Where You Belong Preview
JULIET
Present Day
After making sure the deadbolt on my apartment is engaged, I turn to walk down the steps but then spin back around to check that the door is locked again.
I do that three more times before I finally feel confident enough to walk down the stairs to the alley behind my restaurant, Sage & Citrus, and start my morning walk.
I never have anything in my ears during my walks.
I don’t own earbuds or headphones. I never listen to podcasts or audiobooks or music when I’m on my walks.
I know that Bitterroot Valley is safe, and that the odds of being mugged during the early morning hours here in town are very low, but that habit has been ingrained in me for years.
I don’t like surprises.
I don’t do well with being startled .
Besides, this way I can hear the birds waking up, the tick-tick-tick of the lawn sprinklers, and the occasional car drive by. I like the way my town sounds so early in the day.
I know this town like the back of my hand, yet it’s still so foreign to me. I had been away for almost two decades before I finally made my way home. And that’s what this tiny town in Montana is.
Home.
But I don’t really belong here anymore. I definitely don’t fit in.
I’m an outsider, a move-in, despite being born here and coming from three generations of Bitterroot Valley citizens.
The friendships I had as a child are all gone.
I don’t have family since Mom passed away about ten years ago, and Dad … Well, Dad’s been gone for a long time.
So it doesn’t necessarily make sense that when I finally found my freedom and could go anywhere to start over, I chose to come to the place where I was born, where there seems to be nothing but ghosts of the past that haunt me.
Taunts me.
Reminds me that I was stupid and made choices that destroyed me.
However, I knew, deep in my soul, that Bitterroot Valley was the one place on this godforsaken rock hurling through space that could heal me.
I need the mountains, the fresh air, and even if they don’t want to have anything to do with me, the people who live here, whether they’re familiar to me or not.
Just knowing that they’re nearby is soothing.
Making my way down the block and into the oldest residential neighborhood in town, I take a deep breath.
Fall is fast approaching, but summer is holding on by its fingernails.
There’s a slight nip in the air this morning, but flowers still bloom, and none of the trees have started to turn quite yet.
I slow my stride just a bit when I get to the corner where my favorite house in town sits. It’s funny how when you’re a kid, things look bigger. Or, maybe, it’s just the memory that’s skewed. If you’d have asked me when I was sixteen about this house, I would have told you it’s a mansion.
But I’ve lived in a mansion three times this size, and this house is so much better in every way. So much more a home than the cold fortress I spent all of my marriage in.
In reality, the house before me is a large older home, white with a red roof and black trim, and sits on a huge corner lot. Whomever owns it now doesn’t seem to like flowers, as there’s no landscaping to speak of, but the lawn is cut religiously every Sunday.
This house needs rose bushes and hydrangeas. Maybe lilacs on that one side. A pretty mixed garden in that corner. And in the back, I’d plant a garden with herbs and veggies.
Brooks and I used to talk about this place all the time. We took a lot of walks, or went for rides through town, and we often came this way .
“How many bedrooms do you think it has?” I ask as I lean on the open passenger window, letting the cool wind blow through my hair.
“I dunno,” Brooks says. “Maybe four? Five?”
“That’s a lot of bedrooms. We’d have to have a lot of kids to fill it up.”
“Not really. There are five of us at my house, so four bedrooms wouldn’t be enough. Why, how many kids do you want, Wildfire?”
I grin back at him, see him watching me with those gorgeous hazel eyes. “The right amount to fill up that house.”
I shake my head and keep walking. It seems like there are memories in every corner of this town. But that’s the price I have to pay to be here.
To feel safe.
So I’ll pay it.
Pulling myself out of that funk, I start making a mental list of everything I need to order for the restaurant today. It’s ordering day, and because my place has become so popular this summer, it will be a big order.
That makes me almost giddy.
I’ve wanted to open a restaurant like this for as long as I can remember. I have gluten sensitivities. I suspect I have celiac disease, but I’ve never been diagnosed. However, since I’ve been working in and using a clean kitchen, I’ve had minimal issues.
Feeling good is a luxury I’ll never take for granted again.
On my way back through downtown, I come across Jackie, the owner of the Sugar Studio, as she sets her chalkboard on the sidewalk.
“Good morning,” she says with a big smile. Jackie and my mom were good friends, and she’s been one of the few people who’s been sincerely excited to have me back home. “How are you, beautiful girl?”
I let her hug me close even though touch is something I’m still getting used to again, and I give her a smile when I pull away.
“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you, Jackie? How’s your knee?”
“Meh.” Jackie shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch most days, but who has time for knee replacement surgery?”
“Um, you need to make time. You’re on your feet every day, remember?”
“Oh, trust me, this knee doesn’t let me forget it. But I’m okay, sweetie. It’s nothing a little ibuprofen doesn’t help. I have a new gluten-free scone recipe for you. Or, if you want, I can come by one evening, and we can make them in your kitchen.”
I love this woman. I know she’d make it for me in her kitchen—Jackie makes the best pastries in the state—but her facility isn’t gluten-free, and it might make me sick.
Instead, we’ve spent plenty of time in my kitchen, and her recipes never miss.
“I’d love that. Anytime works for me. I’ve decided to start closing at four on Sundays.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Why’s that?”
“Well, working from seven in the morning until nine at night makes for a long-ass day.” I chuckle and brush some hair behind my ear.
“You have girls who work for you,” she reminds me. “Let them handle a day by themselves so you can take a day off.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t need a whole day. What would I do with myself? But a half day would be great. Plus, I’d get to see you. I can’t wait to try those scones.”
She grins at me, but I see the worry in her eyes. “You work too hard, baby girl. Your mama would tell me to make you slow down.”
“My mama worked two jobs all my life,” I remind her and turn to leave. “So she’d have no room to talk. I’ll see you later.”
When I get down the block to my place, and before I can walk around to the alley, where the stairwell that leads to my apartment is, movement across the street catches my eye.
I see Brooks walking out of Bitterroot Valley Coffee Co, with a cup in hand.
He doesn’t see me at first, and I’m able to take him in.
God, he’s beautiful.
Taller and more muscular than he was when I was in college, Brooks grew up very well. Okay, that’s the understatement of the year. His jawline is firm and chiseled, and his dark hair a little too long and tousled, as if he just rolled out of bed.
Or had sex.
Fuck, don’t think about that.
He’s wearing jeans, and his deep red T-shirt is tucked into them, showcasing a narrow waist and sculpted abs. But it’s always been his arms that make me weak in the knees. That shirt looks like it’s a second skin around his biceps.
I know how it feels to have those arms wrapped around me, and there’s nothing like it in the whole world.
Suddenly, his eyes come up to mine, and his stride slows, just a smidge. His eyes harden. His jaw clenches.
And then he turns the other way and walks to his garage, as if I don’t even exist.
That’s the part that tears my heart out.
“You’re nothing.” His eyes bore into mine, so much anger shooting through him, and landing right on me.
I was invited to his brother, Blake’s engagement party by Harper, Blake’s fiancée. She’s a sweetheart, and a loyal customer of mine. I love her to death.
She’s my friend, and I don’t have many of those.
But it’s shitty luck that she’s marrying Blake because that means that I’ll have to be very careful to pick and choose which invitations to accept from her. I don’t want to be anywhere I’m not wanted.
That’s the last thing I want.
***
“Holy shit, this salad is so good ,” Harper says with a moan. She sits back and closes her eyes, enjoying her mouthful of salad, and it makes me smile.
My friend is pregnant, and she’s been craving this salad every day.
I finally stopped charging her for them. They don’t cost me much to make, and I didn’t want her to go broke.
“So good,” Ava, Harper’s best friend, echoes. “Like, smack my ass and call me Sally good.”
I snort out a laugh and shake my head. “I’m glad you like them. I’m thinking about adding artichoke hearts to that one. What do you think?”
“Yes,” Harper says, nodding enthusiastically.
“No,” Ava says at the same time and wrinkles her nose. “It’s the texture for me. I can’t do it.”
“Maybe I’ll offer it as an add-on.” I wink at them and leave them to their lunch. I clear off a table and wipe it down, then head back behind the counter.
This is a full-service restaurant offering breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Everything is gluten-free, including the bread and pastries, and is safe for anyone with celiac disease to eat here.
Including me.
The food is pretty good, if I do say so myself.
And I try to rotate things through with the seasons. Now that summer is coming to a close, I’m starting to come up with ideas for fall, but clearly, that salad that Harper’s in love with will have to stay forever.
My phone pings in my pocket with a text, making me scowl. Only one person ever texts me these days, and I only keep my phone on me for emergencies.
Pulling it out, I sigh at the message.
Unknown Number: I need two grand.
I keep blocking her number, but she just gets a new one. It’s constant. And exhausting. She knows she’s only supposed to email me, but she doesn’t care.
She’s not good with boundaries.
Without replying, I block this one, too, and then shove the phone back in my pocket.
“You okay?” Christy asks with a frown.
“I’m great, just a spam text.” I shrug and get to work filling an order for the shrimp tacos that came in through the take-out app. “Hazel’s coming in at noon today, and Tandy said she’d be in at four to help with dinner.”
“Actually, Tandy just called.” Christy winces. “She sprained her ankle.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I’ll call Erica in.”
“Erica is at Yellowstone with her boyfriend,” Christy reminds me. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll stay.”
“You’ve been working doubles all week.”
“So have you, boss lady,” she says with a wink. “It’s fine, I can use the overtime. I’ve got my eye on a pair of shoes that will most likely maim me and make me bleed, but they’re so pretty. ”
“Then it sounds like you need them.” I pat her on the shoulder.
“Thanks for staying. I’ll stay, too, and the three of us will be good to go.
I have three new hires coming in throughout the month, as long as they don’t back out on me.
They all want different hours, so I can stagger them throughout the week.
I don’t think we’ll have much of a shoulder season, but I’m not complaining about that. ”
“This is exactly what this town needed,” Christy says. “It’s different and fresh, and the food is amazing. So it doesn’t surprise me that we’re busy. Tandy felt so bad, especially because she knows Erica’s gone.”
“We’ll be fine.”
I will never complain about having to put in extra hours or being exhausted from running this place.
It’s something I never thought I’d have, and it’s all mine. I bought the building, free and clear, and I own everything inside it.
No one can take any of it away from me.
And the fact that I’m already doing so well just boosts my confidence and reminds me that despite having moments of doubt, this really is where I’m supposed to be.