Chapter 10 Declan
Declan
“Alright, pick your fruit and let’s get started!” Trudie, one of the owners of Battered Bliss Emporium, practically bounces with enthusiasm. It’s that, or she’s had too much coffee.
Been there many times, Trudie.
Battered Bliss is a kitchenware store that offers cutlery, cookware, and gourmet foods. They host cooking classes, too, in a dedicated area in the back corner. Six workstations create a U-shape around the demonstration area, each with a sink and butcher-block counter made from hard maple.
I run my palm over the surface, smooth, well-oiled, and the kind of finish that takes patience. Good choice. Its tight grain makes it durable for food prep.
I’ve never taken a class here, but my buddy Nash’s wife suggested it when I dropped off a custom oak slab at their home. The mix of textures and touches of vibrant color creates an easygoing atmosphere.
Bree reaches for the strawberries at the same time I do, and when our fingers brush, electricity shoots straight up my arm. Why this still surprises me, I’m not sure. Her eyes meet mine, warm and golden-brown.
“Great minds,” I manage with a wink, taking in her beautiful curves.
Today, she’s wearing a fuzzy pink sweater with a giant red heart in the center. She’s got a matching red headband holding back her silky hair.
Bree plucks a strawberry from the wicker basket and takes a bite, holding my gaze the entire time. Juice glistens on her full bottom lip, and I am so tempted to kiss it off her, but we’re not at a club.
Izzy tsks from the next station over. “I’m standing right here, you know.”
“We haven’t even done anything,” Bree protests.
“Tell that to the strawberry.” Izzy’s already washing her blackberries with impressive efficiency, the steel colander gleaming.
For an old-money debutante, Bree’s younger sister is turning out to be surprisingly laid back.
She’s got minimal makeup on and is wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt with red hearts on the elbows.
I’m really liking the Winthrop women.
Trudie distributes paring knives, and I grab mine with confidence. How hard can it be to cut up some strawberries?
Turns out? Pretty damn hard.
I’m mangling them, juice running down my fingers as I hack away like I’m splitting firewood instead of prepare fruit for jam. Bree glances at my cutting board and bites her lip, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Need some help there, Wilder?”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“You’re murdering them.” She takes my hand, her fingers warm and soft against my calloused ones, and guides the knife at the correct angle. “Gentle. Like this.”
More carnage.
She grabs the knife from my hand. “Here. Watch.”
I don’t watch. Instead, I’m acutely aware of the way her chocolate hair falls forward and the little furrow between her brows as she concentrates.
“You’re a natural.” My words are soft, reverent, even though she could have chopped off my finger since I didn’t bother looking down at the knife.
“Years of helping our mom make preserves.” She releases my hand, and I immediately miss her touch. “She has a thing for canning. Cherry preserves are her signature holiday gift.”
“Your mom sounds great.”
“She is.” Bree and Izzy speak simultaneously. “Jinx!” They laugh at their synchronized timing, high-fiving each other in a dance they’ve clearly done a t thousand times.
After a bit, we fall into a rhythm. Bree cuts, and I measure sugar and lemon juice. My shoulder bumps hers now and then as I lean over to check her work. Maybe it’s on purpose.
“You’re supposed to cut them smaller,” I say, peering into her bowl.
She glances at my measuring cup with an arched eyebrow. “And you’re supposed to level off your sugar.”
“Noted.” I grab a spoon, skimming off the excess with exaggerated care. “Better?”
“Much.”
Trudie makes her rounds, stopping at our station with that same knowing look. “You two work well together.”
“We’re still figuring that out,” I say, but I can’t stop looking at Bree.
Her cheeks flush pink, and my chest tightens in the best possible way.
“Well, keep doing what you’re doing.” Trudie pats my shoulder. “The best jam comes from patience and the right partner.”
As she moves on, Izzy stage-whispers, “She’s definitely not talking about jam.”
“Focus on your own station, Izz,” Bree says, but she’s smiling.
We move through the steps, macerating fruit, adding pectin, and watching the mixture bubble and transform in the copper pots. I keep sneaking strawberries when I think Trudie isn’t looking. She definitely notices, but doesn’t say anything. She just adds more berries into my bowl.
As we wait for the next step, I pose a question to both women. “Who do you two look more like? Your mom or dad?”
Izzy waves her hand dismissively. “That’s easy. Our mom. She has the same brown hair, only a few strands of silver. Our brother takes after our dad. Both are blond.”
I consider her words. “I met your brother at a conference a couple of years back. Heath Winthrop, right?” They both look at me like I’ve sprouted antlers. “It was the International Timber Conference in Portland.”
Bree looks at me, her face registering disbelief as the sweet perfume of the macerating berries caramelizes. “That’s right. Heath attended that with the president of the lumber division. I only remember because there was an industry music convention in Portland at the same time.”
“He’s a good guy.” I take the wooden spoon from Bree and take over stirring the bubbling mixture. “Small world.”
“It really is, Declan.” Izzy looks at Bree, then back at me, something on her mind as customers mill about the area. She lowers her voice. “Is there any chance that your brother Ford has the social media handle @axemanblue?”
I freeze mid-stir. “How did you—”
“Hannah figured it out.” Izzy touches my shoulder, grounding me from the shock. “The snake tattoo. And Indigo Peak is in the background of all his videos.”
The damn motherfucker. I’m going to kill my little brother. He promised this shit wouldn’t touch Wilder Industries, but if these two figured it out, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does.
Shaking my head, I grip the edge of the wooden counter with both hands, knuckles turning white. “It’s him. Nobody’s supposed to know. He’s keeping it anonymous.”
As if Bree can sense my anger, she takes the spoon from me and continues stirring. “If she hadn’t seen him at your house yesterday, she wouldn’t have connected the dots.”
“But you might want to know he’s going viral,” Izzy adds. “He’s got almost 500,000 followers.”
“Five hundred thousand? He had 30,000 last week.” I pull out my phone and check Ford’s account. It’s at 572,693. “Jeezuz.” I run my hand through my hair, pissed as hell. I send a quick text to my brothers and uncle, instructing them to check the follower count of @axemanblue.
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Izzy says, crossing her heart. “We won’t say anything.”
Bree brushes her fingers over my forearm. “It’s not our secret to tell.”
The Winthrop girls are rare indeed. Their support makes my throat tight.
We are at the hostess stand outside Hank & Lulu’s, waiting for a table. It’s cool outside, the sky blue, as the smell of grilled burgers fills the air. My stomach rumbles, making the women grin at me.
Bree and I are standing close enough that I could lean down and kiss her if I wanted to. And believe me, I want to. But her sister is three feet away, and anything I do will be shared by the townsfolk in a matter of seconds.
So I settle for tucking a strand of hair behind her ear instead.
“Thanks for coming with me today,” I say quietly.
“Thanks for inviting me.” Her voice is soft. “This was fun.”
“We should do it again sometime. The whole jam-making thing.”
“Or we could just eat the jam we already made. With some artisan bread on Indigo Peak?”
“That works too.”
Country music plays softly from the speakers overhead as my brother Gunnar approaches us. “Hey, bro. We just sat down. Want to eat with me and Luke?” His eyes flick to Izzy.
I shoot a questioning look at Bree, who nods with a smile. As for my brother? He hasn’t looked away from Izzy once. Her cheeks flush under Gunnar’s steady gaze, but I’ve got to hand it to her. She looks anywhere but at him.
“Izzy?” I am not putting her in a situation she doesn’t want to be in.
Her gray eyes flash toward Gunnar before looking at me. “That would be great.”
We’re moved to a round table that comfortably seats six. Somehow my brother squeezes next to Izzy despite two other open chairs. At least Bree’s next to me.
Nothing like scaring off a date by eating with the family.
“So, Bree.” Uncle Luke looks over his menu at my girl, the residents of Indigo Hills chatting in the background. “Ford sent me some adorable snaps of Ladybug. Cutest damn dog I’ve ever seen. When do I get visitation rights?”
“Ford’s already claimed favorite uncle status.” Bree’s smile is bright as she takes water from the server. “What are your qualifications?”
“Well, I did manage to raise Ford’s knucklehead self, for one.”
Gunnar and I both chuckle. Our baby brother earned every bit of the grief we give him. It would be worse if he were here with us.
Bree taps her index finger thoughtfully against her chin, eyes flicking upward as if contemplating something deep. “Let’s make a deal. If you survive a playdate with your shoes still intact, we’ll talk.” She shoots me a playful glance, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Deal.” My uncle closes his menu with a snap. “But I’ll need a full report on Ladybug’s behavior. Like, will she be a good influence or just another troublemaker like these two?” Luke nods at me and Gunnar.
“Get over it already, Uncle Luke.” Gunner tears open a sugar packet for his tea. “I, for one, think flooding all the tubs and sinks to raise bass was a great idea.”
Luke scratches his head, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve never seen so many dead fish in my life. In every sink, tub, commode.”
We hand off our menus, and I’m still laughing at Gunnar when my phone vibrates. Ford. Something in my gut tightens as I swipe to answer.
“Hey, what’s—”
“Dec, I fucked up.” Ford’s voice is shaking. “Ladybug got into a wasp nest in the backyard. She’s been stung. Multiple times. Her face is swelling.”
My blood runs cold. “How many times?”
“I don’t know, man. Four? Five? Her snout is already twice the normal size, and she’s whimpering. Which vet do you use?”
“Call Stillwater Animal Hospital.” I’m already moving toward the truck. “Tell them we’re coming. Ice pack on the stings if you can. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I hang up and look at Bree, whose face has gone pale.
“Ladybug?” she asks.
“Wasp stings. Multiple. We need to go. Now.”
She jumps up, apologizing to my uncle and brother.
Outside, Izzy’s already climbing into the back seat as I throw open Bree’s door. She slides in beside me, her hand immediately finding mine on the center console.
I squeeze her fingers and gun the engine, fighting the panic I feel.
Hold on, Ladybug. We’re coming.