Page 217 of Tangled with the Tight End

I love this town.

I sit in my car, crying. Only this time, my tears aren’t only for Declan.

I made a difference.

Me. Winona for Hire.

Loretta Simmons is at the piano in the front room when I walk into Sycamore. Several residents are in their wheelchairs or in the high-back chairs around the room, listening to her play a beautiful classical piece. I slip into a chair and watch her play. I close my eyes, breathing in a deep breath, letting the music seep somewhere low and tender inside me.

When she stops playing, I open my eyes. She’s at the piano, smiling softly at me.

Loretta stands and walks over to me. She takes the chair next to mine.

“Sometimes rumors make it all the way to Sycamore,” she says. “And I heard one this week.”

“Yes,” I nod. “Declan and I …”

“You called off your courtship?”

I smile at her phrasing. “Yes. We broke up.”

I tell Loretta about my four days of hibernation. Then I tell her about the social media trolls and the way the media twisted my relationship with Declan.

“They’re not wrong,” I say. “I’m not glamorous. I don’t exactly fit in Declan’s world.”

“Glamour is overrated,” Loretta says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Maybe. If you saw the models and actresses who came to his house—they’re just who you’d picture a man like Declan with. I never really belonged in that scene.”

“Is that how he made you feel?” Loretta asks.

Memories flood me—private memories of our time alone together, the way he always looked at me like I was precious, like he was lucky to have me. Our night at The Standard. The times we spent at the practice facility.

“No. He didn’t make me feel that way. Not once.”

“Isn’t that what matters?”

“I’ve been late to find my way in the world,” I tell Loretta. “Declan’s known his path since childhood. Here I am still doing odd jobs at age twenty-eight. Not even finished with my education. I’m like a half-baked loaf of bread and he’s a tray of perfectly brown croissants.”

“And you want to sink your teeth into those croissants now, don’t you?” She wags her brows.

I laugh for the first time in days. “Loretta!”

“I’m old. I’m not blind.”

“He is pretty scrumptious,” I agree. I close my eyes and picture him as if he’s standing right in front of me. A tear makes its way down my cheek and I swipe it.

“Winona, I’ve lived a lot of years. I’d like to say I’ve become an expert on people over time. And I want to say something to you if you can hear it.”

I nod.

“You’re one of the most accomplished people I know.” She pauses, placing her weathered hand over mine. “Not because you have a degree or an admirable career. Not because you’re beautiful—even though you truly are. And not because you’ve got it all figured out. No one does.”

Another tear trickles down my cheek. I don’t swipe at this one because more are coming. I give them room to fall, absorbing everything Loretta is saying despite the small voice in the back of my head saying she doesn’t understand. Something deeper within knows she does. She sees me. She’s lived a life, and she sees me.

“I admire you, Winona. You’ve got something many people never come by—no matter how many pages they fill on their resumes. You're resourceful. And you make people feel seen. You don’t know how many people come in here, treating us like we’re too old to know a thing or two. But you always pause. You always listen.

“Time with you leaves people better off. You don’t need a degree for that. And, as a matter of fact, no degree could give someone the skills you have in spades.