Mac got them settled at a corner booth with a view of downtown. “Johan is cooking today—his bison meat loaf will change your life. Just saying.”
“Can’t wait,” Hank said. “I’m always hungry after watching a little drama.”
Beckett looked out the window at the darkening sky, thinking about Hazel and her ridiculous confrontation. His phone had been buzzing constantly since his little showdown with Hazel. He winced at the thought. He hated being the center of anyone’s attention.
“So,” Hank said, leaning back in the booth with that easy confidence that came from being a man comfortable in his own skin, “I’m more interested to hear what your thoughts are on the newest business moving into town. Have you seen her yet?”
“What business? Seen who?” Beckett asked, his attention still half on his buzzing phone.
Hank’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline and he slapped Levi on the shoulder, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “I can’t believe you haven’t heard. Judy is losing her touch.”
Beckett set his phone down and gave them both his full attention. “I haven’t seen my mother in almost a week. I’ve been neck deep in pregnant cows, vaccines, and broken balers. What are you talking about?”
“The little photography studio moving in next door to Raven’s boutique,” Hank said, gesturing with his chin toward the window. “Where that fancy cake decorating place was—the one that tried to undercut Rose over at Heavenly Delight. Didn’t last two months with their Paris prices and pretentious fondant.”
“Serves them right,” Levi said quietly, his dark eyes fixed on some point beyond the window. “Rose has been making wedding cakes in this town since before we were born. Some out-of-towner thinking they could swoop in and steal her business?” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not how Laurel Valley works.”
Beckett studied his friend. Levi O’Hara had always been the quietest of the cousins—watchful in a way that made people nervous if they didn’t know him. He’d taken over the day-to-day operations of the O’Hara Ranch a few years back, working alongside his uncle Mick to keep the horse breeding program thriving. There were rumors he’d turned down something big to come back—some kind of government job that nobody talked about. Levi certainly never mentioned it, and the shadows that occasionally passed behind his eyes suggested he’d seen things that kept him up at night.
“You’re one to talk about loyalty,” Hank said, elbowing his cousin. “When’s the last time you came into town for something other than feed and supplies? Mom’s starting to think you’ve gone feral out there on the ranch.”
“I like the quiet,” Levi said simply. “Horses don’t ask stupid questions.”
“Neither do cows,” Beckett offered. “But eventually you have to talk to humans.”
“Debatable.” But the corner of Levi’s mouth twitched, the closest thing to a smile Beckett had seen from him in months.
“So this photography studio,” Beckett said, looking between his two friends. “Why do I get the feeling you’re both enjoying dragging this out?”
“Because we are,” Hank said with a grin. “It’s not every day we get to see Beckett Hamilton caught completely off guard.”
“Well, if you’re not going to share it must not be too important,” Beckett said, shrugging. “How’s Sophie? I heard the bookstore’s busier than ever since the rebuild.”
Hank’s expression softened the way it always did when someone mentioned his wife. “She’s amazing. The baby’s not sleeping through the night yet and we’re both exhausted.” He shook his head, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable. “She’s already got him a library card. Kid’s three months old and she’s reading him Goodnight Moon like it’s Shakespeare.”
“Your kid’s going to be spoiled rotten,” Levi observed.
“Absolutely. And I don’t even care.” Hank took a drink of his water. “But stop trying to change the subject, Beck. We’re talking about the photography studio.”
Levi leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Unlike Hank, who smiled easily and often, Levi’s expression was unreadable—the kind of face that gave nothing away. “It’s not just any photography studio,” he said quietly. “And it’s not just anyone opening it.”
“Marnie Whitlock,” Hank said, watching Beckett’s face carefully. “She’s back.”
The name hit Beckett like a physical blow. For a moment—just a moment—everything stopped. The noise of the restaurant faded to white static. The clatter of plates and the murmur of conversation all went silent. His body felt like lead, every muscle locked in place.
Marnie.
Marnie Whitlock.
Here.
“Beck?” Hank’s voice came from somewhere far away, the amusement gone now. “You still with us?”
Beckett blinked, and sound rushed back in like a wave. “What did you just say?”
“Marnie Whitlock came back to Laurel Valley last week,” Levi said, his tone gentler now, like he understood exactly what those words meant. What they’d always meant. “She’s renting her old place from my mom and dad—paid six months up front with an option to buy. They’d torn down the old house she grew up in years ago after it became uninhabitable. But they built a little two-bedroom house as a rental property some years back.”
“She’s opening the photography studio,” Hank added. “High-end stuff, from what Sophie tells me. Art gallery work. She’s made quite a name for herself over the years.”
