Chapter 4
Amelia
Where the hell is my other shoe?
I stomp into the hallway, yelling for my sister, Hazel, who has a chronic condition called ‘borrowing without asking’. She’s eleven years younger and somehow still the biggest pain in my ass. All I want is for her to ask before taking my stuff. Is that too much?
Our house is a war zone. Not just a little messy, it’s a full-blown bombsite.
The kind of place where you have to step over sofa cushions, dodge sneakers, and pray you don’t step on a Lego piece.
The hallway walls, once a nice shade of cream, are now covered in everything from sticky fingerprints to random scribbles, thanks to Felix.
The living room? A battlefield of laundry, snack crumbs, and half-finished homework is scattered across the coffee table.
I would’ve moved out ages ago, like Aurora, but Mom needs me. So, I’m stuck here, playing referee in a house that has zero respect for personal space. Privacy? What’s that? Alone time? I wish. Everything I own magically becomes family property.
“Hazel!” I yell. “Where are my black shoes?”
“Which ones?” she shouts back from somewhere in the house.
I blow out a breath and march toward her room.
The second I reach her door, I know I’ve made a mistake.
The smell alone—a mix of sweet perfume, dirty clothes, and what I swear is nail polish remover—makes my eyes burn.
Clothes are everywhere. A towel hangs off the dresser.
The bed? Unmade, of course, with at least three dirty plates stacked on the nightstand.
She’s sitting in the middle of it all, headphones in, totally unaware that she’s about to get a rude awakening. I yank one out. “This shoe. Where’s the other one? And for the final time, start asking before you take my stuff.”
Like I just interrupted her peace, she blinks up at me. “I don’t know where it is.”
Of course.
Frustration simmers beneath my skin, but I inhale sharply. I’m not going to let her get to me. “Fine. Then help me find it.” I need these shoes with my outfit, and we’re already running late.
The shoes are perfect… a tiny heel, just enough to be dressy without killing my feet.
And since I’m covering today’s event for an article, I must look polished.
Black tailored pants, a tucked-in blue blouse, hair straightened, makeup done.
Ready to be professional, or at least I would be if I weren’t being trapped here by my sister’s mess.
I scan her room, my fingers twitching. “We don’t have time for this, and you’re not even ready. I bet no one else in this house is either. We need to go.”
She rolls her eyes. “Calm down.”
“Hazel, I’m working today. I can’t be late.”
“You need to relax. You need a life. Or a boyfriend.”
“I need neither. I love work,” I lie, ignoring the tiny pang in my chest. There’s something about this assignment that gives me a flicker of excitement that I can’t explain.
The guest of honor, the one I wrote about, is kind of intriguing.
I doubt he’s looking forward to officially meeting me, considering I dug into his past. But hey, journalism isn’t about making friends.
I start tossing clothes onto the bed, searching for my shoe. “I swear, if it’s buried under this mess—”
She huffs, but joins in, half-heartedly sifting through the piles. We’re at it for what feels like forever before I check under the bed. Big mistake.
“Oh, my God. That’s disgusting.” I scrunch up my nose at what I see. “Are those moldy sandwiches? What’s wrong with you? How do you live like this?”
She shrugs. “I’m sixteen.”
“When I was sixteen, I was nothing like this. This is… This is disgusting.”
“Found it,” she announces loudly as she holds up my shoe triumphantly.
I snatch it from her hand, muttering, “Get ready. You have five minutes.”
With the shoe crisis averted, I charge into the kitchen, where my little brother, Felix, is currently standing on a chair, trying to reach the top shelf of the pantry.
Mom’s in the living room, perched on the edge of the sofa, looking exhausted but determined. The dining table is still covered in breakfast dishes, despite my telling the kids to clean up three times.
Ten minutes later, I’m chasing Felix around the house with a pair of navy pants while he cackles in his underwear.
“You’re getting dressed if it’s the last thing I do!”
I finally get him into the pants, while Mom rounds up the others and gets everyone into the minivan.
Counting heads, I take a deep breath. “Everyone’s in the car? Do you all have everything you need? Does anyone need to go to the bathroom?”
Silence.
Then, predictably, “I forgot my water bottle,” says Jasper.
I groan and sprint back inside, grab it, and return. “Anything else?”
“I didn’t bring a toy,” Felix cries.
“I don’t want to go,” Atlas moans.
“I need to pee,” Sofia says, unbuckling.
I blow out a slow breath. “I asked if anyone needed to go.”
“Well, I didn’t need to go then,” Sofia says.
Once everyone’s buckled back in, I speak. “Everyone. Behave. We won’t stay long. I have work, and you all need to listen to Mom.”
I turn up the music as I pull out of the driveway. They’re still somehow louder than the radio, but at least we’re moving.
“If you want to stay later, someone else can drop us home,” Mom says.
Family’s my priority, but I can’t jeopardize the promotion. I’ll decide what to do based on how tonight goes.
I keep my eyes on the road as I answer, “I just need to get my pictures and take my notes for an article.”
Mom, sitting up front, gives me a tired but excited smile. “Don’t worry about me. I can’t wait to see everyone. I hate being cooped up. And with all the fall decorations? It’s going to look so pretty.”
I have to agree that the town festivities in fall are one of the best times of the year.
“Well, let me know if you need to leave early,” I add, concerned that pushing herself too hard could lead to something bad happening.
She nods. “Will do.”
And with that, we head toward the chaos, because apparently, I didn’t get enough at home.
Once we arrive in town, before I can even shift the car into park, the door is opened, and my siblings rush out. My family is absolutely doing my head in, but at least I can trust the townspeople to keep an eye on them.
The soft glow of fairy lights covers the town square, hanging from building to tree to gazebo, illuminating the crisp evening.
The air carries the scent of cinnamon and roasted nuts, mixing with the woodsy tang of a bonfire crackling in the distance.
The long communal table stretches down the street, dressed in white linen and decorated with delicate, colorful flowers and neatly arranged glassware.
A small folk band plays near the town hall, the sound of a fiddle blending with the murmurs of conversation. It’s spectacular. Almost enough to make me forget the sheer craziness of my life. Almost.
I lift my camera and snap a few pictures, not sure where to start; there’s so much to take in. Wine barrels set up for games, a town hall ready for dancing, hay bale sofas draped with crisp white sheets, and makeshift coffee tables made from overturned barrels.
Turning slowly, I try to fit it all into the frame, but part of me just wants to stand still and soak it in.
It’s the kind of effort that makes me love this town.
It’s also the kind of effort I wish wasn’t being wasted on a man with a reputation for breaking rules…
medical ones, no less. A doctor, of all things.
I back up a few steps, angling my camera to get the perfect shot. A photo that would make my whole article pop. The light hits just right, framing the town hall doors and the glow of string lights above the hay bale sofas. I hold my breath, finger hovering over the shutter—
“Oof—”
A firm grip steadies me, large hands wrapping around my arms. The warmth of his touch seeps through my sleeves, holding me before I can stumble.
I peer up into familiar piercing blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and the shadow of stubble that makes him look frustratingly good.
His scent is a mix of deep wood and velvety black cocoa. My stomach drops.
It’s Adrian. As in, that Adrian. The one I wrote about and stopped to help with the flock of turkeys.
“Sorry,” he says, voice deep enough to vibrate right through me as he lets go of me.
He’s dressed in jeans and a top, with a worn leather jacket, like he didn’t even try and still somehow nailed the fall festival look.
I noticed the first time we met, that for a guy, he knows how to dress.
Plus, they’re designer. I spot the fabrics and logos immediately.
His gaze holds mine for a second too long, and recognition flickers in his expression.
I cock my head when I finish my inspection. “You’re missing something.”
His eyebrows knit together, his eyes darting around. “What am I missing?”
“Your turkeys.”
He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “I never want to see them again.”
“Well, you might not have much of a choice.”
“Why’s that?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting slightly.
“Thanksgiving’s next weekend.”
He groans. “Great. What does the town do? Dance with them?”
I snort. “No, we keep them as town mascots. Cooking them is off-limits.”
His expression darkens. “Those turkeys are gonna haunt me forever, aren’t they?”
“Yep. But you haven’t met the goats yet.”
“Goats? Jesus. I need to hide.”
I grin, taking in his broad frame, the way he towers just enough to make me lift my chin. He’s entirely too good-looking to fade into the background. “You’re not gonna stay hidden here, you know. The single people are going to eat you alive.”
“Not you, though?” His voice dips, the challenge unmistakable.
I lift a shoulder. “I have priorities. Work, family. Before I even think about anything else, I need to know your story.”
His gaze flickers with something unreadable, the amusement in his eyes shifting.
Just as he opens his mouth, Keith approaches, clapping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I see you’ve met Adrian.”
I barely have time to hide my expression before Keith turns to introduce me. “This is Amelia. She writes for the newspaper.”
My stomach drops as I’ve been outed. I ignore my insides and keep my expression neutral as I wait for him to smirk and make some comment about the turkeys, or worse, pretend not to know me at all.
But Adrian’s gaze sharpens, the humor draining from his face. His jaw tightens. “You wrote that article about me?”
There’s no point pretending I don’t know what he means.
The entire town read it… probably at least twice.
And here he is, standing in the middle of a street party thrown in his honor, with townsfolk acting like he’s their new favorite person.
I square my shoulders, meeting his stare.
“Yeah. The town deserved to know the truth.”
Okay, so there’s a disconnect. A big one.
I wrote a piece that I thought was giving the people a heads-up. But from the looks of things, the smiling faces, and the chatter, either they didn’t care, or they read it and still decided to roll out the red carpet. Am I the only one not rooting for him?
Did the article do nothing… or just make me look bitter?
My throat tightens. “I stand by what I wrote.”
His jaw works, like he’s holding something back. Then he lets it slip. “Funny. You didn’t even talk to me. But sure, publish your assumptions and call it truth.”
That’s not the reaction I was expecting. Where’s the defensiveness or sarcasm? Not disappointment lacing his words. Guilt prickles beneath my skin, and I struggle to find my voice.
“If you’re going to tear someone apart,” he adds, “at least get the whole story next time.”
The air between us grows heavy. Keith clears his throat, patting Adrian on the back. “Let’s not get into that tonight. We’re here to welcome you.”
I force a tight smile, but my pulse pounds in my ears.
Adrian doesn’t respond. He just walks away, his broad shoulders stiff, and Keith gives me a look that’s part disappointment, part warning, before following Adrian.
My stomach twists, but I push it down. He’ll get over it. He’s a grown man. A smart one, supposedly. If he can’t handle a little accountability, that’s not my problem.
Still, the guilt eats at me. Because, damn it… I told myself not to care, but Adrian’s words don’t sit right in my chest. Should I have added his side of the story to the article?
I shake it off and head toward the table. If I’m going to deal with this mess, I need fuel. Something heavy enough to silence my thoughts.
Luna stops me before I can get there. “I think your mom needs to go home. She’s looking a little tired. Do you want me to take her?”
I smile. “That would be great, but let me get her something to eat first.”
“How’s it going tonight?” she asks, falling into step beside me. “Did you get any good shots? Talk to Adrian?”
I swallow hard, my eyes flicking to where he stands with Keith, looking like he’s ready to bolt. “Oh, we talked.”
“Did you get an interview?”
Working on another piece about him was what Luna asked for. Swallowing hard, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Not exactly.”
She hums. “Well, there’s still time.”
Glancing at Adrian again, I watch the way his jaw tics, his hands clenching at his sides. I wouldn’t count on it.
But even as I say it, I know deep down… I need to hear his side of the story.