I dig through a pile of clothes and find a soft blue tunic with tiny floral print. Eden’s right—this is perfect.
She nods when I hold it up. “Yep. With your denim jacket if it gets cold.”
I swallow a lump and bite my lip. “What if I really like this guy?”
Esther grins. “Good. Koa and I have enjoyed having the house to ourselves.”
“Esther!” Eden swats her. “This is our tiny baby sister, who is always welcome in all our homes.”
Esther shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Eva, babe. It’s okay if you like this place and if you like this guy. Lots of people go off and try new things. I mean, Eila went all the way to Greenfield.”
Eden laughs, which sets me off, thinking of our middle sister moving two miles and one river away and acting like she emigrated to Siberia.
Eden and Esther laugh with me until we are all teary-eyed and out of breath, when my oldest sister says, “It’s okay if it’s scary. You didn’t know any of this existed a few months ago, when you were ignoring certified mail and inserting yourself into all our marketing efforts to avoid responsibility.”
“I wasn’t avoiding.”
Esther arches a brow, and I sigh, flopping back on the bed.
“Look, sweetie,” Eden says, soothingly. “You’ve spent your adult life so far acting like you owe us something. Making our businesses look good, supporting our dreams. Maybe it’s time to focus on you.”
My throat chalks over. “You really think so?”
Esther pats Eden’s hand and shrugs. “Probably.” She smiles, taking the edge off. “Now go take a shower, shave your legs, and have a great time. Text us tomorrow with details. Not too many details. But enough.”
“I love you guys.”
“We love you too.” Eden blows a kiss at the camera. “Go get your yeti.”
By the time Asher’s due to arrive, my hair is cooperating for once, falling in soft waves past my shoulders. I put on mascara and lip gloss and the tiniest bit of blush, just enough to look like I tried without looking like I tried too hard.
I feel like I’m seventeen again, waiting for my prom date. Which is ridiculous; I’m a grown woman who runs her own business and just decided to convert a maple farm into a bed-and-breakfast. I should not be this nervous about dinner with a man I’ve already kissed.
But this is different. This is a beginning. A real one.
The knock comes exactly on time, and it doesn’t even sound grumpy.
I open the door, and he’s there, standing on my porch without his crutches—just a walking boot now, which must mean his ankle is healing well. He’s wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt, forest green, and he’s trimmed his beard, so it looks intentional instead of “forgot to shave for a month.”
He looks good. Really good.
His eyes travel over me, and I watch his expression soften. “You look beautiful.”
“You clean up okay yourself.”
“I tried.” He holds out his hand. “Ready?”
I take it, and even that small contact—his palm warm and solid against mine—makes my blood fizz.
And then I burst into hysterics when I see he is driving Gran’s golf cart on the streets of Fork Lick to take me on our date. Apparently, he can operate one of those in a boot cast.
The restaurant is indeed a converted church, and I can see exactly why Esther was geeking out about it. The space is beautiful and cozy, and the drink menu is something my clever mixologist sister would envy.
Stained-glass windows cast colored light across exposed brick walls. The pews have been replaced with intimate tables, each lit by candles in canning jars. The altar area is now an open kitchen where I can see Bacon—tall, muscled, intensely focused—plating a meal with those arty swirls and flower garnishes.
“Wow,” I breathe as we step inside.
“Yeah.” Asher’s hand is warm on the small of my back. “Bacon’s done a lot with the place. It was falling apart when he bought it.”
