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It had been months since the funeral, and he was still as angry as he’d been the day he left. He told Erin he didn’t want the store or anything from the house, but dear old Dad knew just how to push his buttons. The bastard purposely left Erin out of the will and, unbeknownst to Harrison, set up a living trust, which left him solely responsible for the store.
He didn’t blame Erin for bailing. It must have crushed her to know, after all she put up with, their father left her nothing but half a house. He had all his assets tied to the business so, until the house sold, she’d get nothing.
What a fucking prick. “You always had to get the last word, didn’t you, you son of a bitch?”
Harrison didn’t plan to stay long. He’d figure something out with the store and see that his sister got more than her share in the end. Ward would not have the last word.
But being back in Jasper Falls wasn’t easy. His life was in New York. His company was in New York. His future was in New York. Nothing had changed.
So why, after three months of being back in the city, did it feel like he left his heart somewhere else?
With practiced discipline, he shoved the thought of Mariella away.
He wouldn’t call her. She abandoned him when he needed her most. If he had things his way, he never would have come back, but the property tax on the store was due. He could say fuck it and let the banks foreclose, but that would only deprive Erin of the fair market price she deserved. He wanted to do right by her.
He could remain detached and close up the store. It was business. Nothing personal. In and out.
Once he found a realtor and liquidated what was left on the shelves, he could get the hell out of there and handle the rest by phone. Erin would get a check and maybe forgive him for being such a selfish prick when he last saw her.
She was married now. To Mariella’s brother of all people. He hadn’t been invited to the wedding or even told about the engagement until after their vows were said.
He should have been there to support her. He could have walked her down the aisle or something.
He sighed, staring at the dimly lit display of garden tools on the back wall. She probably didn’t want him there—a hundred other guys she’d likely prefer to give her away.
He wandered around the untouched displays and the dark aisles. A tinge of cigarette smoke still clung to the air. No one had been inside for some time.
Using the light on his phone, he shined it toward the front of the store. He hated this place. Couldn’t bear to breathe its stagnant air.
He left the store untouched and locked up. Forgetting his car parked around back, he headed down Main Street on foot, his mind already ordering a shot of something strong as soon as he reached the bar.
The snow was long gone, the garden beds freshly mulched with tiny sprouts just beginning to show as flowers bloomed. The damp air smelled of spring showers and something strangely specific to his childhood. Wisteria, he thought. How strange that one specific smell could trigger so many memories.
“Pardon,” he muttered as a group of women bustled past, their arms full of store bags.
Who the hell were all these people? He never knew Jasper Falls to be a hotspot for so many tourists.
Maybe they weren’t tourists. Maybe they were the locals and he was the visitor. He’d been away so long, it made sense that he barely recognized anyone.
He navigated the sidewalk traffic, glancing into store windows and deciding he could probably get a good price for the hardware store if this midafternoon rush was indicative of anything. There were people everywhere.
Crowds didn’t usually bother him. Hell, he loved the busy streets of New York. But small towns were supposed to be calm and quiet. This was a madhouse.
He did a double take as a small child with a mossy green head ran past him, followed by a man dressed as some sort of bear. What the hell was that?
An unexpected crowd gathered in the parking lot of O’Malley’s. So much for grabbing a quiet drink. There was some sort of festival happening and he wanted no part of it.
More green headed kids in costumes milled about. Their parents also disguised in various rags and—
A gaggle of mini storm troopers came marching through, herding him and many others out of the way as they made it to a makeshift stage set up outside the bar. Was this some sort of comic convention?
“All jedis line up to my right,” a voice bellowed from a large speaker at the corner of the stage. “All wookies to my left. And all Sith lords, storm troopers, and other dark side allies line up directly in front of me. The judging is about to begin.”
