So I couldn’t give him those Saturday nights back, when he clearly felt pride and kinship with those around him. But I was an expert in impromptu joy of all shapes and sizes. That was the beating heart of storytelling, no matter the medium.

Crush or not, it sure was nice to see Dean Knox-Morelli with a smile on his face again.

12. Tabitha

Twelve

Tabitha

I stood outside the Broad Street Diner—open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—and prepared to take a new job in Austin, Texas.

“Based on the contract, we’re anticipating this to be six months of work,” Meghan, the hotel communications director, was saying.

I leaned against the signpost and faced Broad Street, all lit up with cars. “I really appreciate those connections. I’ve been fascinated with eco-tourism and the way hotels can make climate justice an integral part of the hospitality industry.”

“Oh, of course. We believe it’s essential,” Meghan said. “And as a lifelong Austinite, it’s likely you’ll come here and simply never leave. I’ve seen it happen dozens of times.”

I tilted my head back against the signpost. That was highly unlikely of me.

“I’ve been getting messages about coming to Austin for years from some of my social media followers. I’m long overdue to explore your lovely city.”

“We’ll wait for you to sign the contract, and then we’ll go from there with details and setting up the interviews,” she added.

“Great,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll start booking all of my travel arrangements now. And keep an eye out for my contract.”

We said goodbye and ended our call. I stood by the sign for a few more seconds, tapping my cell phone against the center of my chest. A few days ago, I would have been thrilled at the possibility of heading to Austin, a city renowned for embracing its quirky weirdness. It was a storyteller’s dream. Now I was peering up at the twinkling, amethyst skyline thinking about family dinners and empty lots and Dean’s shy smile.

I shook my head, clearing my confusion, and skipped up the stairs into the diner. A bell rang over the door and my dad popped out from around the counter, tossing a rag over his shoulder. It was boisterous in here as usual, the dinnertime rush a steady tradition. If I closed my eyes, I could have been in middle school again, sitting at the counter with Alexis and doing our homework while sharing a plate of french fries.

My dad opened his arms for a hug. “You got a reservation, or what?”

“Nah. I thought I’d barge in and demand you serve me.”

I stepped back only to have Juliet barrel into my legs with a squeal. I dropped down and lifted her around my waist. She squeezed my cheeks with her hands.

“Hi, Aunty Tabby,” she said.