Chapter 18

eighteen

CANDACE

I try to get used to watching you go.

At his words, a film reel of Mark Mercer flashed through my mind. Patient, loyal, solemn-faced Mark waiting in a parking lot with his hands shoved in his pockets. Watchful blue-gray eyes making sure I got inside safely, no matter where I was. A steady, stalwart form standing guard just for me, in work boots and a five-panel hat.

All those gentlemanly gestures, all those thoughtful images, turn into something heartbreaking in an instant.

“Mark,” I tried again, reaching for his clasped hands. But he wouldn’t look at me. “I don’t want to be temporary or casual either. I should have been upfront with you. I’m so sorry. I should have told you weeks ago that I wanted to stay.”

It was like that final word was a key turning in a rusty lock. Mark’s head snapped up, confusion wrinkling his brow as disbelief warred with the hope I felt mirrored in my own chest.

I threaded my fingers through his. “There’s no job for me back in New York. I—I don’t want to go back. I want to stay in Kirby Falls. For months, I thought Joan didn’t want me here—until last night. But the bigger part was having my self-worth tied to some corporate job, an image, an idea of success that no longer fit with my happiness. ”

“What does that mean?” Mark asked, his fingers gripping me back so, so tightly.

“It means I’m staying. As of twelve hours ago.” I smiled. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I should have.” I glanced around the kitchen, looking for the words, the ones that had eluded me last night in the bathtub. “Honestly, I was a little scared.”

“Scared?” he wondered softly, drawing my attention back to him.

“You didn’t really sign up for a girlfriend. This has all been”—I paused, then swallowed uncomfortably—“secret. I didn’t know how my staying would affect that. If you’d still want me.”

“Of course, I want you,” Mark replied immediately. “Of course, I want you to stay...if that’s what will make you happy.”

“I think I haven’t let myself get used to the idea yet. It’s so new, and I have a lot to take care of. My apartment in New York, the rest of my things, buying a car. My parents were so sweet and excited when I spoke to them last night—when I asked if I could stay. But part of me is probably always going to worry about disappointing them or letting them down or making them regret sending me to such an expensive school.”

Mark shifted in his seat, sliding his bent leg between mine and slotting us together like puzzle pieces. “You have to know how happy they are to have you here, Candace. They’d rather have you home than a thousand miles away using a degree they paid for. They’d rather you use it right here.”

It was a truth that would take some time to get used to. For so long I’d told myself that my parents loved what I did, that they were proud of my career and the person I’d become because I’d gone away. Even hearing their reassurances yesterday hadn’t done enough to dispel those long-held beliefs that told me I needed to earn their love and affection with a high-paying salary, an office, and a big fancy life.

When I’d spoken with my parents the previous night, I’d seen the shine in my mother’s eyes and the joy on my father’s face. But believing it would take some time.

You couldn’t rewrite history without penciling in a little regret .

I nodded and confessed, “I know they love me. And I love them. Spending time here and working together these last four months have been amazing—just what I needed after leaving the city. My parents have always been supportive of me, and now I get to support them and the farm. Do you remember that day I told you about wanting to organize group tours at the orchard? And set up field trips and educational talks?”

He watched me carefully. “Yeah, I remember. The day you told me you wanted a family.”

I felt heat bloom in my cheeks, suddenly very aware of the things I’d revealed about my five-year plan to the man I was now currently in a relationship with. Ignoring my shy discomfort, I nodded. “I got so irrationally irritated at some hypothetical future employee who could potentially implement my plan someday. At the time, I didn’t think it could be me, but I wanted it. Badly. That wasn’t the first time I thought about staying in Kirby Falls, but it was when I realized I was lying to myself in thinking New York was going to be able to make me happy anymore.”

With a sheepish smile, I admitted, “I want to man the Christmas tree lot, and I want to be here in the spring and plant a field of lavender. I want to see the blackberries grow in the summer. And I want to do it all with my family...and you.”

“Good,” Mark murmured. “I want that too.” Then he cupped my still-heated cheeks and kissed me. His touch was reverent. It felt like gratitude and relief. Like he’d been up early trying to figure out how to break things off and now he didn’t have to.

He pulled back but didn’t stop touching me. His thumb stroked my cheek tenderly.

It was probably renewed happiness along with that same lingering relief that had me saying with little forethought, “I know it was different before, when we thought this was short-term, but what do you think about telling people now? About dating for real?”

Mark had been so worried about what people thought and how they might judge me as a result of us spending time together out in the open. And while I didn’t have those same fears, I hadn’t felt right forcing his hand when he was the one who’d be left with more gossip when I left town. Now that I was staying, though, I wanted to reassure him. We could face the whispers together. Despite what people thought about him, I knew what had really happened with Hannah and Lyndsey. And I wanted to be with him, openly, where my family and friends and everyone could see.

But I realized my enthusiasm may have been somewhat premature.

Mark hesitated, blue-gray eyes searching my face, before he leaned back in his seat. I tried not to see the distance he’d put between us as deliberate and meaningful.

Finally, he replied, “Yeah. Sure, we can do that. You mean tell your family?”

I hoped my smile was encouraging. “Yeah, I’d like to tell my family. They adore you. They’ll be so happy. And I’d like to stop hiding and sneaking around. Go out on a date or hold your hand, if I feel like it. I know you’re worried about how people will react, but I don’t care about that. I know you, Mark. I know the truth. Those other people—the small-minded gossips—they don’t matter.”

He nodded slowly in response, but I could see the worry in his eyes. And maybe that was part of why I hadn’t told Mark about my last relationship. I didn’t want him to think I was manipulating him, and I didn’t want him to agree to date me openly only because he knew about my hang-ups surrounding the secrecy. I’d tell Mark about Emerson and the affair when things weren’t so messy, when we were more settled.

I squeezed his hand. “It’ll be okay. You’re already planning on coming to dinner at the farmhouse on Sunday, right?”

“I told your mother I would.”

“That’s great. Joan and Brady will be there too. We can tell them then.”

“Okay,” Mark agreed.

And as he nodded and squeezed my hand in return, I told myself that everything would be alright.

Following my early-morning conversation with Mark, I’d driven back to the orchard to get ready for the day. With the Holiday Jamboree crowd in town, it was set to be a busy one on the farm.

The Christmas tree lot was doing well. Joan and Mark were helping out with that. Today, my brother had the day off, and I was on the schedule to work with Mom in the refreshment stand. We had hot chocolate with homemade marshmallows, warm apple cider, and a variety of cookies and treats for sale. The bounce pillow was still open for kids to play on, and despite the December chill, we had Food Truck Friday happening tonight. It was the final one of the season, and now that I was staying, I could get the calendar ready for next May when those Friday festivities would resume.

I smiled at the thought.

Mark and I texted throughout the day, but when I invited him over to the garage apartment that night for pizza and a sleepover, he said he’d already picked up groceries and wanted to cook for me at his house.

I didn’t start to worry until the following day. I remembered the way Mark had hesitated when I asked if we could tell my parents and bring our relationship out into the open. Now that we were closing in on family dinner tomorrow, I was growing concerned that Mark had changed his mind—or maybe he hadn’t been ready in the first place.

I scrutinized every expression, every touch. The way he’d declined coming to the garage apartment and offered to make dinner instead. How he had me park my car in his garage, just like always.

Maybe he needed more time to get used to the idea. I thought a dry run might help before we gathered at the farmhouse tomorrow and told my family the news.

Mark and I were both off at five today, so I invited him to go with me downtown to check out the rest of the Jamboree festivities.

On my way to refill the hot cider urn, I pulled out my phone.

Me: Want to hit the Holiday Market after work? We can bundle up and check out the booths. Maybe grab dinner downtown .

Almost immediately, dots appeared on the screen as Mark typed out a response. I bit my lip and kept my gaze glued to my phone as the dots stopped and started twice more before disappearing altogether. Disappointment had my eyes closing and a weary sigh escaping.

I didn’t wait any longer. I shoved the phone in my pocket and went back to work. I knew I’d taken the chicken way out. I could have run down to the tree lot on my break and asked him face-to-face, but texting Mark felt safer when I had unease brewing in the pit of my stomach.

Thirty minutes later, I had three unread messages waiting for me.

One from Bonnie: How do you feel about a Christmas party at Grandpappy’s next weekend, after closing? Mom and Aunt Maggie are hosting and said to invite the whole Judd bunch. Can we bring these two farms together without bloodshed? LOL

The next was a message from Joan—an image with a short text: This would be a good one for the Instagram account .

I smiled as my eyes scanned the picture. Mark was standing just outside the string lights marking the perimeter of the tree lot. He had a Fraser fir—wrapped in netting and ready for transport—hoisted over one strong shoulder while two little girls in puffy jackets stood before him. The girls looked like twins, around three or four years of age. They wore matching pink coats and white leggings beneath tiny tulle skirts. In the image, they were frozen mid-leap, excited over their Christmas tree purchase. Two men who were clearly their parents stood behind them looking just as joyful. And there was Mark, grinning down at the children, a look so soft on his face that my heart ached at the sight of it.

The third and final unread text was from Mark, sent five minutes after my original invitation: Sure, that sounds good. I’ll meet you in your office after work .

I stared at the screen and wondered if I was pushing too hard. Was I being unreasonable? Or was I reading too much into a twelve-word text message. I didn’t know. I was too in my own head to be rational right now. Too concerned about Mark’s perceived hesitation, and overanalyzing everything as a result.

If Mark wasn’t ready to be with me for real, could I be okay with that?

We’d been seeing each other for over two months. I didn’t want to be anybody’s secret, but I knew Mark meant well. He wasn’t hiding me away because he was cheating on his wife. I told myself this wasn’t the same as what had happened with Emerson.

Mark wasn’t using me, and he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt me.

So why did it feel like I was setting myself up for heartbreak?

Mark

It was nearly dark when we arrived downtown. The streetlights were burning, and the holiday decorations were lit. Twinkle lights wreathed all the trees lining Main Street, and giant ornaments dangled from the lampposts. Store windows were decorated with hand-drawn winter scenes and smiling snowmen. Carolers walked along the road, stopping to perform on every other corner. And in front of the courthouse, there was a giant Christmas tree lit with multicolored lights. A big sleigh was positioned for folks to pose in for photographs. It was a bright and festive wonderland. It just needed some mountain snow, and the image of a picture-perfect small town would be complete.

The vendor booths and food stations would be open until 8:00 p.m.

It would be a miracle if I made it an hour.

When Candace had texted and asked me to walk the Holiday Market with her, I’d had a moment of wild panic. Her invitation felt intentional. It had seemed like a test. I knew she wanted to bring our relationship out into the open, and I wanted that too, but I’d been living a very private life to protect myself. This felt like borrowing trouble, opening myself up for more gossip and more attention. Not only me, but Candace too.

This wasn’t working the farmers’ market together or hanging out at the orchard with her siblings. Tonight was a declaration of intent—the beginning of our relationship for all of Kirby Falls to see.

I didn’t want her to, but part of me worried that she’d take one lap with me downtown and regret her decision to stay. I worried that whispers would follow in our wake. That curious eyes would monitor our movements, our glances, and our very public path together.

I’d resigned myself to being a hermit. It seemed safer to avoid people than to engage with them. I didn’t make waves in Kirby Falls. I kept my head down and my business my own.

Giving in to Candace’s idea for a night out went against all the safeguards I had in place. It would take some time to get used to being deliberately in the public eye.

I sincerely hoped there would come a day when I wasn’t aware of the neighbors and residents sitting behind in their booths, watching us wander. When I wouldn’t read into every glance or raised eyebrow, but that day was not today.

“It’s not as awesome as our sleigh,” Candace said.

Distracted, I glanced up and frowned. “What?”

Clad in a winter toboggan with a pom-pom on top, Candace thumped the side of the painted plywood. “The sleigh. Don’t tell Eloise Carter, but I think our Judd’s parade float sleigh is much more authentic.”

I swallowed and tried to focus on Candace’s bright, teasing grin instead of Vera Sterling and Sheila Jessup walking behind her with their heads bent together and their gazes locked on us. The women were retired, but they kept busy enough with the goings-on in town.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I agreed, “Yeah, it’s definitely nicer.”

“Right?” She hopped in and shifted on the wooden bench seat. “This has no padding. Very uncomfortable. Santa would definitely get a splinter. Plus, someone drew a penis on the dashboard.”

I didn’t respond, all too aware of the feminine voices and raised eyebrows from over Candace’s shoulder. She patted the seat next to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I ducked my head and joined her on the hard bench as Vera and Sheila shuffled away.

Ms. Sterling ran a bed-and-breakfast a few streets over and was a Sunday morning regular at Reverend Price’s church. Sheila Jessup hosted a local podcast and was the administrator of the Kirby Falls Facebook group. My breath quickened at the thought of the damage they could do.

“Let’s take a selfie,” Candace said, positioning her phone in front of our faces. “The tree looks nice behind us.”

She leaned into me, pressing her cheek against mine and smiling wide. I couldn’t seem to relax my jaw, but I managed an approximation of a grin.

As Candace led me back out onto Main Street, I briefly looked in the other direction but didn’t see the older women.

We kept walking, stopping so Candace could say hi to the Clarks manning the tent for the Orchard Bake Shop. They weren’t selling apples, since the harvest was done for the year, but the bakery at Grandpappy’s stayed open year-round and did good business for breakfast. They also provided local desserts and wedding and event cakes. It made sense that the Clarks would have a Holiday Market booth to promote the Bake Shop.

Maggie Clark was the head baker over at Grandpappy’s. She was a kind person. She’d always been friendly with me, but the knowing look she cast between me and Candace still made me shift on my feet uncomfortably. While Maggie and Candace exchanged pleasantries, Laramie Burke shot me a huge grin. Without saying a word, she simply handed me a container of peppermint bark I hadn’t ordered, then gave me a sly wink.

I stepped away from the table a few paces, needing some distance and room to breathe. The chill in the December air did very little to cool my heated skin. I could feel nervous sweat causing my undershirt to cling to my shoulder blades.

Candace glanced back at me and her smile died abruptly at what she saw in my expression. She excused herself from Maggie and whatever they’d been talking about—a Christmas party or something. I couldn’t focus on the specifics I’d overheard.

When Candace reached my side, she slipped her arm through mine and asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

I nodded, very aware of her nearness, my heartbeat, and the way I still couldn’t seem to catch my breath. “Yeah, probably just hungry. ”

Candace brightened, no doubt thinking that this was an easy fix. We’d just walk down the street, arm in arm, and into a restaurant where we knew the staff and they knew us. She didn’t know this paranoia went deep.

But I was grateful she’d shaken off her concerns. I couldn’t stand to see the worry on her face—worry over me. She wanted to be here, and I needed her to have a good time. It was important that this outing be what she wanted.

I just wasn’t sure how to ignore the way my body was reacting. The constant awareness, the tension radiating out of every pore. I felt like I was on alert for danger, flooded with adrenaline as if this were a hostage situation and not simply a downtown street fair.

It wasn’t even rational. I knew most of the folks weaving in and out of booths and shopping along Main Street were tourists. But rational didn’t matter in the face of my fear.

Yes, I was used to avoiding the whispers and the stares and the attention from the people I did recognize. I typically just pushed it all down. But with Candace, it was different. When the rumors and gossip only affected me, I could ignore them. But now...I had her to think about. I was conscious of every lingering look and worried about all of it.

“How about Apollo’s? I could go for some pizza,” she offered. Her hand slipped down the length of my arm and she laced her fingers through mine.

I nodded, the motion jerky. “Sure.”

We only had to walk two blocks to get to the Greek restaurant. I steered Candace gently away from the booths on the street—too many recognizable faces.

When we stepped inside Apollo’s, I couldn’t even appreciate the scent of bread and garlic. The restaurant was packed with people and, in the center, was a large party. It looked like four tables had all been pushed together to make room for the group of women laughing and talking. There sat Vera Sterling and Sheila Jessup with ten or twelve other women from the church.

My hand slipped from Candace’s grasp.

The hostess was busy seating the folks in front of us.

Candace frowned at the group of women. “Isn’t that?— ”

“I need to go,” I blurted as self-preservation—along with a healthy dose of cowardice—kicked in.

She spun to face me, concern etched into every line of her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just—I just don’t want to eat here.”

Her hazel eyes searched my face, then dropped to my chest where my breaths were coming fast. Hell, maybe she could see the way my heart pounded in my chest too.

After a quick moment that felt like a lifetime, Candace nodded.

When we reached the sidewalk, I sucked in the cool mountain air, trying desperately to clear my head. My feet carried me on autopilot toward the parking garage. Candace and I walked to my truck, not touching, not speaking. No taking a meandering path to peek in booths or to look at ornaments or hand-carved bowls.

Candace stayed silent on the drive to my house, and I wasn’t capable of talking. My hands stayed white-knuckled on the steering wheel as my breathing gradually slowed and the panic receded.

By the time I turned onto my dead-end road, my muscles had relaxed, but the silence inside the cab felt thick and weighty. Candace wasn’t looking at me, her stare focused on the closed garage door as we idled in my driveway.

I knew I needed to say something—to explain myself—but it still took a few minutes for the words to come. “I’m sorry. I know—I know I handled that badly.”

“Can you explain it to me, Mark? I don’t know what I did wrong.”

My gaze snapped to her, but she was still facing forward, worrying her bottom lip. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Candace. It’s just...me. My fears and my hang-ups. I’ve been avoiding people and places like that for so long. I think it’s just going to take me time to get used to it.”

“Time to get used to being with me, where people can see us?”

“It was one thing when it was just me I had to think about. But now there’s you, and I feel like I’m”—I paused, searching for the right words—“like I’m sullying your good name. Like Sheila Jessup is going to share a picture of us holding hands in the Kirby Falls Facebook group and people are going to wonder what the hell you’re doing with the town pariah.”

“Mark,” she sighed. Candace reached for my hand, but my fists were clenched again. She simply laid her palm on top of my knuckles, giving me warmth and comfort even when I didn’t know how to accept it.

“You’re not the town pariah,” she argued. “You were forced into an impossible situation and now nosy gossips want to judge you without knowing the truth. If you can ignore them, I can too. I know who you really are. Their whispers and stares and stupid Facebook group aren’t going to scare me off.”

My hand had loosened as she spoke and now her fingers were wrapped protectively around mine.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” I said quietly. “I wanted you to have fun.”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have pushed. It’s okay to need time. To adjust.”

I was grateful for her patience and her understanding, but after tonight’s failure, I felt broken beyond repair. How long would she be willing to wait on me to go to a movie together, to hold her hand on Main Street, to walk her down the damn aisle? It wasn’t fair. My weakness shouldn’t affect Candace and the life she hoped to lead—one that any normal person in a relationship would want.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you need to defend my honor, Mark. The people who would gossip about you—about us—do not matter. There’s freedom in not giving a fuck.” She laughed quietly, and I did too.

But then she sobered and squeezed my palm. “I really am sorry I forced the issue today.”

I made myself meet her eyes. “No. Don’t apologize. You didn’t ask for anything unreasonable.”

Candace nodded. “I think”—she sucked in a bracing breath and stared down at our joined hands—“I think I’m extra sensitive about being secretive because of my last relationship.”

I’d asked her before if she’d been engaged, but, beyond that, she hadn’t talked about her romantic past .

“I was dumb,” she said with a pained smile. “I got involved with my boss at my last job. He was older and sophisticated and seemed to value my ideas and my work. But because we worked together and I was his direct report, he wanted to keep things quiet.”

Unease twisted my stomach.

“I agreed because I understood where he was coming from,” she went on, attention still locked on our hands in her lap. “I wanted to be taken seriously in my position at the firm, and sleeping with your boss didn’t look good from any angle. But I kept being a secret. He stole my work and passed it off as his own, and I didn’t call him on it because I thought I was being a supportive partner. And then one day his wife came into the office. I didn’t know he was married,” she rushed to add. “I never would have done something like that. He didn’t keep pictures on his desk. He never mentioned her. But we never went out. He would only meet me at hotels. I think I got caught up in hiding the truth, in sneaking around, the subterfuge of it all. I ignored the very obvious signs. And then I just felt like someone’s dirty little secret.”

I closed my eyes as anger tightened all my muscles. Fury that she’d been manipulated by a very obvious power imbalance, and regret that I’d brought her back to a place where she had to hide her relationship.

No wonder she’d wanted reassurances. Of course, it was important to her to be with someone now who was proud of her—who wanted to show her off.

Her thumb stroked mine gently as she admitted, “Once I knew the truth and confronted him, I was forced out so I wouldn’t make trouble for the company. I came home to get myself together and to lick my wounds. I thought you should know the truth. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was...I was embarrassed.”

Swallowing down the guilt lodged in my throat, I said, “I am so fucking sorry I put you in another situation where you had to hide any part of yourself.” Finally, unable to stand the defeated slope of her shoulders, I pulled her into my chest and held her. “I wish I could go back and change things. I wish I’d known. I’m sorry, Candace.”

A different kind of fear gripped me. One that whispered more than gossip. It painted the very real picture of what would happen if I didn’t get my shit together. I would lose Candace. I would drive her away with my baggage and anxiety .

“It’s okay,” she said, voice muffled against my fleece jacket. “I understood your reasons. I just wanted you to know where I was coming from. Why I rushed things tonight.”

“You know, I could never—not in a million years—be ashamed to be seen with you. I’m so sorry that someone made you feel like a secret instead of the treasure you are.”

I couldn’t expect her to stay hidden away, not when she was staying in Kirby Falls now. I was so grateful she’d made that decision. I’d never felt relief like that, but today, amid my panic and worry, I’d forgotten how lucky I was to have her here, for good. I didn’t have to say goodbye or tuck my love away. All those futures that used to keep me up at night—the innocent fantasies and the hopeful daydreams—were now at my fingertips, just within reach...if I could manage to hold on to them.

“I’m fine being patient with you, Mark. Your fears and your feelings are valid. You can’t change overnight. You’ve been keeping yourself safe by staying away. It’s not right for me to try to drag you out into the open. It’s going to take time, and that’s okay.”

With the soft pom-pom of her hat brushing my cheek, I nodded because she was right. Years of learned behavior couldn’t be undone overnight. I didn’t want to keep disappointing her by going too fast and failing or having a panic attack on a street corner.

But I would keep trying, keep working to get comfortable among my neighbors. And we would tell her family the truth tomorrow. They deserved to know. Candace shouldn’t have to hide part of herself from her siblings and her parents. They meant too much, to both of us.

I wasn’t going to let my fears interfere with my relationship with Candace. I loved her and wanted to be with her. Tonight, with the past peeking around corners and triggering all my anxieties, I’d lost sight of that fact. But moving forward, I’d remember who I was fighting my demons for, because Candace was worth it. Our future was worth it. I refused to let my past mistakes keep ruining my life.

Amy Judd knew more than she was letting on, and she was letting on a lot.

Candace and I were the first to arrive for Sunday dinner. Nick had dragged Candace into the kitchen to help set the table and pour drinks for everyone. He said it was because neither one of them could cook worth a lick, so they better find some other ways to be useful.

Candace’s mother—who’d prepared the beef stew currently simmering away on the stove—had asked me to get down a box of holiday decorations from the closet in the living room. The Judds had their Christmas tree positioned in the front window, but it didn’t have any ornaments on it yet.

“I’ll get it ready this week,” Amy said as I placed the box on the worn carpet next to the six-and-a-half-foot-tall white pre-lit artificial tree. “When there aren’t kids at home to beg you to decorate, it’s easy to get lazy about it.”

“You finally got Brady out of the house,” I teased. “You almost sound like you want him back.”

Amy laughed. “I wouldn’t mind. He’s a good cook and he cleans like you wouldn’t believe. But he hogged the bathroom more than both my girls put together.”

I grinned and watched in amusement as Amy casually drifted over to the built-in bookshelves in the corner of the room and said, “See how meticulously his hair was styled?”

I followed to get a better look.

By the time my eyes found the photo she’d indicated, I realized where my steps had taken me. The Humble Shelf.

I’d wandered into the trap before I fully realized it was set.

I eyed Candace’s mother, but she was still pointing at a preteen Brady with dyed-blond tips and an unfortunate puka-shell necklace.

“I imagine it would take time and plenty of hair gel to get it into position,” I replied cautiously.

Amy laughed.

But then my eyes wandered, searching for Candace’s youthful face. There she was with the third-grade super-short cut she’d told me about. It hadn’t been that bad. She was smiling so hard in the picture that I felt my lips twist before I gave them permission. She had on a purple baby-doll dress over black leggings as she posed in the school photo.

Next to it was another framed picture, an image of Candace in her early teens. She had a mouthful of braces and was holding up an award on eighth-grade graduation night. I recognized this version of her—the hardworking overachiever, the girl in the accelerated classes, the one who gave reports to the class without a tremor in her voice. My thumb stroked the smooth corner of the wooden frame before I replaced it on the ledge.

My gaze scanned to the next picture of Candace on the shelf below. She was maybe five or six years old and stuffed in the narrow backseat of a Judd’s Orchard work truck with a slightly older Brady. It looked like they were mid-battle. The lines of their bodies were indistinct and blurred with motion so quick, the camera couldn’t keep up. His arm was locked around her head while she dug an elbow into the top of his thigh.

Again, my grin came unbidden. I didn’t have siblings, so I lacked the lived experience of loving someone while also looking for any way to irritate them. Brady and Candace had struck a good balance as adults. They called each other names and stole each other’s food, but they’d be the first ones to step up if their sibling needed help with a flat tire, or a ride to the airport, or a prank on a shared enemy.

Despite the inherent violence, it was endearing to see this photo of them in a moment of diabolical sibling rivalry.

“I didn’t know children could fight so much until Candace came along,” Amy said, startling me. I’d been lost in the framed photographs and had forgotten she was there.

She ignored my obvious surprise and watched me carefully. “Joan was different, unconcerned with things like bickering and fighting. It was probably the age difference as much as her personality. But Brady and Candace were close enough, with only three years between them, that they fought like cats and dogs. Oh, they had fun too, but I’ll never forget the day she tied him to the rolling desk chair and put makeup on every inch of his face. He got her back by putting eighteen slugs in her bed.”

I choked on my laughter and Amy grinned, enjoying my reaction .

My eyes drifted back to the girl with braces, the one who’d become my teenage crush in just a few short years. The classmate I never had the nerve to talk to. The homecoming queen who lived in my hazy memories.

And now, the daydream laughing with her dad in the next room.

When I turned back to Amy, I found her watching me, a soft smile on her face and hazel eyes so much like her daughter’s. She didn’t have to say anything, I already knew what she was thinking. So I simply smiled back.

“Are y’all coming to eat or what?” Candace called suddenly from the kitchen.

Just then, the front door banged open, bringing with it Brady and Joan and a burst of cold December air.

The six of us squeezed around the kitchen table and ate hearty beef stew ladled over creamy whipped potatoes. The Judds teased and laughed, and I mostly watched and listened while Candace’s leg pressed against mine beneath the poinsettia-printed tablecloth.

And when Candace grinned and broke the news, the only two people who were surprised were Nick and Brady. Joan simply grabbed another roll from the basket and told Brady she wasn’t surprised he hadn’t solved the mystery of the Apple House vandal with detective skills like that.

Amy gave us that same soft, knowing smile I’d seen in the living room, but this time, her hazel eyes were filled with unshed tears as she hugged us both.