He won’t do it again.
Chapter
Four
JOSEPHINE
Sunlight threads through the curtains, spilling gold across the lace comforter.
Lilacs and roses wrap around me, soft and insistent.
I hear the faint hum of life outside. Songbird choruses, distant horses braying, the low rumble of cattle on the move.
I check my phone. A single bar flickers in, then out, like the valley’s teasing me. The radio on the nightstand only gives off short static bursts.
So annoying. I can’t remember the last time I had to walk around searching for a signal.
Downstairs, the coffee maker sputters, announcing the dark, rich smell of roasted beans.
Grandma smiles broadly, carrying large stoneware mugs to the dining room table.
I sit down, pressing my palms against the wood, steady and timeworn. And no longer vibrating like last night.
“Been in the family for generations,” she says, handing me a mug.
“I remember you telling me that before.”
“Just scold me if I repeat myself,” she teases. But there’s a strain in her voice when she adds too softly, “It’s been so long.”She catches herself before she says more, turning away and returning with the coffeepot.
“You sleep okay?” she asks.
I yawn, rubbing my eyes. “Not at first. My mind kept wandering… until I forgot everything. After that, I slept like a baby.”
She fills two more chipped mugs with the steaming liquid, then heads to the fridge to pull out a small stoneware crock.
“Homemade cream,” I exclaim, licking my lips.
“There’s lots more where that came from, so don’t even think about skimping.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I pour it into my coffee, watching the swirl form the same pattern as the distant storm always sitting on the Starborns.
She sets a pile of thick, steaming slices of homemade bread on the table in front of me.
I grab a slice. Warm, comforting, slightly sweet with a rich mixture of yeasty overtones and earthy grains. Then, I snag the butter container and jam jar, painting it yellow and ruby red.
Ash last night, licking his finger.
My throat tightens at the memory, strange pull in my lower core. The kind that makes me feel ashamed and alive all at once.
“Now, there’s a mischievous smile,” she says.
I straighten, forcing my mouth to behave.
“What are you thinking about?”
I shake my head, shrugging.
“If I had to bet, you’ve got a man on your mind.”
