“Jesus,” I heard Mercer mutter. Then we turned onto a bumpy gravel road that would take us out to the Clarks’ private property overlooking the lake.
To add insult to injury, the day was beautiful. May in Western North Carolina could be unpredictable, but the sun was shining bright on the water, and Mercer’s windows were down, letting in the lakeside breeze.
Nola and Junior’s property sat well above the shoreline. Their house was positioned on an overlook, but there was a trail with several switchbacks that led down to their private dock. The party wasn’t being held at the house, though. They’d built a large pavilion nearby for entertaining, a big covered open-air structure that housed a dozen picnic tables. It also held hammocks and swings that faced the water. There was a fully functional kitchen attached as well as a renovated bathhouse next door.
I knew the matriarch and patriarch of the Clark bunch spent a good deal of time out here during the summer months, and it was a beautiful place.
As I reluctantly climbed from the backseat of the truck, I took in the rolling mountains in the distance, the dark water shimmering in the sunlight, and the tiny islands that dotted the landscape. I could see how it would be a peaceful place, meditative even. That was, if there weren’t seventy-five neighbors making a ruckus as they drank and played yard games.
I could hear the buzz of Jet Skis, and I watched as pontoon boats trawled and speedboats zipped across the surface of the water.
“Here,” Candace said, pushing a covered dish into my chest. “Carry that.”
“You know, had I planned on attending, I would have prepared my own dish,” I sniped. “Not whatever you threw together.”
“That is strawberry yum yum pie,” she said pointedly, as if I should be so lucky to carry it into a potluck. “And Mark made it.”
“Oh, good. At least it’ll be edible.”
My sister glared at me. “Let’s go find our hosts and say hello.”
Pie plate in hand, I stopped walking, remembering suddenly the day I’d panicked and installed a birdfeeder rather than tell Nola Clark I was dating her granddaughter.
Mercer and Candace turned to face me.
“I, uh, I’m going to take this to the kitchen. Y’all go say hello. I’ll catch up.”
Then I speed-walked by them, my shoes eating up the gravel as I made my way beneath the covered patio. People were milling about everywhere, talking and eating. Plastic tablecloths flapped in the breeze, held down by plates of delicious-looking food. Kids I didn’t recognize stacked giant Jenga blocks on the lawn beside the pavilion.
Despite my mood, I nodded to folks who greeted me. A few people asked how I was feeling.
I assumed they meant my mostly healed head injury, and not my still-broken heart.
I caught sight of Will Clark and his best friend, Jordan Rockford, manning a pair of grills, and wondered if I could hide out with them all afternoon. Will leaned back from the heat as the flames hissed and jumped. Jordan wore a ridiculous apron that made it look like he was dressed in a hula skirt and a coconut bra.
I’d heard that Jordan and his girlfriend, Chloe, had gotten engaged a few weeks ago. And as if summoned by my thoughts, Chloe dropped off a platter of veggie burgers on the worktable next to the grills. The redhead grinned and pinched Jordan’s backside on her way back to the kitchen. Her fiancé called out to her, something that made her throw her head back and laugh even as she scurried off.
I felt like a jealous, pathetic loser as I watched the lovey-dovey exchange. I wouldn’t be hiding out with those two, in any case.
Sighing, I kept moving toward the kitchen. When I was about ten feet away, Mac breezed through the open doorway, a platter of fried chicken in her hands.
I took a step back on instinct, certain I’d step on the pieces of my shattered heart, expecting to feel the crunch of them beneath my feet.
She turned without seeing me, making her way to the long buffet table while I stood staring like an idiot. She looked—she looked gorgeous. Her long, dark hair was up in a sleek ponytail. She had on a bright yellow button-up that was thin and gauzy. It was tucked into—I swallowed hard—cutoff jean shorts.
If there was heartbreak or unhappiness on her face, I couldn’t find it. No dark circles beneath her eyes or any overarching misery. She was smiling at Lettie Louise Walker as she dished up some macaroni and cheese for the older woman.
“Brady.”
I jumped, nearly fumbling the pie in my grasp.
“Oh, Lord,” Maggie Clark said as she reached out to grab the covered dish. “Let me take that, sugar.”
I felt my cheeks heat, relatively sure Mac’s aunt had just caught me staring at her niece like a creeper.
She smiled. “Actually, why don’t you come with me?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
