Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-six
CASSIDY
“You’re free to go whenever you’d like.” Packing up, the lawyer says the same words as he had when he briefly opened the door to talk to Steve.
Isaiah and I remain frozen. My lower lip wobbles. His lips twist into a grimace.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry when the lawyer is gone.
I want Aria back. How could I have told Isaiah we’d make it through if every instinct is yelling at me to chase down Steve and bring her to Kingsbrier?
We were safe there. We fell in love there. I immediately knew that’s where I wanted to raise our little girl when Isaiah said we should adopt her. That’s where our roots grew.
Aria and Chesney could’ve grown up to be as close as Rhiannon and I are. I’m mourning the loss of something imaginary, as if Rhiannon was the one who passed and not Jordy Weaver, and I lost my best friend.
Isaiah swivels our chairs, knocking our knees together. He pulls two tissues from a box in the center of the table. They’re like sandpaper when he wipes them over my cheeks and they disintegrate when they come in contact with my tears.
Looking at my red and puffy, tear-soaked face, he says, “I love you, chou” and he pulls me into his arms.
We hold on to one another as we break down in private. His strong shoulders shake and wracked sobs leave my body, even when I’m depleted of the energy to cry any more.
When we finally get up from the supple leather chairs that felt more like being seated on a bed of nails to leave the conference room, Monty is holding up the wall, having replaced Steve.
“Rhiannon is waiting in the car,” he informs us.
Isaiah nods at Monty to take the lead. We wind through the hotel’s utility access hallways, meant for employees only, and exit the building into a cement garage. My skin is clammy and the hot, humid air tempts me to pass out.
Monty opens the rear passenger door of a large SUV with blacked-out windows. Rhiannon is in the backseat. She opens her arms and I dive headlong inside, seeking the comfort of my kin.
I feel Isaiah slide in and the door clicks shut. Monty takes the driver’s seat.
On the highway, Isaiah fiddles with my left ring finger, stroking down toward my nail like he’s taking off a ring.
The cabin is silent except for our snuffling and the road noise. The only thing I can think of as I fall asleep is nothing I did for him or Aria was ever helpful. I’ve ruined Isaiah’s life.
When I awake, Rhiannon is looking out her window, stroking my hair. Isaiah has an elbow and his forehead resting on the opposite window. He’s holding his chin in his palm, staring into space. His other hand lies over mine. He’s still touching me, but it’s an empty connection. Physically, we’re sitting on the bench seat next to one another, but our minds are in different places.
The vineyard comes into view. We pass the tall trees that provide privacy for Uncle Cris and Aunt Daveigh’s Victorian. The access road to the winery and stables and what feels like miles of fencing before the break for the long driveway to the house I grew up in.
I’m shaking off the feeling that my parents’ single story ranch doesn’t feel like home when Monty turns the steering wheel and circles the driveway in front of the B&B. However, the stucco and dark-stained beams make me relapse.
My grandparents’ house wasn’t as much my home as it was a safe spot to lay my head.
We adjust as Monty takes the granite stairs into the mansion. He’s checking things out the same as he did after our dinner at the steakhouse in Houston.
Stretching, Rhiannon makes her goodbyes. She spent six hours on the road and wants to go relax and edit the pictures she took.
I thank my bestie for being there for me.
She abandons us inside the SUV, gets into her car, and drives away.
“All clear,” Monty says, returning. He lifts the tailgate. “I’ll bring your bags up to your room.”
Isaiah’s phone pings with a text from Will. The PR company released the statement. He hits the link and I read what I’ve already read over his shoulder.
I would like to begin by expressing my sincerest gratitude to Kylie’s fans for keeping her memory alive. She adored the spotlight and singing, and she adored you. I’d also like to thank country music listeners for their thoughts, prayers, and positivity as I’ve navigated this bumpy road.
Last year, Kylie and I had begun the process of separating. We decided to end our marriage the way it started, as friends. I grew up alongside my wife and our friendship will always hold a special place in my heart.
Unfortunately, I was not the only one Kylie left behind when she died. Since her passing, I’ve been raising Kylie’s child, waiting for the day she could be reunited with their father. Today is that day. I’m grateful for the time I spent caring for Kylie’s daughter and the opportunity I’ll have in the future to tell her about her mother.
I wish father and daughter nothing but the best and I intend to be here to help them in any way I can.
Grateful for your continued support,
—Isaiah Roomer
Seeing it again doesn’t make it any easier to accept. It might not be the complete truth, but at least what’s written underscores Isaiah’s reliability, and that he always tried to keep Kylie’s best interests at heart.
Will and the PR team are handling questions and I’m avoiding Richardson’s supermarket checkout for the foreseeable future. Lord only knows what the entertainment rags will print next.
As if he’s about to face the music on his own, Isaiah slumps. I rub his bicep, but he shrugs me off, frustrated. Then he snatches a baseball hat from the seat pocket. Jumping to get out, he thwacks his head on the roof in the process. Having bitten his tongue too long, Isaiah crouches, releasing a slew of expletives and rubbing the sore spot.
Asking him if he’s okay is moot. I do it anyway. Isaiah says he’ll be fine after he showers.
I don’t believe that. It’ll take more than hot water to wash away the dust from the road we’ve traveled. He was lonely for so long, I won’t let him doubt my sincerity. I love him and I’m made of sturdier stock than to leave him just because the going got tough. However, we both need space and I embrace the solitude of Gran’s front garden, lowering my butt to the granite stairs.
I lose track of how long I’m alone. Gracyn comes out of the mansion and sidles up next to me. We remain quiet. The last time my older sister and I were together, we fought. Her presence then boxed me in. This time, I’m glad she’s crowding me.
“I’m keeping you from your guests,” I eventually say, guilty she’s ignoring her job.
“Besides the two of you, there are none. I received an overnight call from the concierge. People were complaining about the lack of running water. Daddy went over my head and told everyone allowing them to stay went against state ordinance,” she says of Colton. “This morning, the guests we had packed to leave and the guests about to arrive had been issued refunds. One gentleman said we had such a nice old house, and he hoped we fixed the plumbing issue soon.”
“Why was there no water?”
“Daddy flipped the main valve into the mansion.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Why do you think?” My sister asks me to fill in the blanks.
Isaiah and I were making a very impromptu trip and needed privacy.
“I’m sorry we tarnished your reputation as an innkeeper,” I apologize.
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand that there was more to the story than you were at liberty to say. That you were doing something completely unselfish… And I’m sorry Aria didn’t come back with you. She’s a beautiful little girl and I know how much you love her.” Gracyn hugs me from the side.
I lick my chapped lips and wipe another tear away. My itchy eyes are dry. Yet somehow, they’re not.
“You know what I don’t understand about me is why you always get what you want. Whether it’s marrying Joe or opening the B&B, everything came easy for you.”
“Ha!” My sister laughs brittlely. “I hated winery sales. I endured working at the corporate office to get business experience. And I stayed, determined to prove I wouldn’t throw in the towel when things got hard. I didn’t love it. I didn’t even like it.”
“But you love the B&B.”
“I do. When there’s no plumbing problems and when I don’t have to rehire the breakfast chef and garde manger.” She knocks her shoulder into mine. “I suppose you’re not coming back to Kingsbrier in the fall. Rumor has it you’re writing a cookbook.”
“I could write the cookbook, but I won’t steal Benita’s recipes.” I don’t answer about coming back to the ranch.
I’ve outgrown who I was and I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. The idea of staying in my old room makes me more depressed.
“I’m glad your integrity has remained intact, but I have to disagree. You’ve changed so much of the original recipes. If they aren’t yours, whose are they? They certainly don’t belong to the banquet hall head chef,” Gracyn spits sarcastically.
I shake my head, puzzled.
“Listen, Cass, you want proof I don’t always get what I want? I asked the trustees if there was any possible way the B&B could use your culinary skills long before Myrna retired. The board understood my goal was building the inn and reminded me you were entitled to your own path. You have an innate talent in the kitchen. The quints fully intended for you to run the banquet hall someday. You can still be head chef.”
“The new head chef took all the family recipes off the menu.” I evoke the disgusted tone he took with me posting the revised menu.
“He liked your recipes. He wanted to put out a cookbook to sell at the winery store, and he wanted the credit as the author. The quints wouldn’t budge. Benita was family. She raised Gran and taught her to cook. The new chef had the experience, but he wasn’t family, and no one was handing over a treasure chest—meant to be part of your legacy—to him.
“After being instructed to rework the menu, so it didn’t compete with a few of Grandad’s favorite recipes of Benita’s that Myrna served at the B&B, the new chef made working alongside him contentious for you.”
“Wait, why is this the first time I’m hearing this?”
“Probably to protect you. He threatened to sue, citing a hostile workplace when the guest reviews for breakfast at the inn were higher than Sunday brunch at the banquet hall. What stunk was that our family never lacked confidence in you, Cass. They believed they were doing the right thing by hiring him to ensure you got a few more years experience under your cap. Even I had a lot of support when I opened the B&B. You seemed comfortable at the inn, so the quints thought you changed your mind about managing a restaurant and were happy where you were.”
“I was.” Wasn’t I?
Or was it just as my sister has said? I was comfortable.
“Losing that job was maddening,” I admit. “I didn’t want to stir things up by complaining and wind up with nothing.”
“Funny how the ‘nothing’ you wound up with fills out his jeans… What? I can’t say that because I’m married? I like a nice butt. Joe’s got a fine ass.”
“So you’re a connoisseur?” I chuckle and lift my eyes to the sky. “It’s his forearms that make me shiver. When he rolls his shirtsleeves…”
A throat clears coming from the grass on the pool-side of the mansion.
“Isaiah,” I stammer, embarrassed he’s caught us talking about his body .
He’s showered, shaved, styled his hair, and is wearing the abs tee with his classic jeans.
“Thought you’d be on the morning porch… Found this in a drawer,” he says, plucking at the shirt. He tucks his hands in his front pockets, rocking back on his heels, and his arms flex. “Care to take a walk?”
I glance at my wrinkled yellow skate dress with the floral print. If it wasn’t for the bubble sleeves, which have deflated faster than a balloon, I’d be overdressed.
I’d wanted us to be picture perfect today. My tear-washed face gives away how much we sucked at hiding how distraught we were from Aria. Maybe I’ll shower when we return. Throw on some jeans myself.
“We’ll be back,” I thank my sister for being there.
“Take your time.” Gracyn hugs me again. “Mama and Daddy would like it if you two joined us for dinner. But if it’s too much, that’s fine.”
Isaiah and I amble across the street and he helps me hop over the stone wall. He lets me go first as we push through the growth of thick green foliage to get to where we walked during the winter.
I’m surprised to see trees cleared from the land. The logs are stacked to the side. An excavator is parked a little further away. Without the trees, the slightest bit more of Gatlin and Bellamy’s rooftop is visible. If I followed the dirt path carved into the woods, it would lead to the hidden road their house is on.
“I was talking to a friend over the holidays.” In my peripheral vision, Isaiah kicks the dirt. “He mentioned this was where his wife wanted to raise their family. So, I talked your dad into asking the trust to sell the adjacent property. Cavanaugh Construction is building a house for you.”
“You bought this for me?” My hand rises to my chest.
“Whatever you want,” he says, disappearing behind me. “You pick. I gave Colton a blank check.”
In my imagination, the excavator digs a basement foundation. Two by fours rise from the ground. Exterior rooms are wrapped in cement siding and roof shingles flip into place. A two-story stone chimney pops over the roofline. I can see inside through the large front windows. The kitchen is bright and welcoming. With high ceilings, the footprint includes a comfortable area for entertaining so that I don’t miss out on anything while I’m cooking.
“I can’t believe you did this for me.” I spin to face Isaiah, and my heart stops.
He’s on one knee, holding up a ring. “I asked your dad for permission to build a life with you. I know Kingsbrier is the only place you saw yourself raising a family. I think I knew how special the ranch was the moment I stepped foot into the B&B… If not, hitting my head knocked sense into me.”
He makes me laugh through new tears. Happy tears.
“I’m giving you my whole heart, Cass. Wherever you are, I’m home.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I drop to the same level, letting rocks dig into and dirty my knees. “How to thank you for this. How to show you how grateful I am for the journey you took me on this year.”
When it comes down to it, I’m not supposed to be in the same place I was when Isaiah arrived last Christmas because this man pushed me out of my comfort zone.
“‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Isaiah’ is a great place to start,” he replies with a lopsided grin.
I hold out my left hand. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Isaiah.” I repeat as he slips the ring on my finger.