Page 45

Addison

As soon as the flight touches down in Seattle, I know in my gut that I made the right choice. I clutch my purse tightly to my chest as the Uber takes me from the airport to downtown Seattle.

Mom left Montana on Saturday. She didn’t even stay long enough to seek me out after our fight in the mess hall. Apparently, she had an important open house Saturday afternoon. So I’m heading directly to the office downtown to patch things up with her. To talk to both her and Dad.

Nerves swirl in my belly as the car stops outside the high rise that houses my parents’ firm, but it doesn’tchange my resolve. I’ve made my choice. And it’s the right one.

I thank the driver, grabbing my bag, stepping out onto the sidewalk, and heading into the suffocatingly familiar lobby. It takes the elevator exactly thirty seconds to reach my parents’ floor, and when the doors slide open, the receptionist greets me.

“Addison!” she says warmly. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

“Hi, Lisa,” I say. “Are my parents here?”

“In their office,” she says, and I thank her as I walk past, down the long hall. My parents share the corner office. They’re sitting at their desks, facing each other, as I knock gently on the door and let myself in.

They both look up at the same time, surprise painting their faces. My dad is the first one to smile, while Mom still looks confused.

“Addie!” he exclaims, standing from his desk and moving across the room to wrap me in a hug. “What are you doing here? We weren’t expecting you back for another few weeks.” He glances quizzically at Mom.

Mom stands, crossing her arms, still looking perplexed.

“I came home because …” I start, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Because I’ve made a decision.”

Mom nods slowly, her shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “Good.Good, Addison,” she says. “I knew you’d come to your senses and see that all of this—”

“Actually, just—” I stutter, holding up my hands. “Can I just say what I have to say first?”

Mom seems taken aback, but she nods anyway. Dad simply crosses his arms and cocks his head, waiting for me to continue.

I square my shoulders, try to center myself, and then I go forth with the speech I’ve been rehearsing for hours. “I don’t want to work forSeattle Luxeanymore.”

Mom opens her mouth, but I hold up my hand, shooting her a pleading look. She closes it, pursing her lips.

“I haven’t enjoyed working here for a long time—if ever. And I know it’s your dream, and you guys have created something incredible. Really. It’s just … not for me. I don’t do well in the spotlight. I’m not charismatic like you two. I’m not outgoing. And instead of fighting myself over it, I think maybe I need to find a new path. Find something I like, something that fits who I am—not the other way around.” I steel myself for the next part. The part I’m truly anticipating pushback on. Because everything I just threw at them—I’ve said it all before. And they know how to talk me out of things. But what’s next is a plan. Something real.

I suck in a breath. “I talked with Tate, and he offered me a job at the ranch,” I say simply.

Dad’s eyes widen, and Mom splutters a sound of disgust.

“You’re going toworkat the ranch …” Dad echoes like he didn’t quite hear me right.

It’s then that Mom laughs, although it’s humorless. “You can’t work at a ranch, Addison. That’s ridiculous.”

“What would you do there?” Dad asks.

“Cooking,” I reply. “Baking, mainly. I don’t know if Mom told you, but I’ve gotten really good at it. And the staff love it, and it really helps them out—"

“Addison, you’re not working at a ranch,” Mom says sternly.

And while I’d prepped myself for this, promised myself I wouldn’t lose control, I can feel my resolve slipping. “It’s not your decision!” I snap. “I’m an adult. And while I’m thankful for the opportunities you’ve given me, I am the one who ultimately gets to decide where I go in my life. Me. I need you to understand that, Mom.”

“Addie,” Dad steps in with his familiar placating tone. “You can’t be serious. Think about this. You want to be a glorified line cook? Seriously?”

“I’m good at it,” I defend myself.

“And I’m good at fixing the sink—doesn’t necessarily mean I should be a plumber,” Dad counters.

“I’ve beenhappyfor once!” I shout, and I don’t know if it’s the outburst or the words, but it quiets them both for a moment. I take the opportunity to keep going. “You sent me to Aunt Theresa’s to relax, to recoup, to come back better. These last two months …” I shake my head, searching for the right words. “I’ve felt confident. Like I’m actually good at something. Good at something that makes people happy—that makesmehappy. I’ve just been … happy.” The word leaves my mouth as a whisper, a plea, begging for them to understand.