5. Sylvie
FIVE
SYLVIE
The next morning after my shift at work, I pulled into my driveway.
For the past few years, I had lived with my aunt Bug in her opulent home.
MJ lived there, too, and most days, it was nice to have someone to talk to, and the money I saved on rent was a bonus.
I had budgeted and planned to move into my own apartment by spring.
Not just move out but away. I’d already filled a Pinterest board with ideas—the southern charm of Savannah, Georgia, was calling my name.
The only thing holding me back was savings.
That I could tackle, and then I’d be gone.
Maybe then I would feel like my life had finally started.
Eventually.
Nestled amid the lush greenery and picturesque surroundings, her home stood as a testament to my family’s wealth and opulence.
When I scanned the driveway, my heart sank.
Instead of MJ’s little red sports car, my father’s luxury Porsche was taking up her space.
I swallowed past the lump that formed in my throat.
Reaching into my bag, I sent my sister a quick text.
I thought we were doing lunch today?
MJ
I’m sorry to bail on you. Red had a bad morning, so I decided to stay a little longer. Rain check?
Of course. See you when you get home.
You’re the best. Just don’t tell Dad, okay?
My heart squeezed, and I immediately thought of Duke.
Growing up, Red Sullivan had seemed larger than life.
Beloved in our community. He was also my father’s rival.
However, unlike my father, Red always wore a smile, and no one spoke an ill word of him.
No one except my father, of course. As far as I could see, the two men didn’t have a reason to be at odds.
Dad hated him on principle and, for him, that was enough.
After losing his mother, the last thing Duke needed was to carry the burden of the family business while his father’s health declined, but that was exactly what he did.
I’d always assumed he wanted the burden, but as our unlikely friendship unfolded over the last eight months, I began to see the truth behind it.
Duke stepped up to save the family farm, and it may not have ever been what he wanted.
I had started to put my car in reverse—I didn’t have the energy to deal with my father today—when Aunt Bug stepped onto the front porch and waved.
Fuck.
I pulled off to the side and parked, holding my head high and shoulders back. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air, guiding me toward the immaculate front lawn.
“This is a surprise. I thought you were busy today.” Bug opened her arms to me, and I stepped into her embrace. An adult woman living with her aunt may seem pathetic, but really, Bug’s house was huge, and she always gave me space. Plus, knowing it was temporary helped me feel like less of a loser.
“MJ and I had lunch plans, but she got tied up at work.”
My aunt held me at arm’s length. “You look tired.”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “Thanks.”
Bug was a straight shooter and rarely sugarcoated anything, but deep down I knew she meant well.
My eyes shifted to my father’s car, and she sighed. “Be nice.”
Slow-building anger simmered beneath my skin. Be nice? Me? How about he be nice for once?
I nodded and followed Bug into the house.
As I climbed the elegant steps, the smooth texture of the polished wooden handrail was a delightful contrast against my fingers.
The grand oak door, adorned with intricate carvings, opened to reveal a pristine interior.
Sunlight danced through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the tastefully arranged furniture.
Every corner exuded a sense of sophistication, with delicate lighting hanging from the high ceilings, and thick drapes cascading gracefully down the windows.
It was a far cry from how I would have decorated my own house, but for now, it was home.
As we entered, my father’s eyes skated over me, and I offered a small smile. He didn’t bother with a greeting, and I could feel my shoulders shrink into myself.
Not even worth a hello.
“Hot out there. Lemonade?” Bug squeezed my shoulder. She hadn’t missed my father’s cold welcome either.
I shook my head and swallowed. “No, thanks. I have lunch plans with Sloane and Layna. I was just stopping by to see if MJ wanted to join us.”
Bug’s eyes narrowed, but she let me get away with the tiny lie. “How is Sloane?”
My friend Sloane had recently moved back to Outtatowner after a messy divorce that left her with young twins and an ex-husband who was downright scary.
To add insult to injury, she’d moved in with her grandfather and recently survived a house fire.
Lee Sullivan had saved her son Ben when the boy panicked and hid in a closet.
“She’s rattled but surviving.”
A look of pride and affection softened Bug’s features. “She’s tough, that one.”
As my father’s only sibling, Aunt Bug had been a part of the King family dynasty for as long as I could remember.
Until her retirement, she’d had a hand in nearly every one of the business deals my father and brothers made.
She was whip-smart and levelheaded, whereas Dad often ruled with an iron fist. He was known for making quick, ruthless decisions.
Bug was the only person he trusted, and it was a miracle she could ever get through to him, but somehow she did.
Uninterested in our polite conversation, my father took a call on his phone.
I watched as his face turned red and the vein in his forehead bulged.
As a kid, I had wanted to poke it and wondered what would happen if it finally burst. As an adult, I kept as much space between Russell King and me as I could.
“Finally got the Crane girl to leave.” Dad interrupted the conversation between my aunt and me with a mocking laugh. An oily trickle of sweat slid down my back.
An unsettling feeling formed in the pit of my stomach. “Annie Crane?”
Annie had a small art studio downtown where she sold gorgeous pottery and adorable knickknacks to tourists. Rumors flew that the business wasn’t doing very well with more inexpensively priced tourist shops popping up around town.
“Out by the end of the month.”
Bug stayed quiet but nodded. My eyes searched hers, but she revealed nothing. My father was a ruthless businessman, unafraid to have people hate him if it meant his bottom line increased.
Granddad would be ashamed.
My grandfather Amos King was the kindest, gentlest human I’d ever known. He was a simple man, a farmer who prided himself on working the land and contributing to his community. I tamped down the errant thought that Duke was so much like him—dedicated to his land and his community.
Granddad kept peppermints in his pocket, and I still thought of him every time I smelled even the tiniest hint of peppermint.
I missed him every day.
With Granddad, you didn’t have to outperform your siblings.
Your best was always enough. I recalled one day in seventh grade I presented my father with my report card.
I had been proud of my hard work. All As, save for one B I had earned in a math class I had struggled in.
Instead of praising my efforts—the long hours being tutored and staying up late at the kitchen table to study before a test—he looked at it and said, “Could have been an A” as he flipped the paper back at me.
I wished I could say I stopped trying to impress him after that.
I didn’t.
The same small little girl who curled in on herself threatened to overtake me. Was it too much to seek approval and affection from your father? If your father was Russell King, it was.
Funnily enough, he adored his other children.
JP was the spitting image of Dad and was set to take over the family businesses.
He prided himself on finding and buying out struggling businesses to turn a profit, almost as much as Dad did.
Whip had a job as a firefighter, which brought honor to the King name.
MJ was a nurse and was continuing her education —on Dad’s dime.
Even Royal’s tattoo shop was a source of pride for Dad’s entrepreneurial spirit.
Abel had his own struggles, but when he opened the brewery, our father saw it as a business opportunity and forgave him all his past sins.
I was the daughter who worked at a bakery and still lived with her aunt.
I also bore an uncanny resemblance to our mother.
That alone condemned me to a life of snide remarks and general disdain.
Maryann King had survived twenty years married to her husband before she could no longer bear the weight of it all.
She packed her bags and left her children with a man who didn’t have the capacity to love.
She had chosen her freedom over her husband. Over her children. I hated the small part of me that empathized with her decision.
Heaviness threatened to overtake me. There was no point in reasoning with my father or pleading with him to allow Annie to stay in the space she rented from him. He’d made his decision, and she would suffer the consequences.
“I have to go.” I gritted my teeth against how small my voice sounded. The barely whispered words went unacknowledged, and I quietly left my aunt’s house feeling smaller than I had in a long time.
As I left, I let my mind wander to thoughts of Duke. The look on his face when he saw me walking with Charles had been dark and intense. Surely he knew there was nothing between Charles and me.
Right?
I wanted to text him, but he’d been unusually quiet and hadn’t responded to my earlier good morning text.
It was silly to think that one unanswered text meant anything, but I couldn’t remember a time since we’d started texting that neither Duke nor I had had something funny or quippy to say to each other in the mornings.
It never failed to start my day off with a smile.
As I drove down a quiet country road, I sucked in a lungful of coastal air before pulling into a parking space that butted up to a sand dune cliff that overlooked Lake Michigan.
I got out and leaned against the hood of my car and let the wind whip my hair as I closed my eyes and soaked up the sun.
My phone sounded with an incoming text message, and I quickly dug through my purse to look at it.
My pulse danced as I opened my messages.
It was from my friend Sloane, asking how my date with Charles had gone.
Meh.
Sloane
Want to talk about it over coffee?
Make that mimosas and I’m there.
I’ve got orange juice!
I’ll bring the booze.
Settling back into my car, I smiled down at my phone. I might have a shitty dad, but at least I had a few good friends. I was thrilled Sloane had moved back into town and couldn’t wait to invite her to the Bluebirds.
On impulse, I tapped back to my most recent texts with Duke. John Oates . Every time the name flashed across my screen, the skittering of nerves made me want to giggle.
Giggle.
It was unreal.
I wondered what Duke was up to. It was a Sunday, and while most people were enjoying a day off or maybe watching sports or something, I imagined Duke walking through the rows of blueberry bushes on the farm. Maybe he was even begrudgingly getting ready for a family dinner at Ms. Tootie’s house.
Family dinner was something Kings never did, and I wondered what it would be like to be in her warm, stately farmhouse, surrounded by Sullivans.
Totally fucking weird.
Despite the nerves tickling my tummy, I quickly typed out a new message to him.
Busy day?
I stared down at the phone, waiting to see the three bubbles pop up. It was needy, sure, but I didn’t care. Something was off, and I hated that my involvement with the date auction might be the cause.
But what was I supposed to do? It wasn’t like Duke and I were dating. Not like we could ever date.
When a few minutes went by and there was still no reply, I sighed and tucked my phone back into my bag. Pulling out of the parking space, I headed toward town in search of champagne.