Like she could force any food into her churning stomach. But a drink sounded good. She looked around for her mother, but April Hale was nowhere in sight. Her mother loved Blake—always had. She’d even caught her wearing Blake’s Raiders jersey on a few game days. Her mom was probably biding her time, waiting to express her disapproval in private.
Terrance met them halfway to the kitchen, as if he’d been waiting for her and Andy to stop talking. Even though he was technically her boss, they were also good friends. At work she called him Chef T like everyone else, but outside of it, he was simply Terrance.
“Hey,” he said, bussing her cheek. “Sounds like you went nine rounds today. How about I make you a Manhattan? I brought my Luxardo cherries.”
All cherries were relatively equal, she’d once thought. Then Terrance had introduced her to Luxardo cherries. Like the name, they were exotic and magical and oh so good. She might have eaten half a jar one night—all by itself. “Andy was just talking about finding me a drink. Make it strong.”
He winked. “You got it.”
“I’m going to learn how the master makes a Manhattan,” her brother said, and the two headed into the kitchen together.
With no excuse to follow them, she made the rounds alone, hugging her increasingly pregnant cousin, Meredith, and kissing her hubby, Tanner, on the cheek. Terrance’s fiancé, Elizabeth, squeezed her hand and offered her a sweet consolation about men moving to Dare Valley with ideas. Hadn’t Terrance done the same with her?
Rhett, their crazy Southern transplant, lifted her off the ground, making her almost squeal like a little girl. “Sugar, you just say the word. I’ve heard tell that I’m the only one bigger and taller than your ex in this crowd. If I can’t bleed him dry at the poker table, I’ll call him out if he so much as makes a wrong move.”
“And I’ll hold his jacket,” his wife, Abbie, said, patting her small baby bump.
“Well, I’ll bring my shotgun,” Deputy Sheriff Peggy McBride said.
“And I’ll hold her jacket,” her husband, Mac Maven, said, giving her a wink. “My wife doesn’t mess around.”
She hugged all of them, even Mac, who was her big boss. As owner of The Grand Mountain Hotel and a number of other hotels, she worked technically for him even though Terrance was her daily supervisor and partner in crime, as he liked to call himself. When she went to work on Monday, she’d talk to Terrance and Mac about her agreement to cater Blake’s little party. It was something she wanted to do, even if her motivations made her a bit queasy. She knew they’d be fine with it, and she didn’t plan to say much more than that she was helping out a friend.
Moira and Caroline kept their distance, lingering across the room from her, and for that reason alone she could barely take a swallow of the Manhattan Terrance brought to her, Andy by his side, gushing about how ridiculously good the cherries were. It was funny to hear two grown men act so excited about cherries—as delicious as they were—but Natalie didn’t feel much like laughing when she saw her mother frowning at her from across the room.
“Drink up and go talk to her,” her brother said. “You’ll feel better.”
She wasn’t sure about that. The Manhattan wasn’t as delicious as usual since her taste buds seemed to have dried up, but it was strong. Fortifying. Deciding it was finally time to take her medicine, she left the guys and headed over to where her mom was standing beside Uncle Arthur, who was sitting in one of Matt’s recliners.
He smacked his knee. “Save the best for last?” he quipped with an endearing grin.
Close to eighty, her great uncle was still witty and fun, not to mention one of her favorite people in the world. “Of course.” She leaned down to kiss his wrinkly cheek. “Even if you are a pesky journalist.”
“Just tell those national reporters ‘no comment,’ and if they press you, hang up on them. It’s their job to be pushy and nosy. I should know. That’s how I’ve trained my staff to be.” He laughed.
“Hi, Mom,” Natalie said awkwardly, daring a glance at her.
“Hey, honey,” she said and rose to hug her. “I’m glad you came. Why don’t we step outside for a breath of air?”
Her mom had never needed to step outside for air before, but the grip she gave Natalie’s hand warned her not to refuse. Torches flickered in the backyard around the patio. The ring of fire felt appropriate. She was the poor, sap of a lion about to be whipped by a lion tamer.
April Hale didn’t smile as she closed the door—she only gazed at Natalie gently, the soft wind blowing the gray hair she wore cut to her chin. “I heard what happened. Come here, honey.”
“I’m fine, Mom, really,” she said, patting her back, wanting to push away.
Her mom squeezed her. “No, you’re not, and it’s time we stop dancing around this. Blake might have brought things to a head by moving here, but it’s been a long time coming.”
Now she did push away and had to squint as the western sun came out from a cloud in all its piercing glory. “Mom, please don’t do this. I’m handling it.”