Chapter 5
Paige
Family dinners were sometimes like minefields, and this one was no exception.
It was only a few days after Hunter’s birthday, and I still couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Not just because of what he said—though that would’ve been enough.
The pact. The way he’d looked at me when he mentioned it, like he wasn’t entirely joking.
But mostly, it was that kiss. Or...whatever it was.
A misfire. A half-second mistake. My aim had been for his cheek, but then he turned at the last moment, and suddenly my lips were on the corner of his mouth.
It wasn’t a real kiss. It shouldn’t have meant anything. So why was I still thinking about it?
My family was also obsessed with the subject. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me when I was going to start dating again. I could finally afford a vacation somewhere tropical and warm. They were driving me crazy.
It was almost a sport now, the way they couldn’t help sneaking glances at me whenever the conversation lulled.
I’d learned to recognize the way their eyes would flick from their plates to my face, then dart away again—hopeful, nosy, brimming with anticipation, as if at any moment I might announce something dramatic about me and Hunter.
Every time I picked up my phone or let my gaze wander toward the driveway, a ripple of silent speculation swept through the yard.
It was only a matter of time before one of them broke and said something.
The first offender: My grandmother.
She sat down next to me at the picnic table, holding a plate loaded with baked beans, a burger, and some kind of kale salad that I had no intention of acknowledging because it had raisins in it. Raisins. Ew.
“Well, honey,” she said, patting my hand like I was a spinster in a Regency novel, “you’re not getting any younger.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” I muttered. “What a comforting thing to say at a family barbecue.”
We were at the Honeybrook Inn for our monthly Darlington weenie roast. Two of my sisters were here with their significant others, two came alone, like me, and my girls were here too.
All I wanted was to stuff my face with hot dogs and relax, but that seemed unlikely with the specter of their matchmaking tendencies hovering over my head like a fricking storm cloud.
The heart of our family was the inn. The Honeybrook Inn, referred to by locals simply as The Honeybrook, which my grandparents had owned for as long as anyone could remember.
My grandpa had inherited it from his grandmother, who’d inherited it from her grandfather, and so on, stretching back to some sepia-toned photograph of a dusty Main Street and a hopeful wooden sign.
The inn itself was a patchwork of old timber and newer paint, with creaking floors that told stories with every step and flower boxes that overflowed from every window in the summer.
Tourists adored it—something about the promise of small-town peace and the proximity to some of the best ski resorts in Oregon.
People returned year after year, scribbling their gratitude in the battered guestbook, promising to come back for the autumn harvest festival or just a piece of the homemade cherry pie.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours, and the way it held together through every family storm was almost miraculous.
My grandparents’ house was tucked right at the back of the property, beyond the clusters of lilacs and the rickety swing set, private but close enough that you could always catch a whiff of whatever was simmering on my grandmother’s stove.
From their kitchen window, you could see straight across the sprawling lawn to the inn’s front porch.
Their house was flanked by a small red barn and a ramshackle chicken coop.
Just beyond that was Grandma’s rescue animal enclosure, complete with goats, a miniature donkey, and a goose who had beef with the UPS guy.
Near the porch was the outdoor kitchen my grandfather built from old barn wood and stone, with a giant grill, prep counter, and long wooden table that had seen more birthday candles and root beer floats than I could count. I loved it here. It was peaceful. It was home.
My family was chaotic, messy, and occasionally scandalous—but it worked.
Mostly thanks to my grandparents, who refused to let the sins of their oldest son be passed down to the next generation.
Grandpa always said he wouldn’t live in a world where his five granddaughters didn’t know each other.
So, through “gentle” persuasion and a lot of stubbornness, he made sure we became a family.
I was the oldest granddaughter. Piper was next—we shared the same mother.
Lucy and Cara were the same age, born to different mothers.
My father was married to Lucy’s mom while cheating on her with Cara’s mom.
Eliza came after. Dad left Lucy’s mom for hers, and they were still married and living in Portland.
Probably pretending none of this ever happened.
Everyone in Honeybrook Hollow knew my dad was a serial cheater, but this was the kind of town that wouldn’t say it out loud unless you were new and asked the wrong question.
However, people loved my grandparents and us girls, so the scandal faded into lore and eventually became a story about resilience—or at least, a testament to stubborn family bonding.
Piper was curled up on a blanket, feeding her new boyfriend, Ren, strawberries like he was royalty.
But I wasn’t about to tease her. Ren was my divorce attorney; he was as tough as nails and brilliant.
He was steady, loyal, kind, and precisely what Piper needed in her life.
When I realized he was single, I set him up with her so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
It was in the top five of my life accomplishments as far as I was concerned.
With my three kids and sticking it to Eli being the top four.
Lucy was off somewhere with her boyfriend, Spencer—Hunter’s youngest brother—probably making out behind a tree.
And Cara and Eliza were by the firepit, roasting hot dogs and arguing about whether cappuccinos were acceptable at weddings or if only champagne and sparkling cider were appropriate.
“Discussing” (arguing about) dumb stuff was their favorite hobby.
Two-thirds of my kids were around, too. Noah was in Portland at culinary school, probably cooking dinner for his girlfriend.
Briar was in a lawn chair, scrolling with her usual vaguely offended face.
Lark was under a tree nearby with a book, but she kept glancing at her sister instead of reading.
The girls were acting odd. Which immediately put me on high alert.
Briar was tough, mouthy, and fiercely independent. She was also dramatic and stubborn, and I loved that about her. Lark was quiet and studious, but even more stubborn. And when the two of them were pretending not to be having a conversation, something was definitely up.
I cracked open a Diet Coke and took a long swig, watching them with narrowed eyes.
Grandma leaned in like she was about to deliver state secrets. “I saw Hunter in town the other day. He’s still as handsome as ever.”
“Oh my god.” I choked on the soda. It went up my nose and everything. “Are you serious right now?”
She handed me a napkin, entirely unbothered. “I’m just saying. You two used to be thick as thieves.”
“We still are,” I said, dabbing at my face. “He’s just—”
“A man who shows up when you need help. Fixes things. Looks at you like you’re more than just tired bones and stubborn pride.”
I stabbed a baked bean and gave her my best please stop matchmaking glare. “You’re very nosy. Are you aware of that?”
“I’m old,” she said, totally unrepentant. “It’s the only hobby I have left.”
“We’re not talking about this.” I resisted the urge to tell her Hunter had asked me to dinner. She would shit a brick and then double her efforts.
“You’re both finally single at the same time.” She pushed with a wink. “Wasn’t it his birthday the other day? I heard you brought him muffins. Next year, bake them yourself. I’ll give you my grandmother’s recipe. I mean, you could do worse than a handsome man like Hunter.”
I could do worse. And I had. Exhibit A: my ex-husband.
“You heard, did you? From Eliza? The damn muffin.”
“Of course. She keeps the family abreast of all the pertinent news in town.”
“That’s it,” I declared. “Coffee Cabin has lost my business. It’s official.”
“Okay, sure, you can’t resist our mochas, and everyone knows it. All I’m trying to say is it’s time to get out there again, honey.”
“Nope. Not worth it. I’m choosing to die alone,” I said. “The plan is to adopt a few cats. One kid is already out of the house. The other two are teenagers. Piper and I have a date next week to go caftan shopping. My future is set.”
“We’ll see,” she tutted. “You just need more time.”
“Yeah. Like, all of it. All the time for the rest of my life. Men are not worth the trouble.”
“You know that’s not true. Look around this yard. Good men are everywhere.”
I rolled my eyes and shoved a forkful of beans into my mouth with extra flair.
“I’ll let it go,” Grandma said sweetly. “For now.”
I watched Briar and Lark again, narrowing my gaze. Briar was now whispering to her sister behind a strategically placed napkin. Lark looked miserable and totally guilty.
I got up and made my way over, planting myself between their chairs like a one-woman truth commission.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Briar said, her eyes fixed on her phone.
“Yeah,” Lark echoed too quickly. “We’re totally fine.”
“That was the least convincing ‘totally fine’ I’ve ever heard,” I said, crossing my arms. “Spill it. Don’t make me tickle it out of you. You know I’ll do it.”
They exchanged a look.
I waited. Wiggling my fingers for emphasis.
Finally, Lark sighed and nudged her sister. “Tell her.”