Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Raffa

By the time I'm released from the hospital, Paul and McKay are practically dragging me to Kentbury. They've even gathered my things so I don't have to stop by my apartment. Efficiency at its finest. Louanne is already back home with her kids. She wanted to fly to Boston and drive back with us, but I convinced her it wasn't practical. The last thing I need is more people fussing over me.

I sit in the backseat, watching them load up the car, feeling like a kid being sent to some kind of small-town rehab. My arms are crossed, my mood sour. I've never been a fan of being taken care of.

Paul catches my side-eye as he slams the trunk shut. "Don't give me that look," he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Doctor's orders, Raffa. You need this."

"I know," I grumble, sinking deeper into the seat. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."

There's a tightness in my chest I can't quite shake. I know they're right—I need a break, a reset—but being forced to slow down makes me feel like I'm losing control.

McKay turns to look back at me from the passenger's seat, smirking. "Think of it as forced relaxation. You can finally let someone else deal with everything for once."

"Right, because he's so good at that," Paul says and bursts into laughter.

I roll my eyes, but they ignore me. They're too wrapped up in their collective concern for my health. Physical health, sure. But what about my mental health? I won't last a day without working. The thought of doing nothing makes my skin itch.

As we drive, the city slowly gives way to sprawling countryside and rows of towering trees. I stare out the window, trying hard not to admit—at least to myself—that the scenery is actually . . . nice. Peaceful, even. The kind of quiet I'm not used to, a little unnerving in its stillness.

There are so many questions swirling through my head, making me somehow anxious. What's it gonna be like, seeing everyone again? And meeting Grandma Genie?

"Feels weird that Dad never brought us out here. Maybe I shouldn't be here," I say out loud.

Paul sighs from the driver's seat. "Dad's always been weird about family. But Grandma's excited to meet you."

I mutter under my breath, "Hope she's as excited as you are."

By the time we roll into Kentbury, the town seems busy. People on porches, kids riding bikes—it's quaint, almost like stepping into a postcard. Against my better judgment, I start to think this trip might not be as unbearable as I'd imagined.

Paul drops off McKay at her home, but not before she reminds me to relax and get some rest. We pull up to a charming bed and breakfast, its shutters painted a cheery blue. Paul handles the check-in while I grab my bag, taking in the cozy atmosphere. The owner, Knightly—everyone calls her Lee—greets us with a warm smile as we head inside.

"Welcome to Kentbury," she says as we enter. "Make yourselves at home." She shows me to my room, which is elegant and timeless. Although it seems like I've been sent back to Victorian times it also looks modern and very comfortable. After dropping off my things, Paul insists we head to the bakery.

We walk down the street to a place called Kneady Kentbury Bakes. The name alone makes me want to laugh, but the moment we step inside, the smell of fresh bread and something sweet wraps around me like a warm blanket.

Behind the counter stands a small, older woman with bright eyes and flour dusted on her hands. She has that unmistakable grandmotherly energy, the kind that feels like you're about to be smothered in affection whether you want it or not.

"Hey, Grandma," Paul calls out, his voice bright and full of warmth. "We're back in town, and I'm finally ready to introduce you to another one of your workaholic grandsons."

Her face lights up, a wide smile spreading as she wipes her hands on her apron. "You're finally here, dear."

I barely have time to brace myself before she rounds the counter and pulls me into a hug. The gesture catches me off guard. We didn't grow up with much physical affection, so I stand there stiff, arms awkwardly at my sides, trying to remember how hugs are supposed to work.

"Raffa, I'm so glad you're here, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle but filled with genuine excitement. Her hands come up to cup my face, holding me still as her eyes search mine like she's checking me over. "How are you feeling? We've been praying for you, my knitting club and all."

"Yes, sure let's call it praying," Paul mutters under his breath, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I clear my throat, feeling exposed under her warm but probing gaze. "I'm fine," I say, forcing a small smile. "Just a little worn out. No need to make a big fuss."

Grandma Genie doesn't budge, her eyes staying on me a moment longer, as if she's trying to read between the lines, deciding whether or not I'm telling the truth. "Well, we'll take good care of you," she says with a soft pat on my cheek. "You're with family now, and we'll help you follow the doctor's orders. I even have a nice, relaxing activity for you."

Family. Relaxing activity . . . Please don't let it be knitting. I can't even remember if knitting is the one with the needles or the hook. Either way, neither's something I plan on doing now—or ever.

"No need to worry about me," I insist, unease settling in my chest at the thought of whatever "relaxing" task she has in mind. My brother, Paul, went from being a wise businessman, working for our father, to moving to Kentbury and becoming a baker. Apparently, he's good at decorating cakes now.

I'm a lawyer, and I plan to stay one—no radical life changes on the horizon for me.

"Of course, we're concerned," Grandma says, her brows knitting together in concern. "You're in excellent hands with us, in a few weeks you'll be as good as new."

I glance over at Paul, who's sporting a smirk that reads loud and clear: Take that, asshole. She's going to smother you with love. Good luck fighting against her will.

Fuck what did I get myself into? I want to escape, to run, but I'm not exactly in the condition to make a break for it.

Just as we're starting to settle in, the door chimes, and a gorgeous woman walks in, immediately capturing my attention. She has an effortless, fiery elegance, her striking red hair a perfect blend of deep auburn and copper that catches the light. It contrasts beautifully with her warm, sun-kissed skin, the kind that looks naturally golden.

My eyes linger longer than I intend, taking in her high cheekbones and the rich amber hue of her eyes, which seem to sparkle with intelligence and a touch of mischief. She moves with a confidence that's hard to ignore, and for a moment, I'm caught off guard, my thoughts scrambling to make sense of the sudden attraction surging through me.

She's . . . stunning. And I'm gawking. I force myself to snap out of it, hoping no one notices. But judging by the amused glint in Paul's eyes, I wasn't exactly subtle.