Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
River
I walk for nearly an hour before anyone finds me.
Not because I’m lost—the grounds surrounding Brooks’s family estate are impossible to get lost in. Heck, they’re so impeccably kept it’s like walking through an old English manor.
Of course that’s what the house is modeled after.
And it also helps that every path eventually circles back to the house.
Even the large hedge maze that I’m currently wandering through has discrete cues for the proper path.
But I’m not interested in going back to the house, to the looks Briar and Brooks keep exchanging.
Poor River. She has shit taste in men. Let’s treat her like she’s fragile…or just one unrisen loaf of sourdough away from snapping.
They don’t get it.
That I’m not hurt. That I’m Mad. Yup. Still with that capital M.
And it doesn’t help that Thorn keeps showing up to discuss things with Brooks.
I wish I could say all that Mad means I’ve faced him with my head held high.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.
Instead, I hide in the kitchens—and when my bread isn’t cooperating or I burn the sugar cookies I stupidly keep making, I abandon baking for the outdoors.
I want to wander and get out of my own head, my own thoughts.
Want to stop missing him.
Want to stop chastising myself for standing back and letting him decide we were done.
Because I’m Mad at him. But…I’m Mad at me too.
“It’s my life,” I whisper. “I should get to decide too.”
Yet, all of that brings me right back here—
To walking along winding gravel paths periodically dotted with stone benches, passing beneath trellises adorned with fragrant wisteria, and navigating old hedges strengthened by years and years of growth.
When I reach the center of the maze, the flower beds spill over with lavender, foxglove, and pale English roses that look like they belong in the pages of a novel instead of real life.
It’s beautiful.
Lush.
Overgrown in that deliberate way wealthy people somehow manage to make look effortless.
I love it.
The garden.
The quiet paths.
The fresh air and sunlight.
The chance to think—and while absolutely none of that has been productive, at least I’m getting some Vitamin D.
I sink down onto the stone bench and close my eyes, tilting my face up to the sky. The morning sun is warm against my skin and the light breeze ruffles through my hair.
Then I sigh in contentment.
Because even though things are messed up, I still have this—quiet, sunshine, peace. And good friends, a safe place to land, freedom to take this time for myself.
A couple of years ago it was tension and fear, looking over my shoulder and trying to be perfect for Preston. Scared and small and not aware of the birds singing or the warm sunshine or the gentle, caressing breeze.
I’m not perfect.
I still look over my shoulder, still worry about Preston—and I’m definitely far more than worried about the Lyon situation. But if I’ve learned anything it’s that I can’t control the world around me and that I need to appreciate the simple things: books and coffee and fresh air.
I push up to my feet and start walking again.
And though I try to keep my thoughts away from Thorn…they drift right back.
I miss him.
There.
I admitted it.
The problem is that missing Thorn and being angry with him aren’t mutually exclusive.
I miss the soft brushes of his knuckles and the gentle way he strokes Violet.
I miss him eating my cookies and how close he held me at night.
I miss watching movies together and—
I just miss him.
“Ugh,” I mutter, emerging from the maze and stopping beside a small pond dotted with lily pads, my going throat tight.
Because what I want shouldn’t be complicated.
Unfortunately, it’s a messy, pain-in-my—
“Found you.”
I jump, glance over my shoulder, and see Briar standing several feet away. She’s smiling and carrying two coffee mugs.
I relax immediately. “You ready for my masterful opinion?”
“I’m ready for you to come and help me pick the best cake flavor ever,” she says as she walks over and hands me a cup.
I accept it gratefully and inhale deeply, the warmth of the mug soaking into my palms, the scent of the roasted beans in my nose. “Thanks,” I murmur. “And again, I can make your cake, honey.”
“I know you can.” She bumps her shoulder against mine. “But I want you at our wedding, not catering it.”
I shrug as I stare out at the gardens. “I can do both.”
The gardens stretch out before us.
Endless greenery.
Flowers spilling over borders.
Old stone walls softened by ivy.
“Maybe.” Briar follows my gaze and exhales contentedly.
“I never thought I would love being back here so much,” she murmurs.
“But it’s been like coming home.” She turns to me, takes my hand.
“And it will always be your home too, however long you want to stay. You don’t need to cook or clean to earn your keep.
You don’t need to cater our wedding or bake the cake.
You’re family, River, and that means you just need to be you. ”
The words settle softly between us, and I blink rapidly. “Dammit,” I whisper.
“Sorry,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic.
I swipe at a tear. “I’m so glad Brooks found his way back to you.”
She smiles. “Me too.” Then she leans over and hugs me tightly.
“I know you like to keep busy. I know you like to bake, but our wedding is going to be small—for obvious reasons—and I want you there as you, honey. Not worried about icing melting or food being hot. Just attending as the awesome woman who’s my friend. ”
I blow out a shaky breath. “No fair.”
Her expression softens but her eyes dance. “You can stress bake all you want after the wedding.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why not before?”
“Because I need to fit into my dress.”
I still.
Then we’re both laughing, and for a moment I’m not thinking about Thorn—much anyway. I’m happy to be with my friend, happy to be alive, happy to be part of a family that may not be blood-related, but is mine.
Briar stands, holds out her hand. “It’s time.”
“Ominous, much?”
“You know that delicious, sugary carbs are nothing but serious.”
My lips twitch. “You’re not wrong,” I tell her, looping my arm through hers and letting her guide me inside.
Wedding preparations are underway—flower arrangements have been chosen, a menu selected, Jean-Michel has provided his wine and Chrissy’s cranky senior cat, Joan of Freaking Arc, is going to be the ring bearer while baby Mia is going to be the flower girl.
Tiff is putting together an impromptu bachelorette party with the help of Rory, and Marie arranged for a getaway at one of Jean-Michel’s properties as a surprise (and safe) honeymoon.
Because Brooks and Briar are building their future.
I rub my hand over the ache in my chest, look out the windows, and take one last look at the gardens.
At the flowers reaching for sunlight.
At the paths winding effortlessly forward.
Then I close the door on my sadness, on my regrets, and follow Briar into the kitchen.
Toward cake.
Toward whatever comes next.
Toward whatever future I’ll build.
Even if Thorn Wilkenson is making that significantly more difficult than necessary.