When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

15. Emmy

Chapter 15

Emmy

A s the O’Connor women pull out their phones and begin to make a flurry of phone calls, organizing and preparing for the approaching hurricane, I slip out to pick up the strawberry tart for Granny Sloane from Sweet Current Bakery. The air is salty and crisp, and it’s a beautiful day: bright blue skies that stretch out over the harbor. It’s hard to imagine a major storm bearing down on us.

Stepping into the bakery, a small bell rings above the door, but the atmosphere inside is markedly different from the cheerful bustle on my first visit with Patrick. There’s a palpable tension, and customers are huddled in tight groups, conversations low, urgent.

Alex spots me and gives me a welcoming smile that doesn’t quite banish the worry in his eyes. “Hey, Emmy! Good morning.” He glances over at his husband, who is pacing near the back, phone pressed tightly against his ear. “Tom’s just trying to get hold of more sand for sandbags. It’s all hands on deck with this storm coming. What can I get you today?”

“I’m just here for a strawberry tart for Granny Sloane.”

Alex quickly prepares the order, his movements efficient but distracted. “Here you go. There’s one in there for you, too. On the house. Send Granny Sloane our love. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her here.”

I thank him, pay for the tart, and head back to the gallery, taking in the strained faces of those hurrying down the street. News of the mayor’s announcement has no doubt spread. Soon the sight of Ruby locking up greets me, Riley and Nora standing a few feet away, reading something on Nora’s phone. Ruby notices me and pauses, the keys still in the lock.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a few hours after dropping Riley off at college.” Beside her, Riley looks up from the phone, her expression tinged with reluctance, her eyes darting between her mother and sister.

“I really want to stay and help.”

“Please, baby,” Ruby says. “Just focus on school. We’ll be fine here.”

Ruby, Nora, and Riley share another tight embrace, while Nora wipes away the tears tracking down Riley’s cheeks, offering quiet words of encouragement. It’s harder than I thought it would be to see Nora comforting Riley like that. That’s what sisterhood is supposed to be like—an unbreakable bond that only gets stronger when the chips are down.

Ruby and Riley walk to Ruby’s car, their arms linked, each step seeming to weigh heavily on Riley, who glances over her shoulder and blows me and Nora each a kiss.

As they drive off, Nora turns to me, a determined look in her eyes. “Let’s head to the bookshop to talk about the pageant.”

Her words take me by surprise. “Will it still be going ahead?”

“We might as well act like it will, because I refuse to accept that the Founder’s Day Festival won’t take place. Besides, we have hours before Patrick and the firefighters get here with the supplies to board up the buildings, and all the volunteers with the Valiant Hearts won’t be here until noon. ”

Unease unspools inside me. “I don’t know, Nora.”

“It’s important to stay positive.” She puts her arm through mine and steers me down the street. “No matter what, Harbor’s Edge will get through this. If we cancel the Festival, and everything else—the music, the activities, the pageant, we’re pretty much saying to Hurricane Karen: Come and take us! Take everything !”

A nod—just listening to her talk about the pageant won’t hurt anything, right? Although the cold is back, the sick feeling in the back of my throat. Allowing myself to be swept along by Nora, we head down the road, stopping in front of a quaint bookshop called Harbor Books.

We step inside, the smell of coffee permeating the air. There are a handful of small tables by the entrance near the cash register, as well as cozy sofas dotted between the shelves, which are stuffed full of second-hand books.

Nora introduces me to May Chen, a woman in her late forties and the owner of the bookstore. She’s got long, straight black hair with blunt bangs and blue-framed glasses, and oozes sophistication. Nora tells me May used to be a literature professor before moving to Harbor’s Edge. She has a couple of grown sons who often visit, but they haven’t been tempted to move here yet.

“Welcome to Harbor Books.” May laughs. “Now you know my life story, feel free to browse. Let me know if you want a coffee.”

I smile. “I’ll have a matcha latte please. With oat milk, if you have it.”

“An iced Americano for me please.” Nora smiles sweetly before we take a seat at one of the tables.

Harbor Books is comfortable and inviting, the many shelves crammed with well-loved books that span the ceiling to the floor, creating a labyrinth of treasures. Each section is marked with handwritten labels, and soft jazz music plays in the background, adding to the bookstore’s cozy charm.

As May prepares our drinks, the gentle clink of ceramic and the whir of the espresso machine fill the quiet space. She sets a vibrant green matcha latte in front of me a moment later, and places an iced Americano beside it, beads of condensation trickling down the glass.

“Enjoy, girls.”

May returns to a seat behind the table with the cash register, and Nora focuses on me. “I can tell you’re not super keen, but hear me out. The pageant is really fun and laid-back. And it raises money each year to buy Christmas presents for children in need. It’s a really sweet cause, and you’d be the perfect contestant. And at the end, people have the chance to bid for a date with each entrant.”

“I’m not sure. It’s not really my thing.” A sip of matcha, hoping she’ll let it go.

“I already emailed your name across to the mayor’s office to register you as a contestant. I hope that’s okay.” Her expression is so earnest it takes a few seconds for me to process her words.

“You did what?”

“I registered you this morning while you were getting the strawberry tart, because the cutoff day is today. With the hurricane coming, I didn’t want to forget.” She sounds a little less sure of herself.

A sense of panic grips me, unexpected and unwelcome. It’s been ten years since I last participated in a pageant, and for good reason. Memories I’ve long buried surface—unwanted hands, the feeling of violation, a sense of helplessness that I had almost managed to forget. I try to push it away, but it clings stubbornly.

Seeing my distress, Nora’s expression changes to one of concern. “You’re not mad, are you?” she asks cautiously, her brows knitting together. “It’s really very casual. And fun. I promise.”

Forcing a weak smile, trying to regain my composure, not wanting to unload my past onto Nora or cause a scene. “No, not mad.”

Before I can gather my thoughts, the bell above the door chimes, announcing another visitor to the bookshop. Mike strides in, his presence immediately filling the small space with an easy, affable charm. He does a double-take when he sees us sitting at the table, a grin spreading across his face.

“Is it my lucky day or what?” he exclaims, pulling up a chair to join us. “Running into two beautiful women in my favorite bookshop.” He catches May’s eye and quickly amends his statement. “Make that three beautiful women.”

After a few moments of light-hearted banter, Mike’s expression turns slightly apologetic as he turns to me. “I wanted to let you know that the repairs on your car might be a bit delayed because of hurricane preparations. I’m really sorry about that.”

I wave off his apology with a smile, still blindsided by Nora signing me up to the pageant, but working hard to hide it. “It’s fine, really.”

Glancing at my watch, I realize how much time has passed, and I stand. Granny Sloane is home all alone. “I should get going.”

Nora looks up, concerned. “Do you want a ride back?” She’s ready to stand as well.

I shake my head. “No, thank you. I think I need a walk.”

May transfers my matcha into a takeaway cup and I offer them all a quick smile before heading outside. Stepping out of the cozy warmth of Harbor Books, the cool air hits me, a welcome relief, and I can finally take a breath.

I need to focus on keeping my emotions under control. I’m not here to cause trouble, and making a big deal about the pageant would be unfair to Nora, who’s just trying to be nice and make me feel welcome.

The pageant, though unexpected, is for a good cause, and right now, with the hurricane approaching, there are bigger things at stake than my discomfort . Right? A sip of my matcha, the warm, earthy liquid grounding me as I set a steady pace back to Granny Sloane’s, the paper bag holding the strawberry tarts in one hand.

Veering away from bustling Main Street and the lively boardwalk, I turn toward the quieter residential areas, walking along the charming, tree-lined streets of Harbor’s Edge. The tranquil atmosphere should offer a peaceful retreat, but my mind refuses to quiet down.

With each step, invasive memories from my pageant days resurface—memories flashing through my mind in vivid, relentless bursts. Quickening my steps, a conscious attempt to outrun the ghosts of my past, the rhythmic sound of my shoes against the pavement becomes a temporary anchor to the present. I’m soon warm from walking and pull off my cardigan, wearing just a short-sleeved shirt, the breeze fresh on my skin.

I round another corner when a sense of unease washes over me. It takes a moment to realize why—the sound of an engine, low and steady, has been accompanying me for the last block. Glancing sideways: a beat-up old sedan with out-of-state plates and tinted windows is slowly driving behind me. It’s an old model, its gray paint faded.

My heart rate spikes, and the persistent pace of the car, matching my steps, prickles the skin at the back of my neck. Trying to appear nonchalant, I turn down a random street. The sedan follows.

Reaching into my purse for my phone, my fingers wrap around the device as I consider calling someone, then remember what happened last time I called for help. The entire neighborhood was awake and in Granny Sloane’s front yard, all over a simple, embarrassing misunderstanding.

I can’t call.

I’d sound so stupid telling anyone that a vehicle happens to be driving in the same direction as me. But my fear solidifies into action, my pace quickening, my gaze scanning ahead for a store or another person.