CHAPTER 1
Mia Whitmore dancedher way across the small barn’s wide, smooth pine floor, hips swaying to a salsa beat. A soft wind drifted through the open barn doors, cool against her flushed cheeks. Birds chattered in the trees beneath a clear robin’s-egg blue sky. Scents of lemon and cinnamon filled the air.
All was well in her world.
She surveyed the trays of mini maple-pecan tarts, lemon cream trifles, and apple crisp shooters lined up on the counter that would soon go into the commercial fridge. Cookies stamped with the initials of the bride and groom cooled on wire racks, their surfaces smooth and glossy, still warm from the oven. The herb-crusted pork tenderloins were marinating. Bright orange carrots were peeled and ready for their water bath. Green beans were cooked and cooling on a tray. Fluffy rolls were rising near the stove and almost ready to go into the oven. The dates were wrapped in bacon; the bourbon-glazed meatballs just needed to be reheated the next night.
Mia checked off each item, satisfaction settling deep in her bones.
The rehearsal dinner was going to be tricky. The bride insisted it be outdoors at her family’s cabin. Luckily, the weatherlooked good. The cabin had a small kitchen, but still, whatever wasn’t cooked here tonight would have to be finished on-site the next day, either in borrowed ovens or over portable burners. Not impossible. She’d faced tougher challenges.
Mia sighed, brushing a stray crumb from the counter. One of these days, she’d love to have a party barn built on the property so she could offer an alternative. Something she could offer clients who wanted something small and intimate that wasn’t a rental hall with folding chairs and bad lighting.
The fifty acres her dad owned just outside town was big with a one-acre pond ringed by palm trees and mossy oaks. It was a perfect spot—peaceful, serene, and pure Florida.
It all sounded good. The vision was clear, the plans were in place. The money was close, but if costs crept up any higher, she’d need a loan to bridge the gap.
Her dad was still recovering from his stroke and needed some assistance. There wasn’t enough money to have full-time staff come in and help him, so they settled on part-time work. Which was the reason Mia gave up a lucrative catering business in New York to come home. She had little time and money between running her catering business and her booth at the farmers’ market. But family came first—always had.
“Mia.”
She squeaked and spun around.
Roy Spencer stood in the doorway, quiet and unassuming. He wore a pair of faded jeans, a green T-shirt and work boots. His brown hair stuck up in spots as if he had run his hands through it.
“Roy, you scared me,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. Her pulse jumped once before settling down. The man was quiet as a mouse and always sneaking up on her.
He shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Your dad said the tractor’s acting up again. Figured I’d take a look while I’m here.”
She smiled faintly. “That thing’s older than both of us. I’m surprised it still runs.”
Roy chuckled. “Back then, they made things to last.”
“That’s for sure.”
She turned back to the counter, arranging tarts in a neat row. “If you get it going again, maybe we can start clearing that patch near the pond for events. I’d like to put down pavers instead of grass. It’ll look more professional.”
He frowned, his jaw ticking once. “Your dad never wanted that. Always said it should stay natural.”
She took a deep breath before replying, counting to three like she always did when she didn’t want to snap. “I plan to put a party barn down there. Grass turns to mud when it rains. I can’t have my guests sinking in their heels.”
Roy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “He always said you can’t improve on what’s already good.”
Mia straightened, wiped her hands on a towel. “And I’m saying we can make it better.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
For a long moment, they faced each other, the faint whir of the ceiling fan filling the silence. Their dads had once worked side by side at the hardware store—her dad the owner, his the employee. Roy’s dad had always been too busy to notice his shy son, but her dad stepped in, giving him odd jobs and treating him like one of his own.
Something Mia used to tease her dad about.
Working part-time at the hardware store during high school only reminded her how small the town was and how much she needed to leave.
And she had.
Now she ran the catering business and cared for her father herself. Roy was still around, still helping. Especially her dad. Sometimes the way he looked at Hal made her wonder if he was still that boy hoping for a pat on the back. Maybe he was satisfied here, in the same routines, the same town. Or maybe he’d just stopped expecting anything more.
Either way, something about him these days felt off.
