Hayden’s first to speak. “Don’t you ever listen to her? She’s been talking for over a year about retiring and moving south. You’re there every day, so how do younotknow that?”
Holden leans back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. “I don’t know. She probably said it, but I blocked it out. That’s theproblem—I go thereeverymorning. It’s one of the few routines I have, and now she’s selling it. Who knows what it’ll become—a bar, a general store, or maybe it’ll sit vacant for years. What am I supposed to do with my mornings? Where am I going to get my coffee? You know hers is the only coffee I enjoy.”
His rambling finally stops.
“Christ, Holden,” I mutter, “if you ever want to hang out, just say so. Ella selling the bakery isn’t a big deal.”
“Not to you,” he shoots back. “You barely eat anything your nutritionist doesn’t bless.”
“That’s dramatic,” I say. “I’mcareful. You should be, too. Dad was forty-eight when…”
A somber hush falls over the room.
After a moment, Henry clears his throat. Always the oldest, keeping us grounded. He directs his words at me. “You’ve heard Mom tell the story. Dad ignored his symptoms for months before the heart attack. We all get checkups and regular bloodwork. We’re careful. Except for the occasional donut. Or ice cream, and a glass or two of extraordinary whiskey.” He lifts his glass in demonstration, then takes another sip.
Hayden smirks at me. “Ice cream’s your Achilles’ heel.”
“Yeah, okay, but I don’t want to sit here and talk about the bakery anymore,” I mutter.
“You really are a grump,” Hayden says.
I glare at him. “This is the most you’ve talked in months, and it’s just to give me shit?”
“I’m not giving you shit. My wife—the only woman I will ever love—left me, and you’re pissier than I am. Why don’t you lay your crap out so we can talk through it, and you can stop being such an ass?”
I glance at Henry—his mouth is open in shock—then at Holden, who is fighting a smirk. I rise and walk to the bar, grab the bottle of Macallan, and refill my glass. Then, because I’m nota total asshole, I set the bottle on the table in case anyone else wants some. Damned if I’m pouring it for them, though.
Hell, maybe I am crabby.
I plop down into my chair, and stare at the fireplace, even though it’s summer and there isn’t a fire. Still, it’s a habit to look in that direction. My brain must know that gazing at the dancing flames usually helps me zone out for a few minutes. The mesmerizing colors tamp down the perpetual uneasiness and deep regret that reside in me. The fear that I’ll get lazy or miss a threat, and once again, fail to protect the people I love when they need me.
Holden leans forward, rests his elbows on his knees, and clasps his hands together in front of him. “All right. I didn’t want to do this. I wanted you to think tonight was just about the bakery—and don’t get me wrong, that’s weighing on me—but that’s not why we’re here.”
“Okay, then why?” I snap. I don’t know why I’m annoyed, because I do want to be here with them. I miss this since Henry moved out and into the farmhouse with Tillie.
Holden doesn’t immediately respond, and the tension in the room is palpable. I sense that all eyes are on me. I take my time and study each of their faces, searching their eyes.
Henry’s frowning, and he turns his gaze downward, not looking me in the eye. Hayden still wears his default flat affect. Holden, though, he looks nervous. He’s tapping his foot, yet his upper body is rigid.
Oh, my God. Are they serious right now?
I twist my head toward Henry and glare. “Did you have him bring us together to stage some kind of intervention on me? Really? Way to have my back.”
“It wasn’t him,” Holden cuts in. When I redirect my scowl to him, he says, “It was me.”
I look at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that since the moment Delaney arrived in Aron Falls, you’ve been acting like a weirdo. Don’t deny it. Your behavior at the charity event left no question that something either happened between you two or you’re obsessed with her.”
“I’m not a stalker, for fuck’s sake.” There’s no mistaking the aggravation attached to my words.
I recline in my chair and close my eyes. It’s my way of ending the asinine discussion.
We sit in silence until Holden breaks it. “We know how you think, Harrison. We realize what you’re doing. Sitting there, quiet, like it’ll shut us down, right? It won’t. Not this time.”
A deep sigh escapes me, and I don’t stifle it. Then I open my eyes and force myself to engage in eye contact with Holden.
“Please, enlighten me about how you think youknowme. None of you has any idea what goes on in my head.” I’m aware it’s not a fair statement, even as it flows off my tongue.
