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“Well, you’ll see him in a few weeks at the party at the club. I’m sure you’ll make things right before then.”
“What party?” I skipped the part about why I needed to make things right. I thought that him being my ex was completely right.
“The annual holiday party,” she said, although she probably wanted to add aduhonto the end. “You’re coming, of course. I have a dress for you. Velvet and without all the patterns and layering you find in the bargain basement for these days. With your business closing, I didn’t think you’d have time to find one.”
The bell above the door dinged and I turned and waved at a customer.
I skipped over the fact that my mother took another dig at my wardrobe for the important gem. “My business closing?”
“Cheney told me the other day at the club that you’re shutting your coffee shop down. Your father said it was just a phase and I can see now that he was right. Letting you use some of your trust fund to play coffee shop was money well spent and now we can plan your wedding!”
“What?” I asked.
I usually kept my voice calm with my parents. Any shift in my tone was something they pounced on. I was too emotional. Too dramatic. Making too much out of nothing. They were exceptional at gaslighting, using my anger and frustration with them as proof I was unrealistic with my life choices. I took a deep breath.
“I’m not going through aphaseand my coffee shop isn’t closing. I’m notplayingat anything. I live in a cute little house downtown. Just because my clothes aren’t made with cashmere doesn’t mean they are castoffs. Why would I move back in with you? Why would you want me to?”
“Evelyn–”
“I have a customer. I have to go.”
“But–”
I hung up, wishing I could put something stronger than non-dairy milk into a cup of coffee. I pasted a smile on my face for the customer and got back to work. To my business that wasnotclosing.
I spent long enough being controlled and my life planned by others. I was done with that. I’d majored in business in college instead of French like my mother wanted. My father had been pleased with my choice, saying I might get a role in running the Hunter Valley Resort. Nothisbusiness because he didn’t do anything with the company except spend the profits. It had been his parents who built it from scratch and made it a success. Not just his father, but his mother as well. She’d been the skier. The sporty one who saw the potential for turning the local mountains into a winter destination. Between my grandfather’s business sense and my grandmother’s vision, they made it what it was today. They’d made the place, the entire town, enduring. Just like their love for each other.
Like coffee. Everyone always needed coffee. I’d done my senior project on the business plan for Steaming Hotties, and I’d made it happen after graduation. Not forfun.Not shits and giggles or a phase or whatever else my parents and Cheney thought. This place wasmyshop. My baby. My business. My livelihood.
Nothing was going to change that. Not Cheney. Not my parents.
4
SILAS
Mav and Theobailed on me. When we were at the inn, Mav mentioned that Bridge had a make-up day Physics Fair at school where they dropped specially designed egg protectors off the roof to see if their precious cargo could keep from cracking. Since it had snowed the past few days and today was warmer and dry, it was happening. What Mav had to do with the event, I had no idea. But whatever Bridge needed, Bridge got. He was whipped. Hard core.
As for Theo, he’d been pulled into some kind of medical training with the fire department. So I didn’t feel abandoned, he’d invited me to participate, saying they were looking for volunteers for IV stick practice.
No fucking way. I asked him if Mallory had offered her veins and she’d said no fucking way as well.
So my last night in Hunter Valley was solo. I was at the bar nursing a beer. I’d put in an order for a burger, but it hadn’t been dropped off yet. For now, I was working my way through a bowl of baby pretzels.
Someone slid up to the bar beside me. I picked up a hint of coffee and… citrus. “Hey, can I get a glass of your house white?” the woman asked the bartender.
She shifted, then looked my way. Her eyes widened as if she saw a ghost.
“Holy shit,” she whispered, eyeing me. Then eyeing me some more. Her gaze raked down my body in hot perusal. Like she knew what I looked like naked. Or wanted to.
I offered her a small smile, enjoying her heated andcompletestudy. Not fromthiswoman. Hell, no. She could look all she wanted.
And touch, too.
“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look something over quite so thoroughly since the cattle auction at the county fair back in July,” I murmured.
She blushed and that sure as hell looked pretty on her. It was completely opposite of how she looked at me just seconds before. Sultry and sweet. Quite the combo.
“Oh, um,” she said, glancing away. “Sorry. I… um, I thought you looked familiar.”
