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She’d never thought for a moment that Gibson cheated on her, physically or romantically, but his energy had so often been focused on everyone around him, she felt overlooked at times.
Opening her eyes, Lark noticed out the window that Fleur’s car was gone, which meant her chef sister was still at the Cowboy Kitchen, a local diner where she delivered fresh baked goods each morning. It was a way to earn money to finance Fleur’s dream of opening a tapas place, and the Catamount community—small though it might be—had embraced Fleur’s culinary skills. Now Fleur was doing local catering gigs too, preparing their Catalan grandmother’s recipes and offering unique menus at weddings, birthday parties and other events.
When the coffee machine started to burble in earnest, Lark tugged open the old-fashioned refrigerator that contained bottle after bottle of goat’s milk thanks to the three dairy goats Fleur kept. Bypassing these in favor of some soy milk she’d picked up at the store, Lark shut the fridge and poured herself a cup of coffee, the vibrant tiles echoing hollowly under her dishes.
The kitchen wasn’t the same without Antonia Barclay. Back when Lark had been married to Gibson, and she’d helped him choose the house next door to this one for their off-season residence until he retired, she’d been so excited to spend more time in Catamount. She’d imagined shared summer afternoons with her grandmother at the very table where Lark carried her mug now to sit alone.
Then came the divorce, and she’d told herself she’d find another time to spend with Gran. And then, last spring, time ran out. Her chest ached at the knowledge that she wouldn’t have another chance to visit with her warm, wise grandmother, the wave of sudden grief stronger than she would have expected after all these months...
The slam of a car door outside yanked her from the painful memories.
Voices followed. Happy laughter punctuating words she couldn’t hear through the open window. Fleur had returned home with Jessamyn. For a moment, Lark wished she could join their easy conversation. She’d missed so much time with her sisters after their parents’ bitter divorce had torn the family apart, requiring everyone to choose sides, a decision no child should have to make. It had been a no-brainer for Lark to choose their mother, Jennifer, since she’d done no wrong. Their father had been the one who’d cheated. But Jessamyn, for reasons known only to her, had always sided with their dad. Fleur, who on the surface had the most mild-mannered personality of the three of them, had been the only one to steadfastly refuse to choose, working double-time to maintain lines of communication with all, even when their father cut off financial assistance the moment she turned eighteen.
Lark had admired Fleur’s stance, even though she’d never been tempted to mirror it. Their father was a self-absorbed asshat. End of story. Now that he was attempting to steal their inheritance from Antonia—the beautiful house and lands of Crooked Elm Ranch in Catamount—Jessamyn had left his company and Fleur had stopped trying to keep the peace.
The door burst open as Jessamyn strode inside, Fleur on her heels. They were both dressed in tennis shoes and denim cutoffs, a far cry from Jessamyn’s usual clothes. As a New York City resident with a high-profile real estate job, Jessamyn normally wore designer everything. But maybe, now that she was transplanting herself to Catamount to make a life with Ryder, that would change. Funny how something simple like a change in clothes could make Lark see her sister differently, but it did. Maybe because the luxury wardrobe items had always reminded Lark that Jess had put her bank account over family.
“Big news!” Fleur squealed as she settled her burden of empty baking containers onto the counter near the sink. Fleur’s copper-colored hair was tied in a ponytail, a pink scarf keeping the strands from her face. “You’ll never guess what happened to Jessamyn.”
Lark shifted her gaze to her other sister, walking into the house more slowly, her hands shoved in the back pockets of her shorts. Yet her face glowed with happiness even though she tried to suppress a smile.
“More big news?” Lark shook her head while she mused aloud, grateful to think about her sisters’ lives rather than her own. At least Fleur and Jessamyn weren’t talking about Gibson, or the damnable photos of Lark with her ex that were surely circulating online. “Let me think. Jessamyn’s already knocked up. I don’t think she’ll top that for big news—” She stopped herself as a very real possibility came to mind. “Oh wow. Are you having twins?”
Fleur’s laughter tripped through the kitchen. Jessamyn removed her left hand from her pocket and extended it for Lark to see.
Diamonds caught the morning sunlight, refracting tiny rainbows everywhere. A chevron shaped band pointed toward Jessamyn’s fingertip, a cluster of diamonds surrounding the pear cut stone in the center.
Lark’s focus went from the engagement ring to her sibling’s face. The joy she saw there outshone any jewel. In that moment, Lark forgot all about their old enmity. She wanted to share her sibling’s happiness. She even opened her mouth to congratulate Jess.
“I’m so happy for you—” she began, but her voice cracked with emotion that she had to clear her throat to hide. Memories of another ring lambasted her, along with all the hopeful optimism she’d felt when she’d said yes to Gibson. Would her regret over their lost bond ever stop hurting? Cursing herself—and her ex—she tried again. “For both of you.”
The kitchen remained quiet for a moment, and as Jessamyn’s smile dimmed a few shades, Lark sensed she hadn’t been as effusive as the occasion called for. She sort of hoped her sisters would write it off to her strained relationship with Jessamyn before they guessed the truth—that the failure of her own union still weighed heavily even after two years.
Forcing her lips into a smile, she poured soy milk into her coffee and made another effort. “So when’s the date?”
“That’s the other huge news,” Fleur answered, drawing close to Jessamyn’s side and sliding an arm around her shoulders in a squeeze.
A show of solidarity. Fleur was good like that.
“We’re getting married in three weeks,” Jessamyn announced, the brightness returning to her face, the happiness irrepressible.
And yeah, Lark remembered that feeling, too. Luckily, the time frame for a wedding was so ludicrous, it gave her something else to think about besides the endless optimism of new love.
“Threeweeks?” Shaking her head, she stirred in the milk with her spoon while Fleur moved to the pantry and withdrew a dome-covered plate containing pastries visible through the clear glass. “Is it even possible to pull together a reception that quickly?”
Shrugging, Jessamyn reached into a cabinet to retrieve a bottle of prenatal vitamins and shook one into her hand. “We didn’t want to wait with a baby on the way.”
Fleur set the glass dish on the table and removed the dome with a flourish while Jessamyn brought over three plates. Lark eyed the almond croissants and slices of traditional Spanish sponge cake calledpiononos, but she already knew she’d choose the spiral pastry calledensaimada de Mallorca, one of her favorites their grandmother used to make.
Fleur had inherited the baking gene.
“I told her we’d help,” Fleur added as she took a strategic seat between her siblings. She gave Lark a meaningful look. “They’re going to have the reception here.”
“At Crooked Elm?” Lark blinked in surprise, her hand pausing midway to the pastry she’d been reaching for. “Or do you mean here, as in Catamount?”
Jessamyn swiped theensaimadaLark had been eyeing, spilling confectioners’ sugar as she transferred it to her plate. “At Crooked Elm,” she replied firmly. “Ryder offered to have it at Wakefield Ranch, but I’ve felt a strong pull to this place since I’ve been here. Besides, I think Gran would have loved a wedding here.”
Loss echoed through her as Lark took a caramel and pecanpionono, memories of Gran vivid in her mind. Their grandmother was a practical woman, as down-to-earth as they came. She milked her own goats and grew her own vegetables, carving out a simple life here from the work of her own two hands. But she’d had a romantic side, especially where her granddaughters were concerned. They’d all seen photos of Antonia’s backyard wedding where she’d taken her vows under an awning of honeysuckle. An errant pain stabbed at the thought of a future Lark would never have now that she’d ended her own marriage.
