“See, I don’t understand how you all so easily say that. That I’m family. I barely know you all.”
“That’s fixable,” Blake said. “Time and proximity. And possibly alcohol, though Xander’s sober so we do a lot of our bonding over coffee these days.”
I found myself smiling despite the anxiety still churning in my stomach. “You guys planned this, didn’t you? The lunch.”
They exchanged a look.
“Maybe,” Blake admitted. “But only because we wanted to get to know you better. Without all the brothers hovering.”
“They do hover,” Delaney agreed. “They mean well, but sometimes it’s easier to talk without them.”
The food arrived, and Blake had been right about the turkey club. It was spectacular.
We ate and talked, and I found myself telling them about Blue Point Bay, about my photography business, about the series I was thinking of doing documenting small-town life. It wasn’t ground breaking but it was the type of photograph that was really calling to me at the moment.
“You should absolutely do that here,” Blake said. “I’d love to feature it in the gallery. We could do a whole exhibition.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m always looking for fresh perspectives, and you have a great eye.” She gestured to my camera. “Can I see what you shot this morning?”
I hesitated, then handed over my camera. Letting someone look at my unedited work always felt vulnerable, but Blake handled it with the careful reverence of a fellow artist.
“These are beautiful,” she said softly, scrolling through. “The way you capture light... it’s really special, Leigh.”
Delaney leaned over to look, and her face softened. “You have a gift.”
Something in my chest loosened. This. This was what I’d needed. Not just acceptance, but to be seen for what I could do, not just who I was related to.
“Let’s talk about you guys,” I suggested.
“It must be a lot having all of us circling peppering you with questions all the time,” Blake said reaching out and squeezing my arm. “Okay… us, something interesting about us…”
“I’ve been wanting to expand things at the farm,” Delaney said, setting down her sandwich. “The cider mill does well, but I want to open a proper farm-to-table restaurant on the property. We’ve nearly got the barn renovated and ready to go.”
“Really?” I leaned forward, interested. “That sounds amazing.”
“She said interesting, Lanes. Not business,” Blake quipped and Delaney pushed her playfully as they laughed.
When Delaney turned back to me, her whole face lit up. “It’s been one of those ideas that I just can’t shake. I have the space. The old barn converted perfectly. I have the connections to local farms, the whole vision. I just need...” She laughed. “Everything else.”
“She needs to actually commit to doing it,” Blake said, but there was affection in her teasing.
“I need to find the right chef,” Delaney corrected. “Someone who shares the vision. Farm-to-table, seasonal, local sourcing. It’s specific. I can’t just hire anyone.”
“She’s picky,” Blake said.
“I prefer ‘particular,’“ Delaney countered. “This is my dream. I want it done right.”
“What would the restaurant be like?” I asked, genuinely curious.
Delaney’s eyes sparkled as she described it. The converted barn with its exposed beams and large windows overlooking thepond. The seasonal menu that would change based on what was available locally. The intimate atmosphere, the connection to the land.
“It sounds perfect,” I said when she finished. “You should definitely do it.”
“See?” Blake pointed at me. “Leigh agrees. The universe is telling you something.”
“The universe needs to send me a chef first,” Delaney said, but she was smiling.
