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Sandra: The wheels were already in motion. Francisca got it in her head that she wants to sell and use the money to buy a place in Florida.
I stare at the message as oxygen saws against my lungs. This can’t happen. Jolene made it clear meddling in her life wasn’t acceptable.Idon’t want to meddle any longer. And what the hell is so good about Florida, anyway? Windfall has mountains and charm and community. This town is all Francisca needs.
Me: She can’t sell now. I promised Jo I wouldn’t interfere.
Sandra: Avalanches only travel in one direction.
Here we go again with Sandra’s fortune-cookie talk.
Me: What does that mean?
Sandra: You asked me to push the first rock.
Shit.I drag my hand down my face, doing my best not to slam my phone on the ground. I don’t make false promises to Jo. If this goes ahead and she finds out I intervened, she’ll be understandably upset.
…Unless she doesn’t find out.
I straighten and think. Fact is, Jolene doesn’t want to be tied to the Barrel. If the land is sold and she’s evicted, she’ll actually be relieved. Before my promise not to interfere, I organized a possible job for her running one of the local food trucks, which I think she’ll dig. And I didtryto stop the avalanche. I listened and kiboshed all meddling. If there’s nothing to be done at this point and Jo benefits anyway, what’s the harm?
Just as quickly, my optimism plummets.
Not admitting what I did is a lie, no matter how I frame it in my mind. Even if Jo is eventually happy with the sale, I have to tell her what I did. Warn her about what’s to come. Pray she understands my actions were borne of love.
My insides twist as I reply to Sandra.
Me: You did all you can. Thanks for your work over the years. I’ll take it from here.
And hopefully not wind up devastated and alone.
chapterthirty-eight
Jolene
Most days, I walk into work with my shoulders heavy and steps slow. My mind is often muddled with bar issues that need fixing until I remind myself how much Aunt Becca loved this bar and me. How proud I am to carry on her legacy.
Today, I’m peppier than a one-woman cheer squad.
“Someone had a good morning.” Larkin is filling a beer glass, while my other staff serve the meager lunch crowd gathered for their greasy favorites.
I don’t scrunch my nose at the sight of deep-fried mozzarella sticks and deep-fried chicken wings and deep-fried mushroom caps on the few occupied tables. I drop my purse on the bar and grin at Larkin. There’s a chance I look slightly deranged. “I had an excellent morning, if you must know. And an excellent night. An excellent couple of days, actually.”
“Reallyexcellent?” she says, lacing her words with innuendo.
“Excellent and beyond,” I singsong. Cheer squad with a dash of crazed-woman-high-on-pheromones.
She laughs. “You sound like Buzz Lightyear after multiple orgasms.”
“Well”—I lean forward on the bar and lower my voice—“I did have superhero sex. Multiple times, so…”
“I’m assuming Callahan Bower was wearing the cape?”
I melt to the side, resting my head on my hand. “All this pining and waiting, and he’s better than anything I’ve ever imagined. Not just the sex, which is…” I bite my lip. There are no words to describe connecting with a person on that level. “He’s so caring and sweet, which I already knew, but it’s different now. So intense, but also easy.”
“You’re going to be unbearable for a while, aren’t you?”
My cheeks already hurt from smiling. “Odds are high.”
“Since you’re in such a chipper mood, can we talk for a minute in your office? We’re not super busy. I can slip away for a bit.”
