I nod as Jo smiles up at Asher. He moves swiftly out of the way to let her exit as I drop down onto the overstuffed brown leather sofa. I know no one has been here since Wade’s pseudo sister-in-law Cassie Spencer left last month. She’s a bluegrass singer and was staying on the ranch to recover from a traumatic event that occurred at one of her concerts. She’s doing much better and is back on the road, at least for now.
Asher fidgets with his suspender buckle as he watches me. The intense look has returned, and he seems as though he’s trying hard not to lecture me, which pisses me off.
My eyes snap to his. “What?”
His dark brows shoot up as he studies me but doesn’t say anything.
“You’ve obviously got something to say,” I press.
“You’ve been through enough tonight. We’ll talk another time.”
I stand and stalk toward him, folding my arms over my chest as I look up at him. Normally, I don’t come this close to him on purpose, but I must still be just tipsy enough, because there are no warning bells going off telling me not to antagonize him further.
“No, let’s have the lecture now,Dad,” I coax.
Those gray eyes darken as he watches me before moving to close the gap between us. I scoff and roll my eyes at the same time he uses his thumb and forefinger to tilt my face to his. My breath hitches at the contact and, this close, I can see the fight in him to stay calm. I have no idea why, but it’s obvious he isn’t my biggest fan. He drops his hand when my eyes meet his, but I can still feel the heat from his touch coursing through me.
“It’s time you start …” He searches for the words to say. “Just try to be a little more cautious. Self-preservation is a thing, yeah. Like, tonight, if you get the hankering for food, don’t fucking cook anything. Maybe order a pizza?”
He backs toward the door and, as he swings it open, Jo climbs the steps to my cabin.
“Night, Jo,” he says gruffly. “Thanks again.”
She pats his arm. “’Course. Get some sleep, kid. You look exhausted.”
He squeezes her hand sweetly. “Aye. No rest for the wicked, eh?”
“Hell, that must be why I don’t sleep!” She laughs as she heads in and sets my coffee pods on the counter. “Right, girl. Let’s get you settled. We’ll sort everything else out tomorrow; have you got someone to cover for you at work?”
I nod as I think about my clothing boutique: Lavender Grove, named after my favorite flower. We’re getting into the busy months here in our hometown of Laurel Creek, Kentucky.
The spring and summer are when the streets are flooded with tourists wanting to visit Sugarland Mountain or to get outside on our nature trails and beaches near Cave Run Lake. We carry fine lingerie, swimsuits, designer dresses, and accessories, all handpicked by me. Opening the store was a dream come true. A dream I’ve had since I was young and my mom and I would thrift fabric for me to practice making clothes with. I had a whole rack of Olivia Sutton designs, and my mom would come and pretend to shop at my store. It’s my pride and joy, and I truly miss it when I’m not there.
“Yeah, short term but I have a huge shipment coming in this week.”
“I think that’s a good thing. It will do you good to keep busy …” Jo offers.
“Maybe it’s just.” I look up into Jo’s kind eyes. “What am I gonna do?”
“You’re gonna lean on all of us, that’s what,” Jo says surely, and something about her unwavering support causes me to break. Dropping back to the sofa, I can’t help the emotion that pours out of me as I start to cry for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Sobs rack through my chest as Jo settles beside me and wraps her arms around me, supportive but firm. I can’t stop, but then again, she doesn’t ask me to.
Instead, she simply holds me close and whispers into my hair. “Oh, darlin’. It’s okay. Let it out, I’ve got you.”
CHAPTER 5
Olivia
“Baking is a science.” My nana’s small, wrinkled fingers work carefully to knead her pie crust. I have no idea how it’s perfect every time and she doesn’t even measure. “Cooking is something you do with love.”
I’m only twelve, but since she moved in with us a year ago, we’ve started a tradition of cooking together every week. She says it’s important to learn to create food, that it’s an art, a form of therapy. She says her best thinking is done when she’s baking. She looks over my shoulder where I stir the lemon curd for her famous pie. Tomorrow is a big day. It’s my grandpa’s birthday, maybe his last one, and even though he’s in a home now, we’re still taking him his favorite dessert.
“Perfect, Livi,” Nana says with a smile. “You’re a natural.”
I breathe in her rose scent as “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley starts to play through the radio. Nana grabs my hand, her diamond ring from my grandpa glints in the sunlight as she twirls me, singing as she does, and I’ve never felt so safe or so loved.
The commotion of voices through thin cabin walls wakes me from my sleep. A smile is spread across my face, though my eyes remain closed. It always feels as though my nana is visiting me when I dream of her.
I open one eye and take in my surroundings, realizing I am not at home.
