Mine (Harmony Haven #3)

Prologue

WEST

SUNDAY DINNER

“Mine!” I said, grinning as I snatched the last piece of cornbread from the platter in the center of my grandparents’ table.

“Dude,” Easton groaned. “You’ve already had four.”

“You know he doesn’t eat well during the week,” Jesse, Easton’s girlfriend, chimed in, trying to defend me as Easton shrugged and nodded in agreement.

“I eat just fine,” I muttered, eyeing both of them for talking about me like I wasn’t sitting right there.

“He probably lives on frozen pizza and sour gummy worms,” Easton continued under his breath.

“I have a housekeeper who doubles as my chef,” I corrected, lifting my chin. “Who works in my penthouse. That I will fly to in my helicopter after dinner.”

“Well, la-di-da,” Easton snorted.

Gramps cleared his throat, and just like that, the entire table went silent. Even Max, Jesse’s son, froze mid-bite, like he knew we were about to enter emotional combat territory.

“You sure do own a lot of things,” Gramps said, voice calm and quiet, which somehow made it worse. “For a man who has so little.”

Ouch.

I didn’t flinch, didn’t look up. Just stared down at my plate, trying to think of a fun fact about my mashed potatoes to ease the tension.

I loved Gramps, but ever since my two younger brothers fell in love, he’d thought I was sad and lost. He was putting more and more pressure on me to also find The One.

But I had no desire to share my life with someone—ever. He knew that.

With his arms folded and his gaze locked on me, Gramps leaned back in his chair. “But you don’t have a clue what it means to have something. Not really.”

Grams gave him a soft look, which was her universal sign for, “Please, dear God, stop talking.” Most of the time, Gramps did as he was told, but he wasn’t done yet.

“You think because you’ve got titles and properties and an army of employees, you’ve got it made.

But none of that shit looks back at you, West. None of its waiting at the door when you get home.

You say ‘mine’ like it’s a punchline. But the truth?

You’ve built a life around making sure nothing actually is. ”

“That’s not fair,” Grams whispered, ever the gentle buffer, though she didn’t argue too hard. “He’s done well.”

“He has,” Gramps agreed. “But doing well, and being well, aren’t the same thing.”

“It’s just cornbread,” I said with a grin that felt tighter than usual. “I’m not emotionally attached.”

“It’s not about the cornbread,” Gramps said, quieter now. “I’m just worried about you, son.”

And there it was. The gut punch. No warning, just a straight shot to the ribs.

I didn’t respond. What could I say? He wasn’t wrong.

I had everything. Buildings. Businesses. A penthouse. A chopper. A team of lawyers and enough staff to run a small country. But none of it had ever owned me back.

And I liked it that way.

Gramps never got that. He believed in porch swings and slow dancing in the kitchen and calling someone home. He believed in the kind of love that could wreck you and still be worth it.

But I didn’t need love to live a meaningful life. I could build something bigger. Stronger. Untouchable. I’ve never wanted what they had.

Not since the fire.

Not since I lost the only two people I had ever truly loved.

My parents.

I swallowed down the knot in my throat and reached for the butter. “Can someone pass that?”

“Sure,” Jesse said quietly.

“How are Miles and Loxley doing?” I asked, spreading butter on my prize like I hadn’t just had my soul tossed onto the floor. Maybe bringing up my youngest brother and his famous country star girlfriend would be enough emotional chit chat for Gramps.

“They’ll be home soon,” Grams said, thankful for the subject change. “A few more weeks left on the tour. We should all go see one of the shows before they’re done.”

I nodded as Easton launched into a story about the last time they saw Loxley Adams live. They had taken Max and he tried to sing along, but ended up three verses deep into a completely different song.

I laughed, but it didn’t quite reach.

“Let’s make a plan to go,” Jesse said with excitement, being a big Loxley fan even before she knew her personally.

“Count me in,” I said. “Hell, I’ll book the hotel and a charter flight for us. Anywhere she’s playing.” I hadn’t been to a single one of her shows, but I always had a reason. Always “too busy.” Maybe if I showed up, played the part, had a little fun, Gramps would stop trying to fix me.

“I bet when you get out of that office for a bit,” Gramps huffed at me, “you’ll meet someone special.”

Maybe not.

Somehow, I refrained from groaning and smiled.

“Maybe I will meet that perfect person for me. Maybe she’s somewhere in one of these towns that Loxley is touring.

Or maybe she’s right under my nose in the city, ordering frappes and doing afternoon yoga.

I know, maybe she’s in Mexico, and I should move down there and find her. ”

Gramps could hear the sarcasm in my tone and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and eyeing me with annoyance. But he could sit there and be upset all he wanted, because we were supposed to be past the subject of my love life.

“Maybe she’s down at the bar right now,” Easton joked, attempting to give me a reprieve from being the only one on Gramps’ shit list for the evening. “We could go have some drinks at Fiddlers.”

“I could use a damn drink,” I mumbled, then shoved another bite of food in my mouth before adding. “But I’m not stepping foot in that bar. You go, and if you find my one true love, can you tell her she’s mine?”

“Sure man,” Easton laughed. “I’ll tell her Gramps said so.”

I could see a small smirk on Gramps’ lips, finding us a little humorous as we attempted to once again derail his train of thought. Grams was smiling as well, happy that we seemed to succeed and we could move on once again.

But later, after dinner, as we all filtered out to say our goodbyes, Gramps walked with me toward the pad I had installed for my chopper, which was idling with my pilot ready to take me home. He laid a heavy arm across my shoulders and squeezed me hard.

“I really do worry about you,” he said, voice quiet like someone else could hear us and he wanted to keep it a secret.

“Don’t,” I replied, flashing the same old smile. “If I ever need someone in my corner, I know I’ve got you and Grams, and my brothers.”

Meanwhile, I’d keep showing up for dinner. Keep playing the part. Keep reaching for the damn cornbread.

Because pretending I was full was easier than admitting how empty I felt.