understanding.

And I like it.

After another fifteen minutes, Poppy steps back, wiping her hands on her coveralls.

“Alright,” she says, “your car probably won’t explode. But I have to order a few parts.”

I give her a look. “Probablywon't explode?”

She grins. “Look, I’m a genius, but even geniuses have their limits. You gotta start scheduling regular maintenance.”

I shake my head, laughing. “Alright, I will.”

I glance around the shop at the old photos on the walls, some of them of Poppy’s mom, Grace, who she mentioned passed away ten years ago.

There’s history here. Genuine history.

Bridger Falls isn’t just a town. It’s layers of stories, stitched together over time, carried by people who still give a damn.

And somehow, I’ve found myself inside one of their stories.

I exhale, stretching my arms over my head. “You know, this place is a pretty great place to call home.”

Poppy smirks. “Careful, Violet. If you start calling it home, you’ll never leave.”

The word home makes something catch in my throat.

I don’t know what to say.

But maybe, for the first time in a long time, I don’t need to.

“Alright, get out of my shop,” Poppy says, smacking a grease-stained rag in my direction. “Before I find something else wrong with your car and make you stay even longer.”

I laugh, heading toward the sidewalk. “Noted. Thanks, Poppy. Seriously.”

She shrugs, but I see the warmth in her expression. “Anytime.”

I slide into Maggie’s truck, turn the key, and the engine hums to life.

For the first time in a long time, so does something in me.

I don’t know what it is yet.

But as I drive away, windows down, air crisp against my skin, I think?—

Maybe this is what it feels like to start over.

Maybe this is what it feels like to finally belong.

It’s past nine, and The Black Dog is in full swing.

The neon sign out front hums against the glass, the jukebox in the corner plays a mix of old country, and the scent of whiskey, beer, and fried food fills the air.

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