Esther laughs. “You’re not wrong. When I met Joseph, he had a whole league of women after him.” She wrinkles her nose at the memory. “There’s something about a firefighter that just makes the girls go crazy. I knew I needed to stand out.”
“What did you do?”
“I showed up at the station once a week with baking. Originally, I’d go every day, but I thought that was a little over the top. I didn’t want to scare him off, you know?”
I snort when Esther grins at me.
“Anyway, you name it, and I had it. Baskets of cupcakes, cookies, and muffins. These little coconut balls. I always kept them in this cute little wicker basket with a ribbon wrapped around the handle. Aesthetic purposes, you see? You have to wrap the package nicely, which is why I also wore my best dresses—the kind that flare in a little wind and show off your calves.”
I stare down into the bubbles covering the water’s surface. “Did it work?”
“Joseph put up a good fight, but my mama always told me the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” Esther bobs her eyebrows playfully. “Plus, he didn’t like the other men eating my food.”
Her voice is muffled as a slow-moving poison sludges through my body, leaving an ache everywhere it touches. “Jealousy is a good motivator,” I say, handing her another plate, forcing a lightness into my tone that I don’t feel.
Esther dries the dish and puts it away before sending me a thoughtful look. “Are you alright, Gracie? You look a little pale.”
“I’m just tired. It’s been a big day, and a long week.”
She eyes me curiously. “Where is your family on Thanksgiving? Not that I mind you spending time with us…”
“Uh, they’re actually traveling.” The smile I send her is tight, uncomfortable.
Esther’s brow pinches. “Oh.” She shakes her head. “Nick and Paisley are my whole world. I hate spending the holidays without them.”
We fall quiet as we finish the rest of the dishes, Joseph calling for Esther just as I pick up the last plate. She hangs her dish towel up, telling me, “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re practically done anyway.”
Esther smiles warmly. “You’re a gem, Gracie. I hope you know that.”
I return the smile, but it fades away as she exits the kitchen, leaving me in the lingering silence. My neck aches, like I’ve been holding myself impossibly stiff, and a headache has been steadily blooming behind my left eye for the last hour.
All I want to do is go home and crawl into bed, where Ican pretend this whole day never happened, but I won’t ruin Braxton’s day. It’s obvious how happy he is, spending time with his family and Nick’s.
And Paisley.
I’m just wiping down the counters when a voice drifts in through the cracked kitchen window. I pause, my hair standing up on end, that warning instinct flaring back to life. I shouldn't listen. I know that. Nothing good ever comes from eavesdropping. But morbid curiosity beats at me.
I edge closer to the window, trying to peer out into the dark just as a soft voice asks, “Have you told her about us?” The question is tentative, and I go still, resting trembling hands against the counter.
“There’s nothing to tell.”Braxton.
My blood rushes to my head, leaving me dizzy. I blink rapidly, clearing my vision, just able to make out two shadowy bodies leaning against the wooden porch railing. Their backs are to me, completely oblivious to their audience, but there’s enough light that I can see how close they’re standing to each other.
“Braxton—”
“That was all a long time ago,” he bites out, impatience coating his voice. “You left, remember?”
Paisley huffs, a finger twirling in a long strand of her hair. “You know why I had to,” she chides gently. “I was only eighteen, and you told me the day before I left. I couldn’t just put my future on hold for what we might have been.”
Braxton looks at her, his jaw taut with tension. “I never should have said anything.”
“I’m glad you did.” Paisley angles her body toward him, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. A sharp pinch has me looking down, finding my own hands fisted, nails biting into my palms. I don’t blink, waiting forBraxton to pull away, to put distance between them, but he doesn’t move.
Encouraged, Paisley shifts even closer, barely a breath between their bodies. “I know I told you not to wait for me, but I guess I kind of hoped you would.”
“It’s been four years, Paisley,” Braxton protests, but the strength is missing from his words. Her hand lifts from his arm to his chest, pressing right over his heart—an intimate touch that has my throat going impossibly tight. “You never even came back to visit.”
