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When the meeting finally ends, Maylynn stands and walks over to a cluster of ladies across the room, and I make my way to the front door alone. Keekee, the perfect hostess, catches me before I can escape.
“It was sointerestingto meet you, Birgitte.” Her tone makes me feel like an exotic insect she discovered in her yard. “You have such a unique perspective.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not a compliment. “You have a very nice house.”
She tilts her head, smiling as she blinks slowly, as if to say,I know, and holds the door in a way that makes me think she might push me out with it.
It’s the last straw. My mamma didn’t raise me to be treated like dirt—even if my family is a bit…different.
“You have aninterestingperspective as well.” I lift my chin. “Thanks for the sandwich. It was the best part of the meeting, and even it was pretty bland.”
Her jaw drops, and I walk out to my ancient Ford pickup. The door makes a loud popping noise when I open it, but I keep my head high, climbing inside and slamming it shut. I pull the visor down, and the keys drop into my lap.
My best friend Cass, who can literally fix anything, wired my old truck with a Bluetooth system, and I quickly type my address into the app on my phone.
It actually takes a map to escape this Stepford-wives subdivision. “Every third house is the same,” I mutter. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they actually were automatons.”
Once I’ve got the route, I turn on my favorite Shania Twain playlist, and blast “That Don’t Impress Me Much,” as I pass two-story brick homes situated on cul-de-sac after cul-de-sac.
I’m singing at the top of my lungs and finally on the road to my place when my phone starts to ring. With a glance, I see it’s my mom.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Are you sitting down?” My mother’s voice is low and urgent—like every time she calls me.
“I’m driving, so I’d better be!”
“Oh, I’ll call you back. I don’t want you distracted driving.”
“It’s okay, Mom, I’ve got both hands on the wheel. What’s the matter?”
“You need to come home now.”
If I had a dollar for every time she called and said that, it would pay my gas bill for a year.
“What happened now?” I turn onto the street where I live, feeling a lot more homesick after that meeting than I have the last several times she’s called with an emergency.
“That’s the problem. We don’t know. Last night, someone got into Terra Belle’s Pickle Patch and absolutely wrecked her cukes. They left tire marks everywhere, and half her harvest is ruined.”
“Have you called the sheriff?” The very thought of Aiden Stone stepping onto a crime scene, his fatigue green uniform pants hugging his ass, sends a shiver down my spine.
“I can only assume you’re so focused on driving you've forgotten who you’re talking to.” My mother’s tone switches from cloak-and-dagger to sarcasm in an instant. “It’s the only reason you wouldeversuggest I speak to Aiden Stone.”
I’d speak to him…
Aiden Stone is the hottest man alive—Peoplemagazine just hasn’t found him yet. He’s six-foot-two inches of pure muscle, with a square jaw and a take-no-prisoners gaze. Add to all of that, he’s a former Marine, with dreamy blue eyes and brown hair that’s somehow silky and wavy at the same time.
The last time I saw him, my last night in Eureka, he actually walked outside where I was standing and talked to me.I know.Until that moment, I’m pretty sure he’d never even looked at me. Not only am I seven years younger than him, he’s also a member of the Stone family… which means he’snota fan of the Baileys. His straight-laced forebears have battled my hippie family for years.
Still, he asked me about my plans. I told him I wanted to start a new life, find my own path, get out of the shadow of my family. He said he understood, but I’m not sure he does. He’s in Eureka carrying on his family’s legacy of law enforcement.
The one time he softened was talking about his son Owen. My insides swooned as his blue eyes warmed telling me how Owen loves zebras and learning about animals. I think I stepped closer, wishing I could trace my finger along the cleft in his chin and bury my nose in the warm cedar scent of his clothes. Then he looked down at me, and the heat in his gaze stole my breath. I nearly fainted.
“Aiden Stone is not a believer.”
“Maybe not, but it’s his job to investigate crimes.”
“Which is why we need you to come home. You’ve spent enough time in Greenville, and we need you here.”
