Everyone Has a Back Story
Ashton
Jordy’s a lot more talkative as we gather around the table for dinner at the Felix house.
Gone is the woman who’d woken up hungover and a bit defeated this morning.
Now, she’s animated and full of smiles, sharing details about the friends she made, the stores she visited, and how Timeless is really coming together.
It’s hard to hear. Her excitement is understandable, but it’s also a nail into the coffin of our decision to sell.
I hide my leftover guilt, however, leaning in as she continues sharing about her day.
“Once Michael realized he could spend my boss’s money, he became the biggest help,” she says. “Of course, Alexander is going to regret the free rein he gave me for expenses—especially after that pricey meal I charged last night.”
She shoots me a pointed look. I wince slightly but hold my ground.
“Hey, I didn’t even suggest you pay for everyone’s meals,” I protest. “That was all you.”
“And those magic Manhattans you insisted I try,” she counters, one eyebrow lifting meaningfully. “The ones that kept appearing in front of me while my dinner was mysteriously delayed.”
Fuck.
I flick a glance at Bec, who is now eyeing me with quiet judgment.
“What did you do?” she asks, her voice sharp with suspicion.
“I didn’t do anything.” I turn back to Jordy, who clearly doesn’t believe me. “Okay fine, I may have been aware that Griffin was pulling shenanigans last night. He, uh … kept forgetting to put your dinner order in.”
Jordy snorts. “Forgetting. Right.”
“And,” I add reluctantly, “he may have made your Manhattans doubles.”
Her eyes widen. “That ass!”
Then she slaps a hand over her mouth, glancing at Lottie, then Bec and Bob. Sorry , she mouths.
I shake my head. “Trust me, these two have heard me say worse. But seriously, I should’ve put a stop to it sooner. I saw what Griff was doing, and I let it go on way too long. I’m sorry.”
Jordy shrugs. “I should be more pissed,” she admits, “but I also should have known better than to drink anything in a town full of people who hate me.”
“Well, I don’t hate you,” I say firmly.
“And neither do we, dear,” Bec adds. “We’re just sorry our town is so resistant to change. It’s not like we sold the whole town. It was just a store.”
She glances at Bob, who stays silent, focused on his food.
When I look at Jordy, I can tell she caught the exchange. This isn’t just about a store.
Jordy lets the moment settle before shifting the conversation.
“Bec, this is the best meal I’ve ever had,” she says, her voice lighter now. “My grandmother used to make stew, but it never tasted like this. What’s your secret?”
Bec’s cheeks flush under the compliment. She made us pot roast stew with buttermilk biscuits—the kind of meal that settles deep in your belly, warming places you didn’t even realize were cold.
“Oh, it’s just an old family recipe,” Bec says with a modest wave of her hand. “Stew always tastes best at the end of a busy day.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Bob grunts. “She sweats the onions in a quarter bottle of wine, then adds a few extra dashes of Worcestershire, and she thickens it with mashed potato instead of flour.”
“Bob, you’re giving away all my secrets.” Bec swats his arm playfully, but her eyes crinkle with affection.
Across the table, Lottie is wearing more stew than what she put in her mouth. Bec sighs. “Well, I see someone’s going to need a bath after this.”
For Lottie, I always mash the stew up extra fine, then tear up a biscuit so she can grasp the pieces with her tiny fingers.
She likes feeding herself—insists on it—so meals like this always end in a bath.
But just like the rest of us, this is one of her favorites, and she hums quietly as she works at the bowl in front of her.
Bec sets her spoon down, her expression darkening. “I’m going to have a talk with Griffin next time I’m in town,” she mutters. “Or maybe I’ll bring it up when I play Bridge with Bernie—let her know what her son’s been up to.”
Jordy groans. “Wait, Bernie is Griffin’s mom? My god, is everyone related in this town?”
Bec chuckles. “No, but I know it seems that way.”
Then, after a pause, her voice softens. “I think you know that our daughter used to manage The Till before she…”
She trails off, glancing at Bob.
He inhales sharply, then clears his throat, all without looking at her.
“Excuse me,” he says, pushing back from the table. “Thanks for dinner, honey.”
He leans down, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, then takes his bowl to the sink and disappears down the hall toward the family room.
Bec lets out a slow breath, her fingers tightening around her napkin.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “He doesn’t like talking about Sasha.” Her voice wavers. “I guess neither of us do.”
Jordy is quiet for a moment, studying Bec with a look of quiet understanding. Then she says gently, “You don’t have to tell me anything.”
She glances at me, something unreadable flickering in her gaze before turning back to Bec.
“But I know that this town loved your daughter, and that you all miss her very much.” Her voice is steady, but there is something raw beneath it.
“And I know it must be hard to see me transforming a space that Sasha once designed and managed. Loyalty runs deep here, and while it’s been hard to navigate as an outsider … I’m also a little in awe of it.”
She hesitates, then adds, “Where I come from, loyalty often comes with collateral. Even my own mom would sell me out for the right price.”
Bec sucks in a quiet breath.
“Oh, honey, that’s awful.” She reaches across the table, squeezing Jordy’s hand.
Jordy flinches at the show of comfort, then looks at Bec’s hand and softens. She shakes her head as if shaking off the weight of her own words. I get the feeling she isn’t used to empathy.
“Sorry,” she says quickly. “That’s not how I meant it. My mom isn’t some evil monster or anything. I just mean that I admire the way people here stick up for each other, how you have each other’s backs.”
“That’s generous of you,” I say, holding her gaze. “But just know that we have your back too, and as long as you’re here in town, you’re safe.”
Jordy smirks. “As long as you’re not in charge of mixing my drinks.”
Back at home, I ease Lottie’s door shut once she’s settled, then turn to see Jordy at the kitchen counter poring over her sketches. She traces the rim of her wine glass absentmindedly, her brows furrowed in concentration.
I lean against the doorjamb, watching unnoticed. Even in sweats and her dark hair piled into a messy bun, she’s stunning. The last twenty-four hours have been chaos, yet it feels right that she’s here.
Besides Bec, no woman has been in this house in a long time. Dating has been the last thing on my mind.
Until now.
I shake the thought away before it can take root. Jordy is here because she has nowhere else to go, not because I have some ulterior motive, and as far as I can tell, she’s not interested. She seems grateful for a place to stay—nothing more.
I cross the room, pulling out a stool. She looks up as I sit. Between us is the bottle of wine and her now empty glass, which I fill before pouring my own.
“That’s not a double, is it?” she jokes.
I groan as she laughs.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am about that.”
She shakes her head. “You weren’t the one pouring, and I shouldn’t have brought it up in front of Bec and Bob. It was petty and I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. It was an asshole move—whether I did it or just let it happen.”
Silence stretches between us, thick but not uncomfortable. Then Jordy scrunches her nose. “From what I remember, it was the best Manhattan I’ve ever had. A little strong, but the best. What can I say? I’m a whiskey girl.”
“Told you.” I smirk. “We’ll have to go back sometime so you can—”
“Oh, hell no,” she cuts in. “Now that I know Griff is related to the Wicked Witch of the West, that’s a hard pass. No way am I risking getting poisoned by Bernie or her son.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
She shoots me a glare. “The town sheriff is married to one of the protesters, and Bernie’s tight with him. How hard do you think it’d be for them to hide my body?”
I snort into my glass. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” She arches a brow.
“You’ve made a couple friends here,” I point out. “If you can do that, despite the hostility this town has thrown your way, I’m fully confident you’ll have the rest of this place eating out of your hand.”
“I don’t know about friends, ” she says. “Michael was only interested because he could spend my boss’s money.”
“As much fun as that must have been, Michael would not have spent the day with you for just that.”
I take a sip of wine, then lean forward. “Here’s what you don’t know about him … two years ago, he battled an aggressive form of cancer that cost him all his hair and a shit ton of weight.”
Jordy’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, seriously? I never would’ve guessed.”
“He’s fine now,” I assure her, “but he wasn’t back then.
He had to close Leaf for a few months because he was too weak to manage it, and he had no other staff.
His boyfriend, Dominic, moved in with him and took care of everything.
But it wasn’t long before it became too much.
One night, Dominic just took off—right when Michael had finally let himself trust someone to take care of him. ”
Jordy’s expression darkens. “ What the fuck. That’s awful.” She shakes her head, gripping her glass tighter. “Did the town step in? Please tell me someone helped him recover.”