Chapter one
Grace
“Welcome to Wattle Creek,” I read aloud as I slowed the car to a crawl before pulling over on the side of the road.
Up ahead, the welcome sign had been battered by the weather, but the part that made me smile was the population. Welcome to Wattle Creek. Population 2,634 but someone had crossed out the four and replaced it with a five. I couldn’t help but assume it was a very proud father celebrating the birth of his kid.
My bladder was pressing painfully. Even though I was almost there, I wasn’t going to make it. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I jumped out, careful not to step in the mud, and waddled downthe bank toward the trees. Squatting wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do.
I stepped around the tree, tugged down my jeans, and did my business. When something touched my ass, I squealed and jumped, getting pee on my shoe. Swearing like a sailor, I buttoned my jeans and rushed back to the car. I didn't know what touched my ass and I didn’t want to. I wasn’t a precious princess type of girl who screeched when they saw a spider, I was fine with them as long as they kept their distance.
Getting back to the car, I slid behind the wheel and checked my appearance in the mirror. I looked like I felt. Tired, sweaty, and in desperate need of a long, hot shower. Even though it’d been only a six-hour drive, the last week had been insane. Between work, packing up my life, and cleaning the shoebox apartment I’d lived in for the last four years, every muscle in my body ached. I was covered in bruises and scratches and looked like I’d had a run-in with a feral cat and a boxer at the same time when, in fact, most of my injuries were a result of my own clumsiness.
I fired up the ignition and waited until the air con kicked in. I pulled the hair tie from my hair and retied the messy bun on the top of my head. Knowing I was so close to seeing my sisters for the first time in years had the knot in my stomach building.
I’d always imagined I’d come home a success. Walk in with my head held high. Proud of myself and happy. Not once did I think I’d be driving back toward the town I thought I’d escaped, with a cardboard box on the front seat with everything from my desk after I’d been fired and marched out the door. Life sucked sometimes, and lately, mine has been a shit show. With nowhere to go and no idea what to do next, I stuffed my life into my car, sold everything else, and came back to the only home I’d ever really known with my tail between my legs, hoping to find somespace to lick my wounds. I’d recover. I knew that. I always did. But first I needed a minute to figure it all out.
As I approached the rickety old bridge, I held my breath. The bridge was older than I was and looked it, but it held firm as I bumped across and made it into the town limits.
“Nothing’s changed,” I grumbled as I slowed the car and turned onto Main Street.
It was late in the afternoon, the sun was already dying for the day, and the street was mainly deserted. Parked out the front of Dusty Boots were a few muddy trucks that looked like they’d seen better days, and that was a reality check I hadn’t been expecting. For the last few years, I’d been surrounded by men who wore thousand-dollar suits and only drove the latest electric cars. Men who spent their weekends playing golf or getting pedicures. I’d forgotten how real Wattle Creek was. The men out here worked hard and played harder. But I wasn’t here for a man. In fact, that’s the last thing I needed. Wattle Creek wasn’t an ending for me. It was just a pit stop on the way to my happily ever after.
My head swiveled as I took it all in. Nothing had changed, but at the same time, everything had. It seemed smaller somehow. The place I remembered was bigger, more energetic, and bursting with things to do. This, though, felt quiet almost.
Then there was something or someone I’d never forget. Old Mr. Wolens. He was old when I was a kid. He used to yell at us for running across his lawn or chasing his cat. He was a grumpy old bastard, and I was surprised he was still kicking. I lifted my hand in a wave and caught the confusion written all over his face. He wouldn’t recognize me. No one would. When I’d left Wattle Creek almost eight years ago, I’d been chubby, with mousy brown hair and crooked teeth. But years of spin classes, Pilates, and thousands of dollars spent in the city’s best salons left me slim, trim, and blonde.
As I passed the Clever Cookie bakery my mouth watered. I wondered if they still did those ooey-gooey chocolate brownies I remembered. They were probably the reason I shouldn’t have worn a bikini, but they’d been worth it. My mouth watered at the memory, and I knew where my first stop would be tomorrow morning.
Distracted and dreaming of sugary snacks, my phone rang, shocking me out of my daze.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Oh, hi, Gabriella. I missed you, too,” I snarked, unable to wipe the smile from my face. It’d been a while since someone cared where I was or what I was doing.
“Yeah yeah. How far away are you? We’re getting ready to get dinner going.”
Gabriella was the worrier in our family. Since Mom passed, she had taken it upon herself to make sure we were doing okay. Well, I guess she checked in to make sure I was. Even though I was her older sister, it didn’t stop her from bossing me around.
“I’m on Main Street,” I answered, putting her out of her misery.
“Oh good.”
“See you soon.” I smiled, feeling lighter.
I ended the call and turned down the street I knew like the back of my hand. It was the one that led to Sweet Dreams B&B and the family home I’d grown up in.
My hands were clammy as I got closer, and my heart pounded. I glanced over at the box sitting beside me and the half-dead fern stuffed in the corner next to the stapler. This was really happening. I’d been fired. I’d lost my job, and I’d come home. But it wasn’t forever, I assured myself as I rounded the corner and the B&B came into sight.
“Oh,” I gasped.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
Everything looked perfect. Postcard-perfect if I was being honest.
Sweet Dreams B&B was the family home we’d grown up in, and my twin sisters, Georgia and Gabriella, had turned into a bed and breakfast. It didn’t surprise me that they’d done it. Gabriella was such a kind soul who loved taking care of everyone, and from the reviews online it sounded like she was doing everything right. Georgia, on the other hand, was more outgoing and had a bigger personality. You’d think being born three minutes ahead of her sister wouldn’t be something to brag about, but Georgia would whip it out whenever she needed to get her way. Georgia was definitely the one talking to and entertaining the guests.
It was freshly painted white with blue shutters, and perfectly manicured lawns. Flower beds overflowed with colored blossoms, and a flag fluttered proudly from the porch.
