Chapter 18

eighteen

WILL

Me: Is everything okay?

Becca: Yes! Everything is fine.

Becca: I'm working from the tiny house today, but I'd love it if you wanted to come over later.

It was Friday, and I had a family dinner tonight. I considered inviting Becca. I knew everyone would welcome her around the table at my parents' house. Hell, they'd probably rather have her there than me. And I knew that Becca would love every moment of it. Answering her questions last night about the big table in my dining room made it clear that the concept of a family dinner was foreign to her, but would be very welcome.

But there were other parts of last night that I couldn't stop recalling, like how she'd run away after an awkward phone call and hadn't really given me an explanation.

"Something important came up back home."

Things were complicated with her family, and I got that. And our relationship was new. I wasn't about to make demands of Becca, but I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something about her abrupt departure. Hearing her refer to home like that hadn't helped my suspicions either .

I wondered how it would be if Becca did, in fact, end up moving to Kirby Falls. Would her sister continue harassing her for money? Would Becca be able to separate herself from someone who clearly relied on her, even if Heather didn't have her best intentions at heart?

The part of me that was a skeptical asshole wondered if Becca actually planned on leaving Detroit at all. Wanting to do something and actually following through were two very different things.

Eventually, I texted back: I have plans tonight, but thank you for the invite.

Becca: Sure. No worries. We can talk later.

I could see her smile in my mind's eye. The one she rushed to put on when she was disappointed but didn't want anyone to know it.

Sighing, I stared at my phone like a coward until the screen went dark, and then I slipped it into my pocket.

My parents lived on a flat four acres that butted up against the mountain I currently lived on. The house I'd grown up in was surrounded by old-growth trees and had a huge barn across the gravel driveway. The backyard still contained a tree house and a tire swing, and a shed was likely still filled with every piece of baseball equipment you could imagine. My childhood bedroom was dusted once a month. Otherwise, it remained untouched. Mom and Dad kept all my trophies and pennants and posters just the way I'd left them when I'd moved out at eighteen.

The sun was behind the hills, working its way toward a dramatic sunset. Plowed cornfields lined the road to the property. Mom typically drove to work on her baby-blue side-by-side UTV currently parked in the barn. The Orchard Bake Shop wasn't far—maybe three-quarters of a mile away—so the commute was convenient. And even if it wasn't, nearly every part of any Clarks' life was tangled up in the farm somehow.

Well, except for Uncle James.

My father's youngest brother was climbing out of his electric car when I pulled up in front of my parents' house just before six o'clock .

"Will," he greeted. "How the hell are you?"

He gave me a quick hug and a slap on the back. He still smelled like Old Spice and looked relaxed in loafers and a polo shirt.

"I'm good," I replied. "It's been a while."

James nodded. He and my dad favored one another. Same tall frame, dark hair, and gray eyes that I'd inherited. "Been busy, and I'm sure you have too."

I didn't think I'd seen my uncle since the big Fourth of July party my grandparents hosted every year at Lake Archer. It wasn't unusual to go three months without seeing James around, but it did make me curious how he got away with it.

If I so much as ignored a voicemail from my mother, she'd show up on my doorstep with a Tupperware container full of soup with the assumption that I must be under the weather if I couldn't so much as return a phone call within twelve hours.

But Uncle James missed birthday parties and the occasional holiday. Family dinners on a random Friday in early October probably weren't high on his priority list, but it was nice to see him all the same. I was a little jealous that he'd managed to extricate himself from the Grandpappy's business side of things so cleanly.

To hear my dad tell it, his youngest brother had no interest in the farm or the running of it, even from a young age. He'd gone to college and lived his life as if his own father and grandfather hadn't entrusted the farm to future generations. Grandpappy's was in good hands with my dad and my uncle Robert. I guess the key to avoiding farm life was to have two older brothers who weren't opposed to running it. That wasn't really an option I had though.

"Let's get in there before Maggie comes out here looking for us," James said good-naturedly.

I ushered a reluctant Carl out of my truck and in we went.

We were, in fact, the last to arrive.

Laramie was hunched over at the center island in the kitchen while my aunt Patty, cousin Bonnie, and Mom prepped the meal .

Dad was out on the back deck manning the grill with Bonnie's husband, Danny, my uncle Robert, and MacKenzie. Uncle James slipped out through the sliding door to join them after greeting everyone in the kitchen.

My dog disappeared into the living room to curl up on the couch and be left alone.

I placed the three bottles of red wine I'd brought on the kitchen counter and kissed my mother on the cheek. "Hey, Momma."

"Hey, sugar. Did you bring Becca?"

She was whipping potatoes and didn't do more than glance at me while she focused on the bowl in front of her, but I wasn't really surprised by her question. She saw me with Becca nearly every day at the farm. She'd backed off on the matchmaking, but I still caught her pleased grins when she spied us together. It wasn't far-fetched to imagine I might bring her to dinner, but I still felt the guilty churn in my stomach just the same.

"Not tonight," I said, and pretty much every eye in the room turned my way. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No, they've got it," Larry said from where she was pushing up from her low-backed stool. She looked a little worse for wear. My cousin typically wore dark, edgy outfits and dramatic makeup. But she was in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, bare-faced entirely, clutching a Gatorade like it was the Holy Grail. "I need to talk to you a minute."

Frowning, I watched her walk out of the kitchen. I looked around the room to see if anyone else thought that was weird, but Bonnie and her mom were chatting while they chopped vegetables for the salad and my mother was still occupied with copious amounts of butter and starch.

"Well, come on," Larry called impatiently from out in the hallway.

I rolled my eyes and followed, grabbing my jacket back off the coatrack as I went. My cousin led me out onto the front porch and sat in a rocking chair.

Joining her in the chilly evening air, I asked, "What's up? You okay?"

Laramie reached over and grabbed the arm of my chair to prevent me from rocking any further. "I can't even handle watching you sway back and forth right now. Just give me a minute. "

"Are you sick?"

She sighed and looked out over the fields. "I'm hungover."

"Oh."

"I got shit-faced at Magnolia last night and called Becca to come and get me." Larry turned to meet my gaze head-on now. "I told her not to say anything, just begged her to pick me up and take me home and to please not tell you."

My mind spun at the idea that Larry would call Becca when she was in trouble, and then it landed neatly on the fact that Becca had gone, no questions asked. She hadn't left me last night to take care of something with her sister. She'd ridden off to Larry's rescue because my cousin had needed her. I felt a swirling mixture of pride and familial annoyance.

"Why didn't you want me to know?" I asked.

Larry snorted and then immediately covered her mouth like she regretted it. "Hell, I don't know. Because I was vulnerable and crying my eyes out in the bathroom of a leafer bar, drunk as a skunk. Not really setting a shining example, dear cousin."

"Oh," I repeated. "I would have come to get you. You know that."

Larry sighed again. "I know, William. But I didn't want someone who was going to judge me for being a fuckup."

"What the hell, Laramie Annabeth? I would not?—"

"You wouldn't mean to," she interrupted, dark eyes troubled. "But you would. You'd think I was young and emotional and maybe unreliable. Dramatic at best and a drunken embarrassment causing a scene at worst."

"Larry," I breathed. Did she really think I saw her that way?

I thought back to when I'd harped on Mac about handling the social media crap for the Orchard Fest. Maybe I did have high expectations for my cousins, but I just wanted to make sure things ran smoothly at the farm. Sometimes I felt like they were just out for a good time, always joking and having fun—even at work. But Grandpappy's was a business. Livelihoods depended on us. I didn't need them screwing around .

"Sometimes it feels like you stopped being my cousin so you could be my boss, Will."

Her voice was small, and she wouldn't look at me, and it was so unlike my typically brash and bold cousin that I hated it.

I swallowed down a healthy dose of guilt and apologized, "I'm sorry I ever made you feel that way. I just . . . " Hell, I didn't know what to say.

"You're just an intense buzzkill, and you want everything to be perfect," Larry finished for me.

She laughed, and I did too.

"I'm fucking sorry, Larry. I'll do better. You're a hard worker, and you don't deserve to have me second-guessing you or breathing down your neck. But I definitely don't judge you for drinking in your off time unless there's a problem there and you need some help."

My cousin nodded and took another sip of blue drink from her plastic bottle. "I'm not over-indulging, if that's what you mean. I'm only telling you this now because I didn't want to cause trouble for you and Becca."

I'd been an asshole to question Becca's intentions last night, if only in my own head.

Even if she'd needed to leave to handle a situation with her sister and not my drunk cousin, that was her business. It was wrong of me to suddenly assume it meant she'd leave Kirby Falls as a result. I should have invited her tonight instead of expecting the worst and punishing her for it. I was behaving like a distrustful asshat, and I felt sick at the thought of her sitting home alone while I was surrounded by my loved ones.

She should have been here with me. Remorse churned in my gut.

"Why did you call Becca and not Kayla or Mac?" I finally asked.

Larry winced but admitted, "I called Becca because she's a good person. I knew I could count on her, and I trust her. And if you tell Mac I didn't call her, I'll key your truck."

"Jesus," I muttered, holding up my hands in surrender. "I swear I won't tell Mac you love Becca more than her. "

Larry leaned over and punched me on the shoulder. "Becca was just better suited for the situation I was in. Mac would have wanted to know whose ass she needed to beat. Becca fucking held my hair back while I puked for an hour and slept beside me to make sure I didn't die. She cleaned the makeup off my stupid face and then made me breakfast this morning."

I'd missed out on something with Becca last night. I knew where we were headed when I brought her up to my bedroom. And I still wanted all that with her—her touch and her skin and to see her all spread out in my bed. But I wanted more too. I wanted her to stay, and I wanted a future. Hiking on the weekends with Carl. Showing her more of my favorite places—the ones that I knew would make her face light up with that stunning combination of wonder and joy. I wanted to play softball with her on Thursday nights and watch her work with her glasses on. I wanted to bring her to family dinner and take her out on dates. Read the books with the covers she'd designed on them and walk with her in the sunflower field.

Of course Becca had taken care of my cousin. Her heart was so wide and open, and she was genuine in a way that had confused me at first but only because I couldn't understand it in myself. She loved people and she loved them hard.

"Yeah," I managed before I had to clear my throat. "She's a good one."

Larry sucked in a slow breath before she spoke. "It would be easy to write her off as a walking, talking Barbie. She loves kittens and rainbows and all that shit. She probably enjoys pina coladas and taking walks in the rain, unironically. I bet she sings adorably off-key too."

I could confirm that after a karaoke night at Firefly last week.

"But she's so good," Larry went on. "Like down to her bones. She cares. And she listens when so many people don't. And she doesn't seem to mind your grumpy ass." Larry laughed and I smiled, looking down.

"Will, she looks at you like . . . "

I barely gave her time to trail off. "What? How does she look at me," I demanded, voice low and urgent, desperate for the answer. But also dreading it. Fucking pathetic over what might come out of Laramie's mouth.

But then my cousin smiled, a tender thing that was rarely seen on her face. "She looks at you like you're home . Like you're everything she loves about Kirby Falls, wrapped up in a bearded, scowling package. Like you're the reason to stay."

I sat with Laramie's words all through dinner, let them absorb into my skin and settle around my heart. I thought about the idea of home and how mine had been lost to me for so long. Too mixed up in regret and anger to let me appreciate what I used to love.

And then this city girl showed up and made me see what I'd been missing. She'd reminded me that the mountains were home. That the land hadn't always meant Grandpappy's and tourists and obligation. At one time, it had all been simple instead of hard. It had been familiar instead of routine.

Thinking back to our hikes in the country, witnessing her love of the farm. Hell, even the tree I'd met her in had good memories associated with it before I'd locked everything away.

Looking around the table, taking in my family—laughing, talking over one another, dishing up seconds—I realized I had good memories with them too. I'd grown up surrounded by people who loved, supported, and put up with my intense determination and less-than-stellar attitude. How different would Becca's life have been if she'd had the support system I'd been blessed with?

Her kindness and goodness in spite of her history were admirable, and frankly, astonishing. She'd come to our tiny town and looked for ways to fit in and contribute. And here I was, a reluctant participant doing the bare minimum.

But even as I tried my best to avoid participating, I'd still found something that gave me a sense of purpose. Seth and Mason and the other high school kids were showing me that baseball didn't have to be locked up in a file cabinet with failure stamped across the front. They didn't care that I'd thrown two games in the majors before my career imploded. It was fucking terrifying to open myself up to more pain and regret but staying so closed off wasn't really working. Maybe that was what Jordan had been trying to tell me for a while now. Maybe I'd been unhappy without really knowing the difference.

"Earth to William," Mac called, drawing me out of my dinnertime introspection. "Pass the rolls."

Grabbing the basket in front of me, I took one of the dinner rolls and chucked it at her head. She caught it, laughing in startled surprise .

As she reached for a cherry tomato out of her salad bowl, my mom said firmly, "Don't even think about it, MacKenzie Eloise."

I grinned and my cousin stuck her tongue out at me.

"So," Bonnie said brightly, in what I was sure was an effort to distract her sister from troublemaking retribution, "we were thinking of planning an anniversary party for Grandma Nola and Grandpa Jr. It'll be their fiftieth in the spring."

"Who's we?" Mac asked, still eyeing me like I might have another dinner roll locked and loaded.

"Oh, me and Danny," Bonnie replied, glancing toward her husband, seated at her side.

But Danny was on his phone and not paying any attention to his wife. Her arm moved under the table and we all watched the big man jolt. "Shit. What?" he demanded.

Bonnie's face stayed smiling but everything about her went tight. "I was just saying how we wanted to celebrate Grandma and Grandpa's anniversary."

Danny looked like this was the first he was hearing of it, but he picked up on his wife's tense expression and glanced around the table quickly before saying unconvincingly, "Oh, right. That."

"I'll help you, honey," my aunt Patty said, giving her daughter a sweet smile.

"Me too," Mac offered.

"Of course we will, Bonnie," my own mother added. "We can plan something big over on the farm. Invite all their friends. Even the Florida ones. They'll love that."

I thought of my grandparents and their long and happy marriage. They'd run the farm for decades. Now, in their seventies, they took their retirement seriously. They spent the fall and winter months at their condo in Florida, the spring traveling in their RV, and the summer here in Kirby Falls.

I could just imagine how my grandma Nola would love Becca. She'd want her help in the kitchen. I could picture both of them with aprons on, making my grandmother's famous peach cobbler.

"I'll help too, Bon," I said. "Whatever you need. We'll make it happen. "

My cousin looked momentarily stunned and the table went suspiciously quiet. "Thank you, Will. That would be great."

I guess I had done my best to avoid family functions. I really was an asshole. Shame and guilt threatened, but I worked to beat them back. I'd do better. I'd stop lumping in my family—who I loved very much—with my work. It was difficult because it was all so intertwined. But there was no reason to see my loved ones as an obligation or a liability.

Dinner wrapped up in the next half hour. Mac and I worked through washing a stack of dishes while Mom and Patty packed away leftovers.

When my hands were dry and I was itching to be a half a mile south, I told everyone good night and made for the front door. It wasn't that late. Maybe I could catch Becca.

"Here you go," my mom said, cutting me off in the hallway and passing me a stack of Tupperware.

"I'm good, Mom. I have plenty of food at the house."

She smiled like I was her most precious idiot. "That's for Becca, sugar. Next time, bring her with you."

I nodded like a dutiful son, not bothering to mention that I'd already resolved to do just that.

Five minutes later, Carl and I stood before the glass front door of the tiny house. His tail was wagging, and if I had a tail, it would probably be doing the same.

After a quiet knock, Becca emerged from the hallway. She was in those avocado pajamas, complete with long loose hair, and my imaginary tail gave a hard thump at the sight.

Her smile was the perfect mix of happy confusion as she made her way to the door.

"Hey, you," she said . . . to my dog as she bent to rub Carl's ears. After a moment, she straightened, and I could see that the confusion was now winning the battle with the surprised joy she'd displayed at our sudden arrival. Becca appeared wary, and I couldn't say I blamed her. I'd very clearly blown her off earlier. I could have replied to her text, assuring her that, yes, we'd talk soon. But I hadn't. I'd left her wondering .

And now I was off-balance, showing up on her doorstep, hoping for her patience and her understanding . . . and her forgiveness. It wasn't easy being vulnerable, but that was the whole point. You couldn't be brave unless you really meant it. And looking at Becca, so damn gorgeous and suddenly distrustful, I realized I'd do just about anything to put us back on solid ground.

"Hey, City Girl. Can I come in?"