“I don’t think honesty has anything to do with what you just said.”
And then, as if my siblings are completely on Annie’s side, Noah intentionally changes the subject to one we can’t ignore. “I think Amelia is pregnant.”
His words cannonball into the center of the room.
“What!” shouts Emily.
“Why do you think that?” I ask, trying but not entirely succeeding at keeping my gaze from Annie. She looks shocked. Poor thing has never lied well, and that extends to keeping stuff from us now. If I was on the fence about Annie being pregnant before, I’m absolutely sure of it now based on the way she’s looking at Noah.
“Because I caught her googling pregnancy symptoms the other night. And then just to be sure, I looked at her browser history—
”
“Wait, wait, wait. You looked at her browser history?!” I screech.
Noah’s green eyes meet mine. “Oh please. Don’t act appalled. Like you’re not the one who taught me to be nosy and invasive in the first place.”
“Who said anything about being appalled?” I smirk. “I’mproud.Anyway . . . go on. You looked at her browser history . . .”
“And I found that she’d searched ‘when is it safe to tell your family you’re pregnant?’ ” He eyes each of us. “Should I ask her about it?”
“No,” Annie says with authority. And then softly adds, “I don’t think you should. It’s her body. Let her come to you with her news when she’s ready. And you shouldn’t have mentioned it to us either.”
“Okay. Yeah,” Noah says, feeling chastised because Annie is not the reprimanding type, so when it happens, it stings.
But then, almost unconsciously, Annie’s hand goes to her stomach. We all notice in our own discreet ways. But the internal conversations areflowingthrough the table. Annie, however, is not looking at any of us and doesn’t catch it.
Noah looks at Annie’s hand, and then to me in question. I widen my eyes at him:Yes, idiot, she’s the pregnant one and Amelia was searching because we suspect Annie.He makes anohhhhexpression and then I could swear he seems sad. Like maybe he wanted Amelia to be pregnant. Emily gives us both extra-wideshut upeyes.
And then Noah clears his throat. “You’re right, Annie. I think I’ll leave it alone and let her tell me when she’s ready.”
It’s an awkward transition, but we finally finish our round of Hearts and they set up for another, but I can’t stick around. There are too many secrets in this family right now and I want to get answers to at least one that I know directly affects me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Madison
It’s dark when I get back to the farm. Unfortunately, the drive lasted just long enough to turn me into a chicken. I don’t want to confront James anymore. I want to go inside and live in ignorant bliss.
But on my way in, I stop and stare at the restaurant. What was a dream come true for me now feels hollow. Will I be able to show up confidently for work every day if in the back of my mind I’m wondering if it’s actually a Madison Walker daycare?
I want to make incredible food over the coming years and succeed the pants off this restaurant. I want to prove to myself, and everyone else, that hiring me wasn’t a mistake. But before I can do that, I have to make sure we’re starting on equal footing. I don’t want to be a pity hire.
And ultimately, that’s why I end up walking from my cottage to James’s house. I don’t know why I’m even doing this now. It’s almost ten o’clock, so there’s a very small chance he’s still awake.And I’m not a monster, so if the lights are all out I’ll go home and stalk him again tomorrow.
Except as I make it across the property and round the barn, I have a perfect view of his back porch stairs. And there he is, sitting, elbows on his knees, hat discarded beside him . . . smoking a cigarette.
I must be seeing this wrong. James doesnotsmoke. But as I get closer I can smell the distinct scent of tobacco. Which suddenly explains why the smell was hovering around him at the bar the other night. It wasn’t ingrained in the wood. It was clinging to his skin.
“Jameson Huxley,” I say in my best impersonation of an indignant person.
He looks up and squints into the dark. His eyes flare when he spots me about twenty feet away. And then this idiot tries to hang his hand over the side of his opposite leg so I won’t see the cigarette between his fingers. “Maddie? What are you doing here this late?”
“Never mind that.” I make my way to him. “Whatcha got there, bestie?”
He has the audacity to frown. “What . . . what are you talking about?”
“Oh my god, you grew up such a good boy that you never learned to lie properly.”
