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All I’m taking is his time.
We’ll do whatever we do, and I’ll be content with that.
For once in my life, I need to sidestep the chaos. For so long, every aspect of my life with Aiden was bedlam. Like a raging static that never shut off in my head. Here, in Resurrection, on Runaway Ranch, I will be in the moment. And, more importantly, I will be safe.
A large crash sounds from the kitchen, and Fallon lets out a string of blazing curses.
On a sigh, I turn and join her.
Inside, my sister kneels amid scattered baking trays, pie tins, and loaf pans. All of which have seen better days. The kitchen looks like it’s stuck in 1989. Chaos on multiple fronts—cramped cupboards and never enough counter space.
It has me missing Milk & Honey’s sleek kitchen with its gorgeous wood-topped island and kitchen goods like candy molds and egg beaters. A calm, creative space.
Everything The Corner Store isn’t. This place needs new appliances and a streamlined work system. My eyes rove, and I frown at the boxes of cigarettes sitting next to the rising bread dough. A container of fishing lures perches next to a slow-cooker of pastrami.
There’s a clang as Fallon stacks trays, then shoves them back into a corner cupboard.
I take a step closer to Fallon. “You’re doing too much.”
She looks up. Scowls. “Do you need something? Other than to boss me around like old times?”
“That wasn’t bossing. That was big sistering.” I walk around the kitchen space, glance at the recipe board with five lunch specials. “You’re doing too much here at the store. You cook, you sell food, you sell worms and cigarettes. You need to pick a specialty and stick with it.”
Fallon’s fierce hazel eyes simmer. “I guess that’s something you’d know about.”
“I would.” A flare of excitement soars through my chest. The itch to plan claws beneath my skin. “What’s your best seller?”
“All-day pastrami. You know that.”
“And? You had breakfast.” When I started working here, Fallon stopped serving breakfast. At least five locals a day stop in to ask if it’s back on the menu.
She avoids my gaze, her cheeks pink. “It does okay. Better since the bakery went out of business.”
“Freezer check,” I tell her, wiggling my brows. “Let’s see what you’re hoarding back here.”
“No!” Fallon says, pushing back from the counter. Even though she’s fast, I see she’s limping. “It’s a kitchen, Dakota. Of course, we have tons of old shit.”
“What happened to your leg?” I ask.
She juts her chin and hurries past me. “Practice.”
“With Wyatt?”
Crossing her arms, she sticks her lithe frame in front of the freezer. “Mind your business.”
I bump, more like bulldoze her out of the way with my belly. “Move,” I order, grabbing the freezer latch and lifting it up. A blast of light and cold air hits me in the face.
“Dakota! Stop!”
“Let’s see…ice, ice and more ice.” I move aside a pack of frozen peas. “Spaghetti sauce. Bait?” I arch a brow. “Tell me you don’t keep Dad’s minnows in here.” Groaning, I lean down to move a big brick of ice.
She lunges for the freezer, but I’m the older sister and I win, elbowing her back.
“Personal space,” she growls, her shoulders tensing, her fists pulled tight.
“Don’t make me kick you in the kneecaps,” I say as I scrape back the frost on a baking tray.
“That was fifth grade, and you played dirty,” she hisses.
