CHAPTER 5
Olivia
“ B aking is a science.” My nana’s small, wrinkled fingers work carefully to knead her pie crust. I have no idea how it’s perfect every time and she doesn’t even measure. “Cooking is something you do with love.”
I’m only twelve, but since she moved in with us a year ago, we’ve started a tradition of cooking together every week.
She says it’s important to learn to create food, that it’s an art, a form of therapy.
She says her best thinking is done when she’s baking.
She looks over my shoulder where I stir the lemon curd for her famous pie.
Tomorrow is a big day. It’s my grandpa’s birthday, maybe his last one, and even though he’s in a home now, we’re still taking him his favorite dessert.
“Perfect, Livi,” Nana says with a smile. “You’re a natural.”
I breathe in her rose scent as “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley starts to play through the radio. Nana grabs my hand, her diamond ring from my grandpa glints in the sunlight as she twirls me, singing as she does, and I’ve never felt so safe or so loved.
The commotion of voices through thin cabin walls wakes me from my sleep. A smile is spread across my face, though my eyes remain closed. It always feels as though my nana is visiting me when I dream of her.
I open one eye and take in my surroundings, realizing I am not at home.
Ugh. My head is pounding as I remember everything from the night before.
It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. My eyes well with tears as I think of the damage to my kitchen.
My dad and I spent hours sanding my hundred-year-old wood floors and painting the old cabinets in the kitchen white to brighten the space.
We added new hardware and made my cozy little craftsman perfect for me with a mix of warm woods, soft comfortable fabrics, and décor.
The old fireplace in the living room was restored to its original wood-burning status and the mantel is a pretty walnut color, home to family photos and trinkets I’ve collected over the years.
My house was my safe space and now it’s in shambles.
“Babe?” I hear CeCe call through the cabin wall now.
“Here,” I croak, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms as Ginger’s and CeCe’s smiling faces appear at the bedroom door. CeCe is holding an extra-large latte from Spicer’s. Bless her damn soul.
“Why didn’t you call us?” Ginger asks, taking a seat on the edge of my bed and wrapping her arms around me. Her long, curly brown hair smells like coconut.
“Holy shit, you smell like a vineyard. What happened last night?” She wrinkles her nose and I flop back down. I can’t tell them the reason I was drinking was because every time one of them talks about their glowing future it feels like a stab to the heart.
“I was just having some wine. Maybe too much wine,” I admit. “I was feeling lonely, I guess. Ever since Biscuit died my house is so quiet.” I look up to their faces full of pity and I hate it.
“Anyway, I thought I would bake some banana bread. Wayne said I must have used wax paper instead of parchment to line my pan. They’re pretty sure that’s what caught fire.”
“You should’ve called. You could’ve stayed with us.” CeCe sits at the foot of my bed, running a hand over her five-month baby bump. Her long blond hair is in a high messy bun and the navy Henley she wears is snug, making her look like she’s ready to pop.
“As if I’m going to interrupt what little sleep you get right now,” I say before turning to Ginger. “And your spare room is taken over by wedding props and gifts. Asher thought to ask your mom.”
CeCe raises an eyebrow, her green eyes dancing with intrigue. “ Asher thought? He mentioned he was on the scene, but finding you a space to stay, that’s going above and beyond.”
I only hear the first part of her sentence, not acknowledging that it is above and beyond for him to take care of me when he hardly knows me.
“He mentioned it? When?”
“This morning. He was at the big house.”
I glance down, knowing the look CeCe is giving me.
She and Ginger have always said that there was some kind of spark between us.
Every time we’re at the Horse and Barrel and he delivers our drinks, or side-eyes me, one of them nudges me.
I’m not denying I’m drawn to Asher, but most of the time it feels as though it pains him to say more than two words to me.
“It was strictly professional. He brought me here after they put out the fire and he medically cleared me.”
I remember the way his eyes dropped to my lips, before I push the vision from my mind. Instead, I glance at the clock on the wall, noting it’s only seven-thirty in the morning. News travels fast.
“Don’t you have an appointment?” I ask CeCe, attempting to change the subject. She shakes her head immediately. “Uh-uh. You’re not doing that, my appointment is hours away. What do you need? We’re here for you. ”
I take a deep breath and look between my best friends.
“I need to call my insurance company. I need to call my parents. But first, I need coffee.” I motion grabby hands at CeCe.
“He asked about you, you know,” she says as she places the paper cup in my hand.
I shy away from her smug look. “Just doing his job,” I mumble.
“We told him how grateful you were that he was there, and that we’d say hi for him,” Ginger adds.
“Because you’re shit disturbers,” I deadpan.
Ginger pushes her dark curls off her shoulder with a giggle.
“He also said you’ll need some water and Tylenol. He probably does that for everyone though. Strictly professional.”
I feel myself blush. “Nothing is going on.” “We know, but the real question is why not? ” she asks, waggling her eyebrows playfully. I look up at her. She doesn’t understand; she met her soulmate when she was a teenager, even if it took them years to admit it.
“Look, I’ll be honest. Seeing the two of you settled, happy, planning out your blissful futures, it’s made me crave what you both have. But Asher Reed isn’t the answer. We are total opposites in every way.”
The two of them look at each other and try not to laugh.
“He doesn’t need to be your future to be … fun, ” Ginger offers.
“The problem with you two”—I point to both of my best friends—“is that you’ve gone from baddies to married little biddies now and are just searching for juicy drama where there isn’t any.”
CeCe places her hand over mine. “Okay, so Asher isn’t ‘the one.’” She pauses for a beat, tapping her lips. “Ooh, I have an idea. What if we sign you up on eMatch? Maybe you’ll find the one there.”
“No way. I draw the line at dating apps.” I mimic tracing an invisible line in the air.
“They aren’t what they used to be,” Ginger pipes up. “Lots of people meet their soulmate online now.” Her tone is so convincing she could advertise for the damn app.
“You’re incredible, Liv, and I bet you’ll have so many matches you’ll be handpicking them—”
“You know what? Fine,” I give in, hoping they’ll stop talking so I can sip my coffee in peace. “I’ll try it. But if I get any weirdos, I’m out.”
“Define weirdos …” Ginger grins. I shoot her a look that tells her I’m about to change my mind.
“Of course, no weirdos. Deal,” CeCe says, clapping. “We’ll help you set it up.”
“This is gonna be so fun!” Ginger’s excitement scares me. Cole has turned her into a blissful romantic who wants everyone else to be as starry-eyed as she is.
“And we’re only doing this because you won’t take advantage of what is right in front of you,” CeCe adds, holding up her orange juice.
“Look, even if we weren’t extremely different”—I remember our fire chief ’s words from last night—“Asher is not the type to settle down. He told me himself. Plus, he’s the epitome of the bad boy I said I’d never date again. And he’s a firefighter.”
Ginger gasps and covers her mouth in mock horror. “Not an extremely hot, hands-on profession!”
I start to laugh in spite of myself. “Look, it’s just the idea of being with any man with such a risky career is a hard no for me.”
The fuzzy image of him getting out of his truck looking like a small-town superhero last night enters my mind. I suppose Ginger has a point—it was hot.
“I’d just like to know the odds are on my future husband’s side that he’ll come home to me every night.”
“I hate to break it to you, but your future boring husband could get hit by a bus walking across the street,” Ginger fires back.
“We don’t have buses in Laurel Creek,” I answer dryly.
Ginger sticks out her tongue. “Semantics.” “And we’re talking about it for nothing.
All I’m looking for right now is a long-term, steady relationship.
Asher Reed not only sorta, kinda scares the shit out of me, but he also has zero interest in that.
” I picture his face scowling down at me last night. “ Or me. ”
Reaching for my phone, I almost moan as I take my first big sip of coffee, knowing it’s time to face the music. I quietly dial my parents’ number, take a deep breath, and brace for impact.
“What are you doing up here so early, darlin’?” a deep and kind voice asks as I pull in the fresh air and the view from the big house back porch.
“I didn’t know you were here. I don’t want to disturb you,” I say to Jo’s dad, Dean. We all call him Papa Dean. I’ve known him for almost my whole life; he’s not just the Ashbys’ grand-dad, he’s everyone’s granddad.
“There’re plenty of chairs out here for a reason.” He brings his coffee to his lips and takes a big sip, his white mustache twitching, his form of a grin.
“I just came to grab one of Jo’s famous muffins and another coffee.”
“Mm-hmm. Needed some breathing room?”
“Yep,” I answer, settling into the moment as we look out over the peaceful property together.
“I was thinking about taking a walk through the trails, to clear my head,” I admit. The early-morning sun is beaming down, evaporating the light dew in the grass.