7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Indy — Now

I was running on two hours of sleep and caffeine, and my neck ached like an eighty-year-old woman who’d slept in a jail cell.

Probably because I had spent the night in jail.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Mama,” I said from the back seat of her car as she pulled in the driveway. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m not sure I’d call pulling the fire alarm doing nothing wrong.”

“I was fifteen,” I murmured. I was too tired and emotionally tied up from last night to argue right now. “Sheriff Turner was being a jerk. You heard him—there weren’t any actual charges.”

If I hadn’t been blindsided last night, I would’ve questioned Turner on it. But I’d been so caught up in Nolan, and so mortified as a good chunk of town watched me climb into a police cruiser, I’d wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. It was a miracle I hadn’t flipped my shit when I realized I’d been arrested for the time I’d pulled the fire alarm my freshman year of high school.

“You were still arrested.”

I gave her a closed-mouth smile, hoping she’d see it as regret. Truth was, I didn’t regret pulling the fire alarm that day. Even knowing what I knew now, I’d do it again. Mom climbed out of the car, and I adjusted my cat where she sat on my lap. Genny peered up at me with her one and only eye, the color a faint green. Purring, she pressed against my palm in silent demand of more rubs, careless to her black hair clumping on Mom’s seats. She’d made the entire journey with me to Arizona. After a five-hour flight and a four-hour taxi ride, it would’ve been easier to leave her in New York, but we were a team. I didn’t trust anyone to take care of her the way I did.

I’d bet she was the first cat in Wallowpine to do time.

After easing Genny into her carrier, I grabbed it and climbed out of the back seat and took in a deep breath of mountain air. It was the beginning of September. Fall was slowly creeping up, and I was sure there’d be glimpses of red and orange leaves sprinkled throughout the forest in no time.

“Your dad is at the diner.” Mom opened the trunk, helping me grab my luggage. “I need to get over there too. There’s cereal in the kitchen. Your dad picked up some Lucky Charms for you.”

I scrunched my nose, my stomach turning. I hadn’t eaten that in years. “I’m okay,” I told her, letting my gaze trail toward the house. It was a simple, cottage-like home. It was small and white, with two stories and an open porch, wedged cozily in a grove of pine trees. I hadn’t been here since I was eighteen. I waited for the feeling of being home to wash over me, but the longer I stared, the more I felt nothing. “If there’s enough time, maybe I can shower before we go to the diner? If you need to go now, I’ll skip it.”

I followed her up the pathway, luggage in one hand and Genny’s carrier in the other. “There’s no rush.” Mom pushed open the door, and I might’ve teased her for still not locking it had I not seen the flower beds—or lack of them. The soil was dry, the wood lining the beds was rotted, and if I peered close enough in the tangled weeds, I thought I saw a dead mouse. There was no sign of the roses and verbena, the vibrant flowers gone. No proof of the sweat and hours I’d put into tending it. I was about to ask Mom what happened when she said, “Dad and I were thinking of taking the weekend off and going to Phoenix. Thought you might enjoy being in the city rather than hanging out here.”

I set my things down inside and closed the door, leaving my concern for the flowers outside. “What about the diner?”

She waved me off. “The staff will be fine on their own. ”

“I mean . . . that would be fun.” But it wasn’t why I’d come to Arizona. If I wanted to be in the city, I could’ve stayed in New York. “You don’t need to worry about entertaining me.” I pressed my lips together, not missing the way she avoided my gaze. In nine years, I could count the number of times I’d seen her on one hand. Yet I was right here, and she wouldn’t look at me. “I think it would be a good idea if I worked a shift or two with you and Dad before you leave to help Auburn. I’m probably a little rusty.”

“About that . . .” She hesitated, giving me a half smile. “I know we agreed you’d help while we were away. But we’ve built a good team. They can handle things until we get back.”

I pursed my lips. I hadn’t talked to them directly about it, but Auburn had told me they almost seemed excited I was coming home. What had changed? “Well, I’m here and I’d like to help.”

“And we appreciate it.” She tipped her chin, her smooth red curls falling against her shoulders. She looked as put together as she always had, even with the addition of gray dusting her roots and wrinkles beside her eyes. “But I’m positive you have better things to do than wait on tables. And if you’re worried about money, you don’t need to be. Dad and I will help you out. We just want you to focus on preparing for your interview. You’ve worked so hard, and I’d hate for this . . . town to distract you.”

I stilled, throat tight with understanding. I glanced around the room, surprised with how familiar it was. There was an American flag encased in a frame on the wall, given to Dad after he’d retired from the army. There were deer mounts and photos of Auburn and me from over the years, both filled with endless memories. If I looked close enough at the bottom step on the staircase, I was positive I’d find splatters of old blood from when Auburn had busted her chin on it. Not much had changed since I’d last stepped foot inside, but I’d never felt more out of place. I realized as Mom looked at me, she was thinking the same thing.

This wasn’t about her trusting me to run the diner. She didn’t trust me to be here at all. I couldn’t exactly blame her. She’d just picked me up from jail. In her eyes, I was nothing but the reckless and wayward teenager I’d once been. The one who chucked watermelons at stop signs and let squirrels loose in the principal’s office. The one who married her high school boyfriend at the courthouse, despite her begging me not to.

“Mom,” I began, unable to let this go. I wanted her to trust me, to believe I could follow through, to see how much I’d changed. I wanted her to be proud of me. If I had to earn it, that was fine. I’d worked two jobs while at college, so it had taken me six years to get my bachelor’s degree. They were some of the hardest and loneliest years of my life, but they proved I could work hard. “I’m here for the month, and then I’m going back to New York. Nothing is going to distract me from that.”

It was quiet, and as I looked into her brown eyes, I braced myself for her to disagree. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders tight beneath her beige sweater. Just when I thought she would send me packing, she blew out a breath. “Okay, we’ll give it a try. But you have to run it exactly how I would, and you can’t heckle my customers, alright?” I smiled wide, nodding. “And you have to promise, if there comes a point you need to leave, you’ll leave. And don’t go looking for any trouble, no matter how tempting it is.”

Her words weighed on me, weakening my defenses. It didn’t matter if I was taller than her—she had an ability to make me feel so small. But I steeled myself with what I knew. I might’ve been a troublemaker in the past, but I’d grown up. This was my chance to prove it. To show I’d taken that loud and restless child and reformed her into someone she could be proud of.

“I’m here for you and Dad.” It wasn’t a lie. I might’ve come to finish my divorce with Nolan, but I was staying for them. And then I was leaving for me. “Trust me, Mama. I’m not looking for any trouble.”

“Yeah, well . . . trouble always seems to have a knack for finding you.”

Instead of letting Mom’s lack of faith hang over me, I used it as fuel to light a fire within me. I might’ve been reluctant to come home, but if I had to be here, I was determined to give it my all. So when a familiar face walked into the Struttin’-Ruttin’ Diner later that afternoon, I knew this was my chance.

I pulled my hair back into a bun and ensured my apron was clean before I slipped out from behind the counter. Notepad in hand, I approached the table. “Welcome in. Can I get you started with a drink?”

“Yeah, I’d like a . . .” His voice trailed off, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “What . . . what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mr. Walsh.” I gave my high school English teacher a bright smile. “I’m in town for a few weeks to help my parents. It’s great to see you.”

He glanced around the diner, as though to see if he’d walked into the right place. Like everything else in this town, not much had changed with the diner since my parents opened it thirty years ago. Wallowpine was in the mountains, and a hunting hot spot, so there was no shortage of antlers, Watch for Bigfoot warnings, and cheesy fishing posters like You can tune a guitar, but you can’t tuna fish . Just outside the front door, there was a wooden statue of a bear holding a rifle.

It was a very classy town.

After confirming he hadn’t left our Podunk town, Mr. Walsh sputtered a cough, not quite meeting my gaze. “That’s—that’s nice of you to help your folks.” He patted a hand on his shirt, pulling his phone out of his shirt pocket. “I need to get this, sorry.” He stumbled out of his chair, the table screeching against the wood floor.

I stood there, stunned, as he ran out of the diner like I’d told him I kidnapped his firstborn son and tied him to a railroad track. Ears burning, I was glancing at the other customers, ensuring no one had noticed when a smooth voice said, “I don’t know what his deal was, but I thought you looked real pretty with that smile. Sort of reminded me of Nicholas Cage’s smile from Mandy .”

I glowered at Nolan, surprised to find him leaning against the counter. When had he gotten here? “Bite me.”

“Sure thing. You always liked when I used a little bit of teeth. ”

I gaped at him, and the only thing that was keeping me from pulling the ball cap off his head and smacking him with it was the fact there were witnesses. “What do you want?”

“Well, if you’re offering—I’d love some coffee. Throw a little bit of sugar in there too, would ya? I like it extra sweet.” He winked, and I rolled my eyes. Nolan never could resist flirting—apparently not even with his ex-wife.

I stepped behind the counter to make him a cup of coffee, stopping when I saw Mom walk through the back door. “You can’t be here.” I didn’t need her to think I was already up to no good. “Please leave.”

He furrowed his brows. “Why?” he pressed, then followed my gaze to where my parents were. It was only a matter of time before they noticed he was here. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I’m here all the time—”

I set my hands on his stomach and pushed, steering him out the door.

“You know,” Nolan said, backpedaling, “I thought we agreed last night not to touch each other without asking.”

I groaned. How had I married such an insufferable man? Leading him off the porch and around the bear statue, I kept going, not stopping until after we’d rounded the building and were away from watchful eyes. “How drunk were you last night?” I dropped my hands and stepped back to look him over, knowing that had to be the reason he was smiling at me. “Do you remember anything?”

His smile wavered. “Believe me, I’m never drunk enough to forget you.”

Anyone else might’ve beamed, but I heard his words for what they were. Nolan wished he could forget me. I didn’t blame him.

I felt the same way.

“I take it you signed the papers?” I asked. Clearly he had no other reason to seek me out on a Saturday afternoon.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the papers, making no move to hand them over. “You’re really doing this, huh?” He waved a hand at me, motioning to my apron. “Staying and helping your parents?”

I stirred on my feet, struggling not to fidget. “Yes.”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to? Thought you were working with that sports agency in New York. ”

I furled and unfurled my hands, reminding myself it wasn’t a big deal if Nolan knew what I’d been up to. It was a small town; it wasn’t like he kept tabs on me. “I am.” It wasn’t a lie. Just this morning, Evelyn had texted and asked me to post on Calder Rohan’s social media, something to distract from the news of his DUI leaking. “I can work away from the office, it’s not a big deal. It’s only for a month.”

Before he could ask more and discover I was potentially unemployed, I asked, “What about you? What do you do?”

A smirk toyed on his lips. He probably thought I had kept up on his life. I hadn’t. It was better that way. “I own Dad’s shop. Took over after he passed.”

My stomach dropped, and it was quiet as the truth settled between us. Last time I’d seen Nolan, his father was alive. Now Wayne was gone. Pushing aside the divorce a touch longer, I said, “You used to tell me that if you ever got roped into running the game shop, it would be because you were possessed, and I needed to exorcise your body because that’s the last thing you’d ever want.”

I’d meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood. But I couldn’t help but feel like Nolan was looking at me like he couldn’t believe I had the nerve to talk about his dad at all. “It’s not half bad.” He cleared his throat. “Might’ve dragged my feet a few years ago, but I kind of enjoy it now.”

“You run it by yourself?”

“Mostly. Levi works when he comes home from school, and Brooks helps when he can—his wife, Shay, too. I’ve got Jake working with me—though I think he’s mostly there to drive me insane. He came out of retirement after Wren died.”

I gave him a small smile, not knowing what to say. I’d known Wren had passed away—but the news had been a shock. I hadn’t known she was sick. Life had kept going even after I’d run away. “I’m sure your dad is proud of you. It probably makes him happy seeing you run the shop.”

Nolan snorted, the first he’d let his smile drop. “You can say that because you weren’t here.” My chest tightened. Before I could backtrack and say who knew what, he held his hand out. “I brought your papers back. ”

“Thank you.” I grabbed them and brushed off what had just happened—we were almost finished. But it didn’t feel that way as I flipped through the documents. “You . . . you didn’t sign them.”

“Nope.”

“But—” I clenched my jaw, swallowing down that fire I felt brewing within me. “You were supposed to sign them. Was there something you didn’t like?”

“I had something else I wanted to propose.”

He stepped toward me and leaned in real close. Close enough I could see the faint stubble on his jawline, taste the mint lining his warm breath. Close enough I could see he was anything but drunk. Except there was no way he was sober when he said, “How about you stay married to me instead?”