CHAPTER 17
Tally
HOPE HARBOR TOWN CHAT
RAYNA: Don’t forget book club has been moved to tonight!
BABS: I’ll be there with my giant blue alien dildo for the presentation
STEW: Mayor! Mayor! Someone should be monitoring this chat!
PENNY: There will be no dildo demonstrations at the bookstore. We BUY, READ, and DISCUSS books. We don’t present them!
FLETCHER: Ladies, could you take this to a private group chat?
BABS: Oh, Fletcher, don’t be such a prude!
* * *
Unlike most people, I enjoy the rain. I like the way it sounds when it drums against the roof.
I especially loved it when, growing up, I would retreat to one of the cottages that had skylights in it.
When we were in high school, Penny and I used to grab sleeping bags and spend the night out there if there was a rainstorm.
I felt like I was a flower on those nights, wild and free.
Which means that when I wake up and it’s raining, I’m thrilled. It feels like a second chance. Like maybe my dad is washing away all the bad from the last week and giving me a fresh start.
Pulling on my rain jacket, I head outside and pad lightly down the path toward my car, hoping to not get my legs too wet, only to spot one of the metal canisters I’d placed on my mother’s porch tipped over sideways with the flowers spilling out.
The wind from the rainstorm must have knocked it over.
I should clean up the mess before she has a chance to slip on it.
I’m just setting it back in its place when the front door swings open.
“Tally!” my mother says in surprise.
I glance up from my crouched position and stand, swiping at my now wet knees. “Hi, Mom.”
Her face breaks into a smile, and she leans against the door, holding it open.
She’s wearing a cozy sweater and a long skirt, and her glasses hang on a beaded chain around her neck.
In this moment she looks so much like how she used to when Dad was still here: warm and excited to see me. I almost burst into tears.
“Are you the one who put them there? I would have said thank you, but I thought it was Walker.”
I try not to let my face fall, even though her words sting.
“I wanted to brighten up your porch,” I tell her.
“Well, I love them.”
“Good.”
I take a step closer. “I’m really sorry about uncovering the tulips.”
My mom shakes her head. “You didn’t know. As Walker pointed out, we probably should have talked to both you and Penny.”
My eyes widen. I can’t believe Walker actually said that. Or that she agrees. Before I can say anything else, though, my mother speaks again. “Where are you off to?”
“Oh, I’m heading into town to go grocery shopping.” I nibble on my lip, trying to decide whether I should say the next words. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“It feels like you maybe don’t want me here. Like you’d rather have Billie and Walker than me and Penny.”
My mother’s entire expression morphs from one of concern to devastation. “Tally, never.”
“Mom, be real with me. What’s going on? Why did you hire Walker? Why have you been avoiding me?”
My mom opens her mouth and shuts it more times than I can count in just a few seconds. Then she shakes her head. “It’s not an easy answer.”
“Try anyway.”
She lets out a long sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want you here.
It’s that I don’t want you or your sister to feel obligated to be here.
I hired Walker and Billie to help so that the two of you can have your own lives.
Your father and I chased our dreams, and it’s only fair that we let you do the same. ”
The pressure that had been sitting on my chest eases slightly. “We don’t feel obligated, Mom. This is our farm. Our home.”
My mother frowns. “But when we saw you at Christmas, you were so excited about your job in Nantucket this summer. What happened with that?”
“I’m still going,” I promise her. “But I want to help you guys with the Daffodil Festival and wedding season before I go. It’s so much work. I somehow forgot how massive this place is.”
My mother looks weary as she stares out at the place she once saw as magic. “It’s not the same as it was, but yes, it takes a lot to maintain. Thank God we have Walker.”
“Yes, thank God we have Walker,” I mumble. My mother nudges me in the shoulder, and I giggle. “What? The man barely speaks.”
“Yet yesterday you seemed to hang on his every word.” She grins. “I was young once, too. He’s a good-looking man.”
I cough out a laugh. “Mom.”
“Oh, stop it. I’m widowed, not blind. And I’m not interested, despite whatever silly ideas you and your sister get in your heads.” She eyes me like she knows all about the things I was accusing Walker of doing with my mother.
Red in the cheeks, I defend myself. “We’re just looking out for you.”
My mother reaches out to hug me, ignoring my wet jacket, and I rest my head against her chest. “Well, don’t. I’m your mother. Let me watch out for you. Just know that I love you and want you to go after every dream you have.”
I squeeze her tight, holding in the tears that threaten to spill over. I try not to focus on all the dreams I used to have and the man that will never get to see me achieve them. “I’m making dinner tonight at the house. Will you come? I even invited Walker.”
My mother arches a brow. “You’re not going to poison him, right?”
“Mom.” She chuckles, and I relax at this change in attitude from her. “I’m glad we talked.”
She smiles. “Me, too. And I’ll be there for dinner. Can I make anything?”
“Nope. It’s my treat. My apology dinner.” I waggle my brows. “Any special requests?”
“No, darling.” My mother pulls me in for another hug. “And please know I’m happy you’re here for the season, and to help us get the farm through the first spring without your daddy. Just promise me you won’t stop chasing your own dreams. That’s my only request.”
—
Half an hour later, I’m dodging puddles as I make my way to the grocery store with the intention of finding all the ingredients for my mother’s favorite, chicken Parmesan.
That ticks off something special for her and still meets Walker’s request for Italian. I’m trying hard to keep my promise to her—and the one I made to myself in honor of my father. I will try to make these next two months work with Walker.
Last night—and maybe even this morning—I think we made progress. I know I have my work cut out for me to prove to them both that I want to help, that they can trust me to listen and do what they need, but I’m willing to do just that. I’m determined to make this work.
I grab a black cart from outside Tom’s Market and head toward the front of the store.
The brick building is on the same busy downtown street as my sister’s bookstore and has limited parking.
. Most of the food is farm to table from local families in the area, though, so it’s worth the hefty price tag and difficulty of getting here.
There’s a beautiful daffodil wreath hanging on the front door. I recognize it as one of the ones my family was selling at the farmers market. It’s nice to see other businesses supporting the farm. It’s also exciting that the town is starting to decorate for spring. It truly is my favorite season.
With that in mind, I think of something else that I enjoy. Teasing my new friend, Walker.
ME: When you said ‘cowboy stuff,’ was that slang for playing with your stallion?
I snort as I imagine Walker’s reaction to my text and push open the door. Inside, light music plays. I place my phone in the space on the cart meant for a drink and pull up my shopping list before heading to the vegetable aisle.
“Looks like someone is having a dinner party,” a familiar voice says from over my shoulder.
I shift my body to face Eli, who is looking as handsome as ever and wearing his typical grin.
“Every night with me is a party,” I tease.
He chuckles as he runs a hand down his chin. “I don’t doubt that.”
My phone buzzes in the cup, and my eyes drop to read the incoming text.
COWBOY: what the hell are you talking about woman?
A loud laugh bursts out of me. God, I wish I could have seen his face when he wrote that.
“Who’s ‘Cowboy’?”
I eye Eli. “You reading my texts?”
“Just seeing who my competition is.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Cowboy?”
I roll my eyes. As if the hot ex-NHL player is actually interested in me.
“It’s Walker,” I admit.
Eli’s entire demeanor shifts and his shoulders straighten. “Wait, he gave you his number?”
Eyebrows raised, I tilt my head to study him. “You interested in him?”
“The man barely says two words. Been trying to get him to hang out with me and Fletch for months.”
I pick up my phone. “Want his number?”
Eli looks like he just hit the lottery. “Hell yeah. Text it to me?”
Teasing, I hold the phone close to my chest. “You trying to get my number, too, Eli Davis?”
“I’m much smoother than that, Tally. You won’t question it when I’m asking you out.”
“Such a shameless flirt,” I chuckle with a shake of my head as I hand him my phone, letting him input his number. Then I text him Walker’s contact information.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Tally Darling,” he says as he stores the number in his contacts.
—
By the time I get back to the farm, my body is soaked through from all the rain. I quickly put away the groceries and head up to Walker’s room to take a long, hot shower before dinner.
I text him to let him know where I’ll be when he gets home before I peel off my wet clothes and drop them in the laundry room. Fully undressed, I run up the stairs in only my bra and underwear and head straight into the bathroom.
After turning on the shower to let it heat, I open the bathroom door and peek into Walker’s—my—room.
The other day when I was in here, I was searching for secrets. Today I look at everything in plain sight. I’m starting to think that’s how Walker works. What you see is what you get.
I pick up the picture of his nephew beside his bed.
He’s wearing a Boston Bolts hat that’s too big for his head, and he’s staring up at the camera with what appears to be the remnants of an orange Popsicle dripping down his face.
He’s adorable. I set it back down and then stare at the bed.
There are two pillows on it—no shams or decorative pillows at all—and a simple gray comforter that isn’t familiar.
For some reason, I have this desperate urge to pick up one of the pillows and smell it. That would be weird, though.
Hell, standing in his bedroom nearly naked is weird enough.
Shaking my head, I stalk toward the shower.
Once inside, I lather my body and wash my hair, but after a few minutes, I’m so overheated I have no choice but to open the bedroom door to let in some air.
I grab my lotion and drop my towel on the floor.
Then, without thinking, I rest my foot on the edge of the bed so I can lather my body.
Which is the precise moment the bedroom door opens and my favorite non-cowboy walks in.