Prologue
Louise
THREE YEARS AGO
“Lou? Are you out here?”
I turn my head toward my sister’s voice as it drifts through the garden. Dusk settled around me a long time ago; the crickets are now chirping and bullfrogs have started singing in the late August evening. I tip my head back and watch as the last pink and blue remnants of the cotton candy sunset fade over the tree line.
This has always been my favorite time of year at the farm. It’s so peaceful, right before the craziness of fall hits. The farm and its gardens still belong to us for just a little longer.
“Lou, please don’t make me walk all the way out there if you’re not even there,” my sister Sienna calls again, her tone laced with annoyance. I can’t help rolling my eyes. My long, golden blonde hair falls over my shoulder and I sweep it back with one hand. I’m due for a trim, the long golden strands are nearly touching the top curve of my butt nowadays.
“I’m here, you big baby,” I call out, and it’s not long before I hear my sister’s footsteps as she traipses through the rows and rows of florals and landscaping trees. She rounds the corner and slaps her hands against her thighs as she walks toward me where I’ve been swinging idly on the old-fashioned wooden A-frame swing in the center of our family’s garden. Like I’d be anywhere else.
Sienna catches the edge of the swing as I pendulum toward her, stopping it long enough to plop into it, the old wood squeaking as she kicks off with her toe to get us moving again. I sit cross-legged on the seat, plastic juice glass of Riesling between my hands in my lap. Everyone knows better than to give me a delicate wine glass. I’ve already broken three this summer.Whoops.
Sienna sighs next to me, rolling her head back on her shoulders to stare up at the sky, where stars have begun to appear in the darkening sky above us.
“Do the others know where we are?” I ask, turning my head to look at her. She shakes her head.
“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they find us anyway.”
“We won’t all fit on the swing anymore,” I point out, which brings Sienna’s head around to fix me with that heated glare she’s perfected as the second oldest. I cringe, taking a gulp of my wine.
“I swear to god if you make any more comments about your weight, I’ m going to murder you and bury you under the petunias.”
“No, anywhere but the petunias!” I whine dramatically, which makes Sienna laugh with a shake of her head. I shrug. “I just meant that we’re not four little kids anymore. This old swing won’t hold all of us.”
It’s hard being the baby of the family sometimes. Our parents had taken longer breaks between all of us than was conventional, three, four, and five years spanning between each of our births. I’m freshly turned twenty-one as of last week. My sister Tessa is turning twenty-four next month. She’s quirky and nerdy and marches to the beat of her own drums. I envy that about her. Actually, I envy a lot about all three of my sisters. Tessa is about to open up a bookstore and café with her best friend in the heart of downtown Petoskey. Who actually accomplishes that kind of thing at the age of twenty-three?
And then Sienna, the drop dead gorgeous, legs for days, always perfectly put together woman has her own photography business. She’d started taking senior class photos several years ago and has since branched out into doing wedding photos, which arestunning. She has an eye for it. She just celebrated her twenty-eighth birthday and recently started dating a man she’d met while shooting a wedding. Connor is classically handsome and obnoxiously perfect. Almosttooperfect.
Then there’s Darci, our oldest sister. She’d gotten married young to Nolan Brantley, her prince charming and a volunteer firefighter. They have two absolutely adorable kids together, my niece and nephew, and she’d taken on being a step-mom to his daughter Evie like a pro. She’s thirty-three and runs the family garden with our parents. She’s perfect in everything she does,like annoyingly perfect. She’s the perfect soccer mom, the perfect wife, the perfect businesswoman.
Me? Three years ago, I went off to college downstate at Ferris and then dropped out after a semester and a half and moved back home. Why? Well,A. because I was pathetically homesick, andB. because Dad died, and Mom and Darci needed help with Bliss Garden.
See, our family owns and operates one of the biggest nurseries in northern Michigan. We offer seasonal florals and landscaping bushes and trees, but my parents had started it as an orchard and pumpkin patch back thirty years ago. Nowadays, you name it, we probably have it.
In the fall, our farm turns into an autumn lovers wet dream. Hay rides, apple picking, a pumpkin patch, corn mazes, hot and cold homemade apple cider… pumpkin spiceeverything. Yes, I amthatbasic girl. We also have a small bar fully stocked with nothing but local wines, liquors, and craft beers. My dad was always big on supporting local.
Dad had spent one spring building a massive patio by the barn with several tabletop fireplaces and had sprinkled around dozens of heavy wooden Adirondack chairs for guests to sit in. Bliss Garden istheplace to be, especially in the fall, when the color change turns the trees into a watercolor of reds, oranges, and yellows.
So, each year, all of us girls are called back home for the fall to help out as much as possible. Especially with Dad gone. That familiar pang of heartache at the thought of Dad makes my chest feel like it’s caving in on itself. The grief doesn’t hit as often as it used to, but it’s not any less painful when it does.
Dad had always hoped that each of his girls would find their happy ever after’s and get married here on the farm, just like he and Mom had. By the time we lost him, only Darci had managed to make his dream come true. She was the only one that would get to have him walk her down the aisle.
I take another large gulp of my wine and blink rapidly to whisk away the tears that burn my nose and make my vision blurry. “How’s Connor?”
Sienna shrugs, fiddling with the hem of her white sweatshirt before smoothing it back down. “He’s fine, you know how he gets. Just super busy, all the time.”
“I uh, I saw Nash the other day.”
Sienna goes perfectly still. “Oh yeah?” she asks casually—too casually—and I know her mind is going a million miles a second, though she’ll never admit to it.
I nod, taking another drink of my wine. “He asked about you.”
I watch as she swallows hard, then straightens her shoulders, her chin lifting just the slightest. “He doesn’t have any right to ask about me anymore. I hope you didn’t tell him anything.”
