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Knox scrutinizes me. “You’re not going to give up, are you? This isn’t just about the land for you, it’s about Willowcreek. You want to develop this land to prove to everyone that you can do it. I just have never understood why you need to prove anything at all.”

There’s no point in sticking around if he’s going to resort to personal attacks. I turn to leave, unable to take it anymore, only to find myself face-to-face with Kylie Simmons. And she looks pissed as fuck.

Chapter Five

KYLIE

I’ve never been so angry in my life. I glare at Dante, my fists trembling at my sides. His dark brown eyes narrow and he instantly crosses his arms, going on the defensive.

“Kylie,” he grunts.

“I heard the whole thing.” I seethe. I want to make some blistering speech about how he’s wrong about everything, but now that I’m standing here…

I’d been upstairs when they came in. Knox got the walls in the first bedroom ready for me to paint, so I’m starting on the mural. A river of sunshine that leads to a rainbow that will cover one entire wall.

Sound travels in this old house, and their entire conversation wafted up to me. The more I heard, the more I started to shake. First with anxiety over their fight, then increasingly with anger. I thought about throwing on my headphones but I’m my own worst enemy. I couldn’t stop eavesdropping, even though I knew it was only going to make me angrier.

Then when Dante shouted at Knox, I had enough. Normally, I can’t deal with confrontation. My social anxiety is so bad that even with people I’ve known for years, like my friends at the reading of Mrs. Kendall’s will, I have a hard time speaking up. Jumping right into a fight between Knox and Dante would usually be enough to turn me into a puddle of tears on the floor.

I point my paintbrush, covered in cheerful yellow paint, at him. “You can’t have this place, Dante. You’re not going to turn it into some generic weekend playground!”

Dante’s eyes widen a bit more, then harden. He draws himself up straighter and sneers at me.

“Kylie, stay out of this,” Dante says, his voice cold as ice.

“You’re talking about this property, which I own one-sixth of,” I counter. “Maybe you should stay out of it since you don’t own anything. This isn’t any of your business.”

Dante shakes his head. “My business is real estate. My business is knowing that this is doomed to fail.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You’re not the only one here that runs their own enterprise.”

“What, just because you have some little shop in New Orleans?” He shakes his head again, condescension dripping from him. “That hardly counts.”

I flinch. This is exactly why I can’t hold my own in a fight. I’m an open book and anyone can see exactly how much their words hurt. I’m easily distracted by these barbs. Even now the heat is rising up my cheeks.

“My gallery is hardly ‘some little shop,’” I mumble, trying to think up a stronger comeback.

“No? Then what is it?” he demands, looking at me as though I’m still the kid his brother hangs out with.

Fuck him! I’m famous in my own right! People have paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for my paintings. But when I try to tell Dante that, I can’t get my mouth unglued. I want so badly to say he’s wrong but all my indignation is fleeing before his arrogant expression

This isn’t the Dante I knew as a child.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

Dante steps back from me.

“Both of you are making decisions based on petty nostalgia,” he says in a condescending tone, as though he expects us to fall at his feet and kiss them for pointing out our folly. “It doesn’t work in the real world. This community center of yours is going to cost money. Not just the initial investment, but to keep it up. Not to mention all the insurance and other legal protections you’ll need.”

“Dante,” Knox says. He’s usually so level-headed, but right now his fists are shaking.

“You need to grow up.” Dante is still looking at me.

“You need to grow a heart,” I whisper. That's all I can get out.

Dante shakes his head. “It’s your heart that is going to destroy the very thing you want.”

Knox growls. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

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