She glances at my measuring cup with an arched eyebrow. “And you’re supposed to level off your sugar.”
“Noted.” I grab a spoon, skimming off the excess with exaggerated care. “Better?”
“Much.”
Trudie makes her rounds, stopping at our station with that same knowing look. “You two work well together.”
“We’re still figuring that out,” I say, but I can’t stop looking at Bree.
Her cheeks flush pink, and my chest tightens in the best possible way.
“Well, keep doing what you’re doing.” Trudie pats my shoulder. “The best jam comes from patience and the right partner.”
As she moves on, Izzy stage-whispers, “She’s definitely not talking about jam.”
“Focus on your own station, Izz,” Bree says, but she’s smiling.
We move through the steps, macerating fruit, adding pectin, and watching the mixture bubble and transform in the copper pots. I keep sneaking strawberries when I think Trudie isn’t looking. She definitely notices, but doesn’t say anything. She just adds more berries into my bowl.
As we wait for the next step, I pose a question to both women. “Who do you two look more like? Your mom or dad?”
Izzy waves her hand dismissively. “That’s easy. Our mom. She has the same brown hair, only a few strands of silver. Our brother takes after our dad. Both are blond.”
I consider her words. “I met your brother at a conference a couple of years back. Heath Winthrop, right?” They both look at me like I’ve sprouted antlers. “It was the International Timber Conference in Portland.”
Bree looks at me, her face registering disbelief as the sweet perfume of the macerating berries caramelizes. “That’s right. Heath attended that with the president of the lumber division. I only remember because there was an industry music convention in Portland at the same time.”
“He’s a good guy.” I take the wooden spoon from Bree and take over stirring the bubbling mixture. “Small world.”
“It really is, Declan.” Izzy looks at Bree, then back at me, something on her mind as customers mill about the area. She lowers her voice. “Is there any chance that your brother Ford has the social media handle @axemanblue?”
I freeze mid-stir. “How did you—”
“Hannah figured it out.” Izzy touches my shoulder, grounding me from the shock. “The snake tattoo. And Indigo Peak is in the background of all his videos.”
The damn motherfucker. I’m going to kill my little brother. He promised this shit wouldn’t touch Wilder Industries, but if these two figured it out, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does.
Shaking my head, I grip the edge of the wooden counter with both hands, knuckles turning white. “It’s him. Nobody’s supposed to know. He’s keeping it anonymous.”
As if Bree can sense my anger, she takes the spoon from me and continues stirring. “If she hadn’t seen him at your house yesterday, she wouldn’t have connected the dots.”
“But you might want to know he’s going viral,” Izzy adds. “He’s got almost 500,000 followers.”
“Five hundred thousand? He had 30,000 last week.” I pull out my phone and check Ford’s account. It’s at 572,693. “Jeezuz.” I run my hand through my hair, pissed as hell. I send a quick text to my brothers and uncle, instructing them to check the follower count of @axemanblue.
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Izzy says, crossing her heart. “We won’t say anything.”
Bree brushes her fingers over my forearm. “It’s not our secret to tell.”
The Winthrop girls are rare indeed. Their support makes my throat tight.
We are at the hostess stand outside Hank & Lulu’s, waiting for a table. It’s cool outside, the sky blue, as the smell of grilled burgers fills the air. My stomach rumbles, making the women grin at me.
Bree and I are standing close enough that I could lean down and kiss her if I wanted to. And believe me, I want to. But hersister is three feet away, and anything I do will be shared by the townsfolk in a matter of seconds.
So I settle for tucking a strand of hair behind her ear instead.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” I say quietly.
