Falling For Us Again

17. GIRL TALK

Chapter 17

GIRL TALK

Jenna

“Can I have more pancakes, please?” I hear a little girl say as I step inside The Hartlow House Café with Lola.

Lola walks ahead of me, her curly hair bouncing with each step. The warm aroma of freshly baked pastries envelops me it feels... comforting.

A safe pocket in the chaos of everyday life. The kind of place that lets you forget the rest of the world, even if just for a moment. I try to soak it in, but my mind is elsewhere, still orbiting the flashes of memory I’ve been having, still tangled in things I can’t fully grasp.

I swallow hard as we make our way to a table near the windows.

“I’m thinking the lemon tart,” Lola says as we settle into our seats. She looks back at me with a grin, holding up two fingers. “Or maybe two. You want anything?”

I shake my head as the idea of food twists uncomfortably in my stomach. I know I should eat, but everything feels off-kilter, out of focus.

“I’m good,” I tell her, forcing a smile. “I’ll just grab a coffee.”

A waitress approaches and Lola places our order. A peal of laughter rings out, and my gaze follows the sound. It’s Maggie, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

But it’s not her laughter that catches my attention now. It’s the little girl giggling as Maggie brushes a dark curl out of her face.

Her eyes are shining with pleasure as she looks up at Maggie. She has a striking resemblance to Dylan, with long, dark hair and her features. My brows crease slightly together.

Wait…

Could this be Dylan’s child?

My heart skips a beat.

The little girl, no older than six, is perched on a chair devouring a plate of blueberry pancakes, Maggie’s movements are gentle as she dabs at her mouth with a napkin, her expression a mix of amusement and affection.

“Kim, you’re going to turn into a pancake if you keep eating like that.”

The girl, apparently named Kim, sways her legs in her chair, clearly delighted by her comment. My heart twists a little while I watch the tender scene unfold.

“But I want more. You make the best blueberry pancakes.” She pleads.

She chuckles softly. “Sure, sweetheart. But remember, let’s try to keep the syrup on the plate this time, okay?”

Kim’s eyes twinkle with mischief as she nods vigorously. “Okay!”

She pats her hair. “Gia, bring some more pancakes for Kimmy,” she says to an attendant.

Something tugs at my chest—a strange mixture of envy and curiosity—and before I can stop myself, the question tumbles out.

“Lola, are Maggie and Dylan... together?”

Lola lets out a laugh, loud enough for the customers close by to glance up. She waves it off with an apologetic smile before turning back to me. “No, God, no. Maggie’s like a sister to him. They’re just very close friends.”

I blink, processing her words. “Then who’s the little girl?”

“That’s his niece, Kim,” Lola explains. “She comes down to Hartlow a few times a year.”

I nod slowly, the knot in my stomach loosening. His niece. I refuse to think about the relief I feel.

Before I can dwell on it, Maggie spots us and approaches.

“Hi Lola,” Maggie says before turning to me with a tight smile. “And Jenna. You’re here, once again.”

I raise an eyebrow at her tone.

Lola clears her throat at the awkward silence. “Hey, Mags. Thank you again for helping me home on Friday... I bet I made a fool of myself.”

“I don’t know if telling everyone you loved them counts as making a fool of yourself,” she says and Lola chuckles.

“What can I say, I have a big heart,” She glances around as she continues. “Anyway, where’s Dylan? We have some things to discuss regarding the town fair.”

My body stiffens at the mention of Dylan, my hands twiddling with my dress. Maggie notices this.

“He stepped out to receive a shipment. Maybe you can call him later.” Maggie turns to me. “Will you be attending the fair, Jenna?”

“I don’t think so.”

A deep crease forms between Lola’s brows. “It’s the annual town fair, you have to be there.”

I shrug. The town fair reminds me of when things were good with Dylan. Before I can respond, Kim runs to Maggie, tugging at her hand. Kim glances over at me, her innocent gaze meeting mine. She waves enthusiastically, her face lighting up with a broad smile.

“Hi!” she calls out, her voice a melodic chirp.

I’m taken aback by her friendliness. I wave back, a smile tugging at my lips. I can’t help but be drawn in by her sweet spirit.

Kim’s eyes shift between us, her curiosity evident. “My name is Kim, what’s yours?”

“Jenna.”

“You’re so pretty.”

I laugh at that. “Thank you, honey. You’re adorable.”

Gia calls for Kim from the counter, holding a plate of warm pancakes.

“Alright, let’s go get those pancakes, Kimmy.”

Maggie excuses herself, and gently guides Kim away from the table. Kim gives me one last, enthusiastic wave before she’s settled with a new stack of pancakes.

“Such a sweet girl,” I say to Lola, who nods with a smile.

“Maggie hates me though.”

Lola chuckles. “I wonder what’s with the attitude. It’s so unlike her. She’s usually sweet.”

“Well, yeah. Because she likes Dylan. Who knows, maybe they have something going on.”

Lola’s eyes narrow, dismissing it. “I don’t think so. She might just be protective of her friend. After all, you broke his heart.”

I throw a napkin at her and she laughs.

Our order arrives and we stand up to leave. I glance over at Kim, who is now chatting animatedly with Gia, her face glowing with happiness.

The brisk afternoon air nips at my skin as we step out. We head toward her art studio, I try to focus on our conversation, but it’s hard to stay present.

I confess to Lola about the unsettling memory I had earlier. The one that left me shaken, the one I still can’t make sense of.

“I don’t know what it means,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if it’s real. But it felt like it could be an important piece of information.”

Lola unlocks the door, glancing at me over her shoulder, her expression serious.

“Maybe that’s the reason why you have no memory of how your mother died,” She says, “Maybe you know what happened, and your mind has been blocking it out because of trauma.”

My stomach twists at her words and a lump form in my throat. I’ve been thinking the same thing all weekend. There’s a reason my father refused to discuss anything about her death.

We step inside the studio, the smell of paint and canvas filling the air. Lola heads over to her easel, but her eyes stay on me, waiting for me to respond.

“Yes, I’m scared it has something to do with her death,” I say, the words tumbling out faster than usual, my chest tightening as I speak. “That there’s something I’ve forgotten, something I need to remember.”

“Why can’t I remember Lola?”

Lola’s eyes soften, and she sets down the brush. “Jenna,” she says gently, crossing the room to sit beside me. “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll come over, and we can go through your mom’s things together. Maybe there’s something in her room that’ll help you make sense of it all.”

I swallow hard at the thought of pushing through my fear and grief by entering Mom’s room. But I know I need to.

“You’re right, this is something that needs to be done and I’m going to need your help.”

We sit in silence for a moment, before Lola nudges me with her elbow. “Speaking of difficult subjects... what’s going on with you and Dylan?”

The question catches me off guard. I’ve been trying not to think about him lately as hard as it is.

I shrug, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t even try it. I saw the jealousy in your eyes when you thought Kim was his child and I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

I laugh, though it comes out more like a sigh. “Well, we’ve been... sleeping together,” I admit, my cheeks flushing. “But I don’t know what it means. I don’t know if it means anything. I’m leaving soon, and once I go, he’ll probably get back to hating me again.”

Lola arches an eyebrow. “You think he’ll hate you?”

I nod, biting my lip. “He did before. And I can’t blame him. He’s not the kind of guy who just forgets something like that.”

Lola studies me for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “People change, Jenna. You’ve both changed. Maybe this time will be different.”

I find myself pondering her words for a moment. The truth is, I don’t know if Dylan and I can ever go back to what we were, or if we even should. There’s been so much pain and bitterness between us.

But there’s also been something more. A pull, a connection that hasn’t faded with time no matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it. And that scares me more than anything.

Before I can dwell on it, Lola changes the subject, her face lighting up with excitement. “Oh, by the way, did I tell you about the high school reunion?”

I groan, slumping back in my chair. “Please, God no.”

She laughs, throwing a crumpled piece of paper at me. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s this weekend. You have to come.”

I shake my head, recoiling at the thought. “Fun? Lola, I don’t think I could imagine a worse way to spend my weekend than reliving the most awkward years of my life.”

Lola pouts, but I can tell she’s not giving up that easily. “You’re coming,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.”

“It’ll be good for you. Besides, you wouldn’t let your best high school friend go all alone, would you? Please, please, please.” She bats her eyelashes at me.

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling at her persistence. Lola has always been the optimist, always looking for the bright side even when there doesn’t seem to be one.

Maybe that’s what I need right now—someone to remind me that not everything is as bleak as it seems.

“Fine,” I say, sighing dramatically. “I’ll think about it.”

Lola grins, satisfied. “That’s all I ask.”

As the afternoon fades into the evening, the studio fills with the sound of Lola’s brushstrokes and the occasional burst of laughter. For a little while, I let myself forget about the memories, about Dylan, about everything that’s been weighing on me.

But even in the quiet moments, when the studio is filled with nothing but the soft scrape of paint on canvas, I can feel it lurking at the edges of my mind. The memory. The unanswered questions. The fear that I might not be ready for what I’ll find.

And yet, I know I can’t keep running from it.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to face whatever it is my mind is trying to forget.