Chapter 21

twenty-one

BECCA

It was Sunday, and with the bakery closing at noon, Maggie had invited us to lunch in her home.

Will's father had taken a break from the fields and would be joining us as well.

Even Will had managed to take the whole day off. He'd still been up with the sun, but I'd slept in while he and Carl had gone for an early morning run.

It was silly, but I was a little nervous about lunch today with Will's family. I saw Maggie and William most days while I worked at Grandpappy's, but this felt a little more official. More like Will was bringing home his girlfriend to meet the family.

I knew Will's parents liked me. Maggie and I talked all the time, and Will's dad had even let me drive the tractor. But I still felt nerves in my belly on the short drive to their home.

As the house came into view, I nearly pressed my face to the glass. A huge front porch appeared to wrap around the sides of the house. Hanging baskets of asparagus ferns were placed equidistant between each white porch column. I counted four ceiling fans along the front and a huge window that looked out over the yard .

The house extended up to two floors beneath a dark shingled roof. The white paint on the wood siding looked fresh with hunter-green shutters on every window, and the front door was painted rust red.

"You're awfully quiet," Will said as he opened the passenger side door of his truck for me. I hadn't even realized we'd stopped.

Carl raced on ahead.

Taking Will's offered hand, I slid down from the cab. "Afraid I'll claim your title?" I teased.

He smiled, keeping my hand in his as we made for the steps to the front porch. "You know it'll be fine."

I glanced at his face before looking down toward the bouquet I held, my thumb absently fidgeting with the elastic band holding it all together. I might have overdone it a little. The arrangement was large and held peach dahlias amid white carnations, greenery, and a sprinkling of baby's breath. Margaret Mahroney over at Snap, Bam, Bloom had fixed me up with the bouquet and had even given me the insider tip on Maggie's favorite flowers.

"I know," I replied quietly. It might not be a first impression, but I still wanted it to be a good one.

Then the door swung open, and Maggie and William spilled out onto the wide front porch.

"Well, hello, sweet pea!" Maggie enveloped me in a warm embrace. I hugged her back and smiled at William over her shoulder.

Will's dad was tall and dark-haired like his son, but William was clean-shaven, whereas Will was bearded. He wore a snap-front western-style shirt in red-and-gray plaid and pale blue denim Wranglers that looked soft and worn from age. He was a quiet man, and I could easily see where Will got his mannerisms from.

"Let the girl breathe, Maggie," William said.

Will's mother straightened and cupped my cheeks. "I'm just so happy you're here."

"Me too," I replied, and then I had to clear my throat. "These are for you," I offered, holding out the bouquet .

Maggie took it, grinning. "Aren't you the sweetest thing? Dahlias are my favorite. I'll get these in water."

"Come on in, you two," William said.

And then we all went into the house. I slowed on the way to the kitchen, peering into what looked like a pristine formal living room before passing into a hallway filled with framed photographs.

Will eventually had to nudge me along. "You can look at my embarrassing Olan Mills glamour shots later."

I grinned over my shoulder. "Spoilsport."

"Becca honey, come help me chop!"

Maggie's request got me moving.

We entered a large, beautiful kitchen that could have been featured in any Southern home magazine. It was painted pale yellow with glass-front white cabinets. A huge island dominated the center of the space and three rectangular skylights let in plenty of sunlight overhead.

There were sliding glass doors that led out to a wide back deck that looked out toward the tree line and the looming mountain in the distance. William was out there with a bottle of beer in hand.

The mid-October day was mild and sunny and it looked like Maggie had us set up on a glass-topped dining table out there for lunch.

She passed Will a stack of floral plates and pale linen napkins. "Grab a beer and go help your father set the table. We'll be out in a few."

Will grabbed a bottle from the fridge, and with his haul secure in his arms, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my temple. "Don't let her work you too hard." And then he stepped out through the open doorway onto the wooden decking.

I smiled gratefully, thrilled to be asked to help, and also a little surprised—but pleased—by Will's public display of affection. Not that I thought he'd hide our relationship in front of his parents. But I didn't think he'd be quite so open about it.

Maggie got me set up with a cutting board and some washed broccoli and cauliflower. "Just separate the florets, make 'em bite-sized, and throw them in this bowl with the cheese, bacon, sunflower seeds, and dried cranberries. I have the dressing ready to go and then you can toss it all together."

"You got it." I nodded.

Maggie and I chatted, mostly about the farm and upcoming town events like the Autumn Market and trick-or-treating downtown at the end of the month.

Having a task helped settle my nerves. I liked being included. Maggie was always warm and affectionate, but it was different, being here in her home. With a knife in my hand and a job to complete, I felt like I belonged—not like a guest for lunch.

I finished mixing the broccoli-and-cauliflower salad, and, together, we all worked to set the table with the food that had been prepared. There were pulled pork sliders with homemade spicy dill pickles and oven-baked potato wedges with Maggie's famous curry ketchup.

I poured sweet tea for Maggie and myself, and then the four of us settled at the table beneath the pergola to enjoy the meal and the fine weather. Somehow, the warm weight of Carl's paw across my foot made me feel more at ease.

"I'll say grace." Maggie held out her hands on either side, and I watched as her husband slid his fingers through hers. Will collected my right hand, and I straightened and placed my left into Maggie's waiting grasp. I watched as everyone closed their eyes and bowed their heads, and I did the same, remembering how I'd envisioned this very scenario among Will's family.

Maggie's voice was gentle as she spoke, thanking the Lord for the many blessings in her life. She touched on the meal and the beautiful weather, the bountiful harvest of the farm, and the health and safety of her family. And then she gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "And we are so grateful to you for the company we are fortunate to keep. Thank you for bringing Becca into our lives and allowing us to get to know her and share in her joy."

Maggie closed out the prayer while I struggled through a flood of emotions and worked to make sure my eyes would be dry whenever I opened them.

My family had never been religious, and I couldn't remember a single time either of my parents had said grace over a meal. But even if they had, I couldn't imagine an instance where they'd thank any deity for my presence in their lives. The realization was stark but no longer debilitating. It was more the contrast between a family who'd only known me a few months versus the one I'd been born into.

Maggie released my hand, and I heard the clink of cutlery and shifting bodies, but I kept my watery eyes closed a moment longer. I said my own little prayer thanking whoever was listening for the welcome I'd received by the Clarks and the rest of Kirby Falls. And then I asked for courage as I uprooted my life in the coming months.

Opening my eyes, I found my plate already full and Will's tender gaze trained on my face. Maggie and William were in quiet conversation, passing platters and bowls back and forth and clearly giving me a moment to collect myself.

Will's hand, which hadn't relinquished its hold, squeezed as he said softly, "Okay?"

I nodded quickly, offering a reassuring smile.

Then I turned back to the table. "This all looks so wonderful, Maggie. Thank you. Thank you both for having me."

William gave me a warm look, gray eyes full of affection.

"Anytime, Becca honey." Maggie reached over and squeezed my hand before passing me another slider. "Here, we don't want you to blow away when this breeze gets going."

I laughed.

Lunch conversation flowed easily. Sometimes we all joined in, like when Maggie and William were eager to hear about the properties Will and I had been touring during my house hunt. And sometimes William and Will broke off to discuss farm things while Maggie and I had our own little conversation.

The afternoon felt like a dream—one I'd envisioned and longed for my whole life. I knew Will's family wasn't perfect, but to someone like me, it sure felt that way.

Will and his father gathered up all the plates and cutlery and worked on getting them in the dishwasher while Maggie led me back to the hallway.

"I knew you'd want more time with these," she said, indicating the family photos lining the wall .

My eyes traced over the pictures of Will as a baby and then a toddler before noticing several images of him with his cousins as a child. There was little Mac and Larry and Bonnie on bicycles and rollerblades, with sunburned cheeks and big smiles.

The photographs continued displaying the Clarks and their history as I scanned more and more frames. I loved them all but my curious gaze sought out the ones of Will. And he was there, in baseball uniform after baseball uniform. His hair was always on the longish side, peeking out from beneath whatever ball cap he happened to have on. There was one of him and Jordan from high school prom over a decade ago that had me leaning closer to see Will's unsmiling face and Jordan's happy one. Maggie said it was from their eleventh grade year. I grinned at the baggy tuxedo rentals and Jordan's arm slung across his friend's shoulder, boutonnieres pinned unevenly on their lapels.

Maggie led me to the living room as I spied even more family photos. I heard the floor creak behind me as someone approached, but I didn't look away.

My eyes zeroed in on a picture of Will. Carefully, I picked up the frame and scanned the image. He was standing in the woods in front of a bush with small yellow flowers. There was a baseball mitt on his left hand and he had knobby knees sticking out beneath red shorts.

"Will was eight," Maggie offered. "That's the honeysuckle bush over behind Patty and Robert's house. Will would sneak off from playing with Mac and Bonnie when it bloomed in June and July. He used to sit back there and pull the blooms off and eat every drop of nectar he could get his hands on."

My finger traced his little-boy grin.

Then I thought about my honeysuckle lotion and the way Will always held me close and breathed me in.

With a sly glance over my shoulder, I found the grown-up version of the boy in the photo standing behind me, looking a little pink in the cheeks. "Fan of honeysuckle, are you?"

Will ran a hand across his beard before smiling gently. "Aunt Patty used to have to come and fetch me when Mac whined that I wouldn't play with her. Practically had to drag me away."

I laughed quietly .

Maggie excused herself with a squeeze to my arm and a kiss on my cheek.

And then it was just me and Will facing one another. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"You're welcome." He stepped closer and gripped my waist. "I'll bring you back in a few weeks. She makes popcorn balls and apple cider and invites everyone over just before Halloween. Bonnie and Danny will be here and Mac and Larry. My uncles and aunt. You'll love it."

I nodded, not sure if I could manage to speak through the rising tide of emotion. The prospect of sharing holidays and special celebrations and even everyday meals with Will's family felt like too much to hope for. But I wanted it. I wanted everything.

And maybe that made me selfish or invasive, trying to weasel my way in. But it mostly just felt like making up for lost time.

"Dad wants to show you the chickens when you're ready."

"Chickens!" I all but squealed.

Will laughed. "There's a coop behind the barn. They have a pretty sweet setup. He said you could feed them."

I was already stepping out of his hold and toward the hallway, but Will's hands drew me back in. He placed a lingering kiss on my lips. I tasted the sweetness and the love. Maybe we hadn't exchanged the words yet, but I felt every bit of acceptance and emotion when Will's arms tightened around me. I'd never been so at home in my life.

I had a feeling that Will's love wouldn't be loud or messy. I couldn't envision public fights or dramatic angst. Will's love would be quiet but steady. A slow smile pressed into the soft skin of my throat. Holding my hand because he liked the connection and knew I liked it more. It would be snowy mornings with a car already running and warm with a windshield scraped clean. Or maybe something comforting in a slow cooker after he knew I'd had a long day. Will's love would be a thousand little things all together, spun into a web of care and support. A cup of coffee made just the way I liked it or pumpkin bread packed for the end of a long hike. He'd make sure I had everything I could ever need because that's the kind of person he was. And being his would mean being made a priority .

After a moment, he pulled away, sighing a little before brushing his nose along mine. "Let's go introduce you to the chickens."

"Alright," I murmured, finally opening my eyes. Will looked reluctant but amused. Happy. "But don't think I'm skipping out on seeing your bedroom before we go."

He grinned, sliding his hand beneath the hem of my shirt to smooth rough fingertips along my waist. "Yeah, I'll give you the tour."

I didn't make it back inside to poke around Will's childhood bedroom, however.

Carl ended up chasing an angry hen that got too close to me. I'd run after them and ended up flat on my backside, covered in mud and other horrible unmentionables in the middle of the chicken run. Will had laughed at the spectacle until he'd needed to wrestle a squirmy Carl into the bed of his truck. He'd ended up in worse shape than me.

We'd taken off for the tiny house after that, calling our thanks to William and Maggie who'd mostly laughed at us from the yard.

I'd showered and changed while Will had hosed Carl off outside.

It was later, when Will was cleaning up in the bathroom that my phone rang. With a worried glance at the screen, I'd expected my sister. I'd sent her to voicemail three times yesterday and knew she'd be angry the next time we spoke. But when I saw the name on the screen, I tightened my towel around myself and answered with a tentative, "Hello?"

"Hi, Becca. It's Morty Castle."

"Hi, Mr. Castle," I replied, greeting my building super, who handled maintenance for renters and upkeep of the common areas.

Mrs. Walters had owned her apartment, so Morty wasn't around much for things like repairs. Back in August, I'd let him know I was leaving Detroit for a few months just so he had a heads-up in case anything happened in the building. I didn't want a water pipe to burst or a kitchen fire to break out and no one to know I was away. I wasn't close with my neighbors, so I didn't have anyone local to entrust with a spare key. Morty had always been friendly enough, and the middle-aged Detroit native seemed like a decent guy.

"Is everything okay?" I prompted .

"Yeah, I wanted to warn you, though," he said in his usual gruff voice, and dread hollowed out my stomach. "Someone came by—a woman with dark hair, about your height—and claimed to be a friend. She tried to get a key off me for your apartment. Said you'd asked her to water your plants. You've been gone since August. I figured all them plants were long since dead. So I told her to scram."

My mouth went dry, and I forced a swallow. "Thank you. I appreciate that. I didn't ask anyone to water plants for me."

"I'll keep an eye out, but I just wanted you to know that someone was up to no good."

Still wrapped in a towel with my wet hair trailing down my back, I noticed I'd wandered to the glass doors of the tiny house that looked out over the wildflower field. The sun was drifting behind the mountains in a brilliant display. I stared out at the oranges and pinks of the sunset as I clutched my phone in a desperate grip.

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Castle," I managed in a low voice.

"No problem, Becca. You take care, you hear?"

"Yes, sir. You too."

He hung up, and I closed my eyes.

With a shaking hand, I lowered the phone slowly and placed it on the stool beside me.

My sister had done that. She'd tried to get into my apartment. I knew better than to ever give her a spare key. I'd learned that lesson when she'd borrowed my car in college and hadn't returned it for a week. I'd been lucky that Heather hadn't sold it or crashed it. But it had been filled with takeout trash and cigarette burns. It had smelled like a frat house.

I didn't know what to do with the information from Mr. Castle. I hated that I had a sister I couldn't trust—that I was in this position in the first place, wondering if I should call and confront her. She'd deny it, I had no doubt. And then act like I was a monster for accusing her of trying to get into my place for nefarious reasons.

As the sun moved behind the hills, the room around me got dimmer in the waning light. I heard the shower turn off down the hall and knew I needed to pull myself together. Will would know that something was wrong.

And I was, once again, embarrassed that I might have to explain the deficiencies in my own family to someone who had Maggie and William Clark around the dining table. Sunday lunches and family photos and sweet stories and so much happiness, it was hard to fathom.

The angry, bitter, tired part of me felt helpless when faced with my own family. I'd mostly given up on my parents. We didn't have a relationship anymore, and I'd managed to keep my boundaries in place where they were concerned. But Heather . . . I didn't think I'd ever be rid of her. I'd never be free because I couldn't seem to face the truth. My sister didn't love me. My sister wanted to use me because I was an easy mark. Dependable, reliable Becca. Always guilt-ridden and available to spare part of her monthly income. I'd been deluded to call that a sisterly relationship.

Every vulnerable part of me screamed to go back to Detroit and pack up my life, change my phone number, and never contact my sister or my parents again. To just disappear.

As it always did when I entertained those hopeless thoughts, guilt was swift to fill all my empty spaces.

I felt sad and lost—desperate for a family like Will's. The simplicity. The happiness. The acceptance.

The way it had felt to be included today at lunch and any time I saw the Clarks. I'd never had that before. It was a connection and belonging I'd been chasing my whole life through my attempts with Heather, work, friendships, and boyfriends who used me or discarded me, a city where I never managed to fit in.

But Kirby Falls was different. Will was different.

Warm hands slid over my shoulders and down my arms where I stood facing away. "Hey," Will murmured before pressing wet kisses along the side of my throat.

I closed my eyes and sank into the feeling of being cared for and accepted. "I'm glad you're here," I whispered.

Will's lips paused where my neck met my shoulder. "Everything okay? "

I nodded quickly. "Yes. It's perfect."

His fingers laced through mine. His touch all heated comfort and aching sweetness.

Reaching back, I realized Will was wrapped only in a towel too. The soft cotton was slung low on his hips.

I longed to feel our connection, something deep and profound. So I worked to loosen the edge of the fabric where it was secured at his waist.

Will's arms slid around me as his towel hit the floor. I sighed as he did the same for me, exposing my flushed skin to the evening air. His hands skimmed reverently over my naked form, tracing along all my curves and valleys.

When I angled my hips and Will pushed inside, I felt it. The unbearable intensity. The undeniable fulfillment.

I was losing more of my heart with every scrape of his teeth along the nape of my neck.

And when the sun finally dipped below the horizon, all I saw was our reflection, moving together in the glass.

This. This was what I craved. With every push and pull and roll of our bodies, Will anchored me. I felt rooted in the very fabric of the universe, steady and strong in a way I couldn't be anywhere else. Here and now were exactly where I belonged, with this man loving me—every part of me, over and over again.