1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Thea
9 Years Ago
(22 Years Old)
“ C an you just stop for one fucking second?” Cary calls at my back as I make my way toward our bedroom door.
“Why?” I breathe out with my hand on the door knob, allowing it to brace me when all I want to do is fall apart. “So you can tell me again how I’m wrong? How I just need to ‘give it some time?’ Or maybe you want to tell me that I should loosen up a bit again?”
I haven’t turned back around to face him. I can’t. All I can do is stare at the floor and hope he finally hears me this time. That maybe, just maybe, he realizes how lost I am in this city, this life. The silence drags on, and my heartbeat is the only sound echoing off the walls. It’s so suffocating I contemplate turning around to finally look at him, but just as the thought crosses my mind, his even footsteps sound behind me.
His arms wrap gently around my shoulders from behind, his chest right up against my back, chin resting on the top of my head, his large frame enveloping me. I hear his breathing, the air escaping his lungs in steady breaths.
“You know I love you, right?” His words are soft, and it takes everything in me not to find them patronizing. I do know he loves me, I really have no doubt. But he doesn’t realize the statement isn’t the salve he hopes it is. Our issues aren’t about love.We had dreams. Huge, gigantic, too-big-for-a-small-town dreams. And he succeeded. He made it in this big, bustling city. He took his dreams, and he molded his new life around them all. He didn’t let anything scare or deter him. And I am so fucking proud of him, I am.
But… I can be proud of him and disappointed for myself. My dreams are still all in my head. Nothing has worked out. No doors have opened. I’ve spent the last week wondering if I should just throw in the towel and face the reality that being a small fish in a big pond is making it impossible.
Seattle is full of marketing opportunities, so I thought finding something would be easy. The problem I keep running into is all the big companies want experience. They have fifty other candidates just like me who are willing to intern for free for a year. It sets them apart. It’s not something I can afford to do. So I’ve started looking for server jobs again—anything that might pay the bills while I wait for my dream to finally become a reality the way his has.
The problem is I can’t bring myself to tell him just yet. He’s so excited about starting at the restaurant, and the last thing I want to do is dim his joy with my misery.
“Of course I know you love me, Cary,” I reply, though my voice comes out hoarse, leaning back slightly into his embrace. This is the same fight we’ve had countless times over the last year. It’s exhausting. I try to talk to him about how I don’t think things will ever work out for me here. I try to tell him that I don’t think his friends like me much, his best friend Seth in particular. I just… try to explain how I’m feeling, and instead of listening, he tells me everything I’m feeling is all in my head. Then he tries to pacify me by suggesting we should go out and have some fun for once. Like that will somehow cure all our problems.
The truth is… I’m not made for city life. It’s too loud, too crowded, too fast, too everything . There’s nature, sure, but it’s not the same. The people aren’t nearly as friendly. I thought I could do it, I really did. I thought getting out of our small town would be freeing, and we’d live happily ever after. Turns out, circumstances make you miserable, not your zip code.
I miss my mom. I miss my friends. I miss the laid-back life of living in a small town. And that would be okay, except I know Cary doesn’t miss it. He loves Seattle. He loves this new life and his new friends.
And I love him too much to ask him to give it all up.
Like clockwork, the words slip from his lips, and the hope that he will finally listen to me dies just a little more. That constantly dying hope chips away at my heart each time we have this argument. “Let’s go out. We can go see that movie you were talking about the other day, maybe get dinner afterwards. It’ll be fun.”
I nod my head as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Don’t cry. Not this time. Not again. “Yeah, sure. Let me get changed.”
An exacerbated sigh leaves his lips as he leans down to kiss my cheek, I still don’t turn around. My eyes start to burn as the tears well, and my chin trembles. I somehow convince my legs to move, out of his arms and to the en suite bathroom. Just as I start to crumble, I shut the bathroom door behind me. The tears silently fall as I lower myself to the floor with my back against the door. This is how it always goes. I need a minute. Just one singular minute where I can let myself be sad, and then I’ll put on the happy mask again.
As I sit there and count to sixty, my muscles unravel, and my body relaxes, the tears dry up. I wipe the remnants from my cheeks and stand back up, ready to push forward again.
Present
(31 years old)
"Thea? Hello, Earth to Thea?” I jerk back as Ripley’s snapping fingers jolt me out of my memories. The stool I’m sitting on wobbles underneath me, threatening to tip over just as I catch myself on the aspen bar counter.
“Oh my God, what?” My tone is, admittedly, snarkier than I intend, but that’s what he gets for scaring the shit out of me.
“You zoned out on me. You good?” Despite my attitude, his tone is soft, and there’s concern laced in his words. It’s been less than twenty-four hours since I made the most difficult phone call of my life. One I never imagined I’d have to be the one to make.
I fully expected the responsibility to fall on Brooks' shoulders considering it’s his family, his brother, but he’s been MIA since we learned of the accident, and someone had to tell Carrington. I could have asked the sheriff to call. Then, I considered how it would feel to have the news come from someone in law enforcement and decided against it. If the roles were reversed, I’d want him to make the same decision for me.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired,” I say as I rub my forehead and pray to anyone who will listen for these memories to stay buried where they belong. It’d been years since I was throttled down memory lane, but now it’s been nonstop since making that phone call.
Ripley shakes his head at me—his shaggy, dark hair catching the overhead light from the pendants accentuating his natural inky highlights. He pushes the black, square-rimmed glasses up his nose and makes a face at me like he doesn’t believe the lie I threw his way. You’d think after being as close as we have been for almost a decade I’d give up attempting to lie to his face, but here we are.
“You try calling your ex after eight years of no contact and telling him his parents are dead, and see how you deal with it. I shouldn’t have had to make that call. It should have been Brooks.”
His face softens as he walks around the bar, pulling out the stool beside me. “Babe, I know. I mean, I don’t know , but I can imagine how fucking hard that was. That’s why I’m checking in on you. Did you even sleep last night? You were gone before I woke up.”
The bags under my eyes can answer that question without me saying a word. “How was I supposed to sleep after everything?”
His hand finds mine as he shakes his head. “That’s fair. Maybe you should head home? Try to nap or something.” I know he means well, I do, but if sleep didn’t find me last night, it sure as hell won’t find me now.
I squeeze his hand then lean over to kiss his cheek. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Rip. But you and I both know that’s not happening. Besides, I need to go talk to Mr. Goldfinch. Someone needs to start making arrangements for the funeral, and I don’t think it’s going to be either of their sons.” I start to slide off the stool when Rip stops me with a hand on my arm. His mossy green eyes boring into mine.
“Thea, it’s going to be okay.” I silently nod, knowing I don’t believe a word he’s saying. How could anything be okay with Owen and Hazel now gone? They were my second family, my lifelines. Everything I knew and loved changed in the matter of a moment. Everything is gone.
Nothing about this is okay.
We decided to send the staff home. They all came in today not knowing what else to do. None of us do without Hazel and Owen steering the ship. It’s all up in the air now. It seems wrong to even be open. It feels like the whole town has stopped by today, which isn’t saying much since our population barely hits 1,500. They all wanted to tell us how sorry they are and how much the Grants will be missed.
Mrs. Davis only stopped crying long enough to tell us how much she’ll miss Hazel’s famous chocolate chip cookies. Bob couldn’t stop talking about how much he’ll miss his weekly bar crawl with Owen—which wasn’t really a crawl because they just went to Louie’s and bribed Shelley to put their favorite sports team on. Everyone is heartbroken by this tragedy.
“You sure you don’t want help closing up?” Ripley asks as he closes the door behind the last employee as they leave. I’m standing behind the hostess stand, elbows planted in front of me with my chin resting in my palms, staring out the window. It’s only four-thirty in the afternoon, and it feels surreal to be turning off our open sign this early. This whole day feels like one big nightmare.
“Yeah, no, I’m good. I think I need a minute alone anyway. Mr. Goldfinch told me he could meet me at his office at five.” Luckily, his office is only an eight-minute drive from Ripple Effect Distillery and Restaurant, so I’ll make it there just in time.
Ripley hangs his head. Like always when I’m upset, he’s having an internal fight with himself about leaving me alone. After a few seconds, he finally nods, knowing I need this time alone rather than a shoulder to cry on—that will come later.
“Okay, but only if you promise to call me as soon as you’re done. And you owe me a night where I actually see you. One where you don’t slip out of my bed the next morning before I’m even awake.”
“Okay, yeah, I promise.”
“I know where you live, Thea Ashford. And I know Goldfinch’s closes at six. Remember that.” He points a finger at me with raised brows, but his tone is slightly teasing.
I roll my eyes at him but know he’s more than serious; he cares too much to let me be sad alone. If I don’t call him by six on the dot, he will show up at my place with ice cream and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos in hand, banging on the door until I answer.
“Got it. Calling you will be the first thing I do the moment I step foot out of his office. Just know, I may be crying.”
Ripley walks toward me, pulling me into him the second he gets close enough. He’s almost a whole foot taller than me, so his chin sits comfortably on top of my head. The sweet, malty smell of him surrounds me. He’s spent so long working in distilleries he’s started to smell like them. It’s something I’ve loved to tease him about over the last eight years, and he always takes it in stride. Hints of vanilla envelop me as I take a deep breath, the familiarity of it all comforting me for a moment.
“This sucks so fucking much,” he says, his voice bringing me back to our nightmarish reality. His hands hold me up as a sob slips past my lips. I squeeze him even tighter for one more second before pushing his warm body away. Letting him hold me any longer will only end with me truly breaking down.
“Go. I’ll be fine. I promise.” I wipe at the lone tear that escapes down my left cheek, thankful I was able to keep it under control for the most part. I haven’t let myself fall apart yet, and I don’t intend to until all the hard decisions are made.
He gives me a kiss on the top of my head before backing away from me and heading toward the door. With his hand on the handle, he turns around and makes direct eye contact with me. “Six o’clock, Thea.” A sad laugh tumbles from my lips as I nod my head in reply. He slips out of the door, and I bring the heels of my palms to my eyes, applying pressure to the weeping sockets willing them to stop.
I’m grateful I have Ripley. Going through this without him would have left me in a puddle of despair and no way out. He’s my rock, my person. He makes me laugh when all I want to do is break down. I don’t think he realizes just how special he is, and I definitely don’t tell him nearly enough. Losing two people I love dearly has made me realize how precious the ones around you are. It sounds cliché, but it’s made me want to not take what I have for granted.
The second he’s gone, I get up to turn off the lights and shut everything down. It only takes me a few minutes since we weren’t really open today anyway. I grab my purse and head toward the door, stopping at the picture of Owen and Hazel on the wall. It’s from when they first took over this place when it was just Indigo Hill Diner back in the 90s. The place was small but always felt like my second home. The patio that wraps around the restaurant overlooks Indigo Lake. We kept the patio and dock during renovations. None of us could part with it, and sitting on that patio while watching the sunset is something almost everyone in this town can say they’ve done at least once over the years.
I press my index and middle fingers to my lips before placing them on the photo. Another photo hangs right next to it, but it’s from six years back when we first started this venture together. Ripley is holding me close to him, his arm around my shoulder, mine wrapped around his waist, while Owen and Hazel are smiling some of the biggest smiles I’d ever seen on their faces. It was the start of something new, something we all believed in.
I exhale deeply before turning around to leave. With Owen and Hazel gone, I need to stay to protect what we built together. This is their legacy, and its future is uncertain.
I’m not sure what I expected when I called Carrington yesterday. I was understandably upset during the call, but I guess I expected more than a ‘thank you.’ I expected some kind of reaction from him despite him proving to me time and time again in the past that he doesn’t talk about his emotions. He didn’t have a great relationship with Owen and Hazel once we got older, but they were still his parents.
I turn the key to lock the door then spin around and try to shove the keys into my purse. They fall from my hand and hit the ground as my eyes settle on the person standing in front of the steps leading up to the door.
Carrington Grant.
Even after all these years, I could spot him anywhere. He stands tall, looking up at the sign hanging above me, with his hands in the pockets of his dark denim jeans, a light gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His hair is longer than I remember, pulled into a top-knot, and he’s sporting neatly trimmed facial hair. It looks like he has more tattoos, specifically one climbing up his neck that disappears under his shirt, but he’s still the same Carrington I left in Seattle.
His eyes drift from the sign down to me. My heart stops the second his gaze locks onto mine. His eyes have always been mesmerizing. They’re a deep blue with light striations that look like lightning strikes. I haven’t seen his face in eight years. He might as well be a ghost to me.
After what feels like an eternity, I scurry down the steps, breaking our eye contact, and skirt past him by cutting through the grass. I know I should talk to him. I need to explain what happened here and why this isn’t the place he remembers, but I just can’t. Not right now. Not without breaking down, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen yet. I’ve already got my hand on my car door handle when I hear his footsteps behind me.
“Thea. Wait,” he calls.
His familiar, gruff voice stops me in my tracks. It’s involuntary. Just like yesterday when I heard his deep voice, and everything around me came to a chilling halt.
A moment passes before I find my words, with my back still to him all I can say is, “I... I have to go. I’m sorry. I’m, umm... I’m meeting with Mr. Goldfinch. Unless you… I mean… you should probably be the one. I can call and let him know.” I cut myself off so the rambling stops, slowly looking over my shoulder at him. He hasn’t said another word. He’s just staring at me, and it hits me that he probably hates me.
I’m about to start apologizing again when he finally decides to speak.
“Get in. I’ll drive,” he says as he turns to walk toward what I presume is his car.
“Wh-what?”
“To Goldfinch’s. I’ll drive us.”
In all honesty, this is the last thing I expected. I expected screaming or him telling me to never step foot on his parents’ property again or, better yet, telling me I have no business making funeral arrangements for them. He’d probably be right to say all of that. They aren’t my parents.
I can’t move. I think I’m in shock from everything that’s happened. By the time I pull my gaze from my reflection staring back at me in my driver’s side window, he’s waiting at his car with the passenger door open. There’s not a speck of the malice I was expecting on his face, his expression seems solemn. His eyes focus on mine, staring into my soul, and I’m lost in them, the same way I always am when his deep blues find me.
“Are you coming?”