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“MJ and I had lunch plans, but she got tied up at work.”
My aunt held me at arm’s length. “You look tired.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “Thanks.”
Bug was a straight shooter and rarely sugarcoated anything, but deep down I knew she meant well.
My eyes shifted to my father’s car, and she sighed. “Be nice.”
Slow-building anger simmered beneath my skin.Be nice? Me? How about he be nice for once?
I nodded and followed Bug into the house. As I climbed the elegant steps, the smooth texture of the polished wooden handrail was a delightful contrast against my fingers. The grand oak door, adorned with intricate carvings, opened to reveal a pristine interior. Sunlight danced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the tastefully arranged furniture. Every corner exuded a sense of sophistication, with delicate lighting hanging from the high ceilings, and thick drapes cascading gracefully down the windows. It was a far cry from how I would have decorated my own house, but for now, it was home.
As we entered, my father’s eyes skated over me, and I offered a small smile. He didn’t bother with a greeting, and I could feel my shoulders shrink into myself.
Not even worth ahello.
“Hot out there. Lemonade?” Bug squeezed my shoulder. She hadn’t missed my father’s cold welcome either.
I shook my head and swallowed. “No, thanks. I have lunch plans with Sloane and Layna. I was just stopping by to see if MJ wanted to join us.”
Bug’s eyes narrowed, but she let me get away with the tiny lie. “How is Sloane?”
My friend Sloane had recently moved back to Outtatowner after a messy divorce that left her with young twins and an ex-husband who was downright scary. To add insult to injury, she’d moved in with her grandfather and recently survived a house fire. Lee Sullivan had saved her son Ben when the boy panicked and hid in a closet.
“She’s rattled but surviving.”
A look of pride and affection softened Bug’s features. “She’s tough, that one.”
As my father’s only sibling, Aunt Bug had been a part of the King family dynasty for as long as I could remember. Until her retirement, she’d had a hand in nearly every one of the business deals my father and brothers made. She was whip-smart and levelheaded, whereas Dad often ruled with an iron fist. He was known for making quick, ruthless decisions. Bug was the only person he trusted, and it was a miracle she could ever get through to him, but somehow she did.
Uninterested in our polite conversation, my father took a call on his phone. I watched as his face turned red and the vein in his forehead bulged. As a kid, I had wanted to poke it and wondered what would happen if it finally burst. As an adult, I kept as much space between Russell King and me as I could.
“Finally got the Crane girl to leave.” Dad interrupted the conversation between my aunt and me with a mocking laugh. An oily trickle of sweat slid down my back.
An unsettling feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. “Annie Crane?”
Annie had a small art studio downtown where she sold gorgeous pottery and adorable knickknacks to tourists. Rumors flew that the business wasn’t doing very well with more inexpensively priced tourist shops popping up around town.
“Out by the end of the month.”
Bug stayed quiet but nodded. My eyes searched hers, but she revealed nothing. My father was a ruthless businessman, unafraid to have people hate him if it meant his bottom line increased.
Granddad would be ashamed.
My grandfather Amos King was the kindest, gentlest human I’d ever known. He was a simple man, a farmer who prided himself on working the land and contributing to his community. I tamped down the errant thought that Duke was so much like him—dedicated to his land and his community.
Granddad kept peppermints in his pocket, and I still thought of him every time I smelled even the tiniest hint of peppermint.
I missed him every day.
With Granddad, you didn’t have to outperform your siblings. Your best was always enough. I recalled one day in seventh grade I presented my father with my report card. I had been proud of my hard work. All As, save for one B I had earned in a math class I had struggled in. Instead of praising my efforts—the long hours being tutored and staying up late at the kitchen table to study before a test—he looked at it and said, “Could have been an A” as he flipped the paper back at me.
I wished I could say I stopped trying to impress him after that.
I didn’t.
The same small little girl who curled in on herself threatened to overtake me. Was it too much to seek approval and affection from your father? If your father was Russell King, it was.
