“That would be about like telling my mom to mind her own business.” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Wouldn’t feel right.”
“You always were such a good boy, and you grew up to be a wonderful man. I’m gonna go put that order in for you.” She gives me one last smile and walks back to the kitchen.
Just a couple of days ago, life was my “new” normal. My only plans were to reopen the tree farm to the public and get back into the swing of the holiday season. I think it’s going to take a lot more than selling trees and this one season to make it all right—if that’s even possible—but for my siblings’ sake, I’m trying.
But in less than forty-eight hours, my entire life has exploded like a game of fifty-two-card pickup. Dad’s stipulation and that email feel like a ticking time bomb, and I don’t know where to start picking up the pieces. The Ridge has always loved a good story, but this feels like it’s shuffling the deck on purpose.
My phone rings, interrupting my thoughts.
Chloe.
I’ve got no idea how I have her number—did she text me after yesterday? Did Abby?
I suspect the Ridge’s “magic” has something to do with it, but I don’t have the energy to unpack that right now. I swipe the phone off the table and press the green answer button.
“Yeah.” I grimace, already hating how sharp I sound. “Sorry. Hey, Chloe.”
“I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can make it today.”
Disappointment spears through me like a lance. I had no idea how much I wanted—needed—to see her until this moment, and the resulting emotions are overwhelming.
“It’s fine,” I grumble. “I knew better.”
“No!” she shouts, almost frantically. “It’s not like that. Something came up, and I’ve got my hands full.”
There’s a muffled curse and a clang of metal. I’d laugh at her surprising mouth, but another noise in the background has the hair on the back of my neck raising.
“What’s that noise?”
“The something that came up,” she answers. A deep exhale follows, like she set down something heavy.
“What’s going on?”
She doesn’t answer, but that finally lets me hear the background noise clearer. Water. And a lot of it. I scoot out of the booth, shoving myself to my feet.
“Location.” I cringe again, then clear my throat. “Please.”
Silence.
Apprehension rises, tightening my shoulders and neck. Something is wrong.
“Chloe,” I growl. “I’ll ask every person in this bakery where you are. You can test it, or you can tell me where to come.”
This time, her response is a shaky breath.
“I’m at my studio.”
seven
AIDEN
I knowshe’s not my responsibility, but I can’t shake the feeling that she needs help. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like I could be useful.
And usefulness feels dangerously close to hope.
“Tell me where that is.” I cross the bakery and shove open the door.
“Aiden—”
