For days, I couldn’t stop thinking about Heathcliff, even with Rebecca’s babbling and the night crowds at Caffeine’s. It was like I was in high school again, lying in my bed wondering if he was thinking about me as much as I was thinking about him. Only now, he was different. He was older, broader, and—in a funny, weird kind of way—dustier. Like a vase that had sat on the hearth too long.
All I could think about was my body sprawled against his, my ear against his heart. I’d almost forgotten about his friends, about the life he had outside our town.
Until they showed up at the plantation.
I was in the kitchen working on a new recipe when Rebecca appeared in the doorway. “You expecting company?” she asked.
“No,” I mumbled, half paying attention.
“Then the really pretty silver car speeding up the drive in a cloud of dirt is news to you, too?”
Her words shook me out of my reverie, and I rounded the counter, joining her at the door. Together, we peered out the window.
“A Lexus with out of state tags. Methinks you pissed off the Ginger girl,” Rebecca whistled. “I’m impressed. Took an entire high school and college career before you got involved in a love triangle.” She patted my back. “Don’t worry. I’ve survived three. We’ve got this.”
I scowled. “I’m not getting involved in anything.”
“You really like to lie to yourself, girlfriend.”
I snorted. “Where do you get this stuff?”
Rebecca shrugged. “I record soaps. Lots of them. If you ever just feel really bad about your life, all you have to do is watch a soap opera and,” she mimicked an explosion, “boom. All better.”
“I’m suddenly glad I never owned a television.”
Outside, a car door slammed, and we watched as Ginger climbed out of the driver’s side. She stared at the house, her hand rising to remove the expensive sunglasses on her nose. Brayden was with her, along with Chris’ wife, Samantha. Samantha, who’d I’d long since started calling Sam back in high school, looked as uncomfortable as I felt.
Rebecca grunted. “By the looks of things, you’re going to wish you’d seen some soaps. Trust me.”
There was a knock on the door, and I stiffened, wiping flour-stained hands down a plain white apron, before marching to the foyer.
Grasping the knob, I pulled, the opening door revealing three figures on the stoop. Behind them, Heathcliff’s Ford was pulling into the drive.
My lips curled into a smile, my heart fluttering. “Hi,” I greeted. “This is a surprise.”
Heathcliff was climbing out of his truck, his brother exiting the passenger side. Chris looked sad. Heathcliff was scowling.
Ginger was the first to speak. “Chris and Max have some business out here this afternoon, and I have to admit I was curious to see a real plantation. To see what all the fuss was about.”
I stepped aside, holding the door wide, my gaze flying to Heathcliff’s. Our eyes caught and then slid away. “It really isn’t much,” I said as they entered. “There are much bigger plantations not too far from here.”
“Yes,” Ginger drawled, “but you don’t own them.”
“Soap operas,” Rebecca hissed in my ear as she joined us.
Ignoring her, I studied the group. “Is there something I can do for you? Would you like some coffee? Tea?”
Chris stepped forward. “Max and I need to talk to you, Hawthorne. If you don’t mind, maybe Rebecca could show everyone else around the place.”
My gaze flicked from Rebecca’s to the group. She shrugged.
“Sure,” I replied, leaning over just long enough to hiss avoid looking at abs in Rebecca’s ear before indicating that Heathcliff and Chris should join me in the kitchen.
Rebecca’s sing-song voice followed us as we walked away.
“None of you like soap operas, do you?” she was asking.
My mouth twitched as I stepped back behind the counter. Nodding at the table, I said, “Please feel free to sit. I was just working on something new.”
Heathcliff’s gaze wandered the room, pausing on the new stoves, the door to the walk-in freezer, and the cooling racks. “Wow, you’d think it would look smaller with all of the additions, but it doesn’t.”
“Odd, right?” I answered.
Chris grinned. “It smells good in here, but then again, it always does.”
I shot him a look. “Not looking for handouts are we?”
He chuckled. “We should have come out sooner. It looks really nice, Hawthorne. You’ve done good work.”
I shrugged. “Mostly thanks to Rebecca’s investment.” My gaze passed between the brothers. “But that’s not why you’re here.”
“No,” Chris admitted. “It’s not.” He shifted awkwardly. “Hawthorne, Mams passed away this morning.”
The rolling pin I’d just picked up clattered to the counter. “What?”
Chris swallowed hard, his reddening eyes flicking from Heathcliff to me. Heathcliff was stoic, his face calm. There was a maelstrom of emotions in his gaze, but his face didn’t reveal them.
“The thing is—” Chris began.