Chapter 4
Chapter Four
L ily couldn’t sleep. She wanted to get up and go get herself a snack, but she didn’t want to wake her father.
He slept so lightly that the least sound or movement would rouse him.
He was feeling good, she thought. Better all the time, actually.
And his mind was still sharp and clear. He’d made friends, and they played cards and bowled.
Cooking at the cantina was healing for him, she thought. So was working with him there, for her.
It had only been two years since they’d lost the real Lily, and none of them had healed, although she thought Harrison had progressed furthest. Finding Maria, marrying into her family, moving down here—he’d found his place.
She still wasn’t so sure of her own. And their dad? She didn’t know, but she sure wished the sparkle would return to his eyes.
The real reason for her sleeplessness, she knew, was that Ethan was back.
She usually knew when he was coming. It had to be an event; a wedding, a funeral, or a major holiday.
They always ran into each other when he was in town.
She always had a plan to ensure they would, but she’d never had to use one. It always happened on its own.
She’d never been more attracted to a man in her life, from the moment she’d first set eyes on him. No, before that. She’d fallen in love with his voice before she’d ever seen him. She’d heard him on the radio, downloaded his album, followed his fan pages on social.
Seeing him for the first time, face-to-face, had been entirely different from seeing his photos and videos, though.
His dark-brown hair had lighter and darker shades in its loose curls that looked as soft as satin.
His stunning black-rimmed, light-brown irises seemed to gleam in contrast with his heavy, dark eyebrows.
He was so big, the thought of being with him was a little bit scary. She wasn’t big anywhere. But when she thought about being wrapped up in those arms, she didn’t feel fear, she felt bliss.
She knew he liked her. More than liked her. Was attracted to her. He was clinging to his lifestyle and now she thought she knew why. It kept him away from his family. He felt unworthy of the Brand name. He hadn’t told anyone else about that feeling.
Nor had he told anyone else about his unwanted inheritance, other than Chelsea and Garrett.
In her mind’s eye, Lily saw Manny’s Cantina from the front.
She’d never seen the rear of the place. She wondered what was back there, and how far the property extended.
Part of that area could solve the parking issue, and then the front lot could be replaced by a patio, and they could put an entire section of outdoor tables there, rather than the handful tucked up next to the building on the hot pavement.
Her brain wouldn’t stop chattering, so she got up, pulled on a light-blue robe, and went to the little desk near her bedroom window.
She sat down and flipped open her laptop, opened a blank document and started typing.
There would have to be shade, and some kind of sound barrier between the place and the road.
She looked around the desk, found a pencil, but nothing to draw on.
Not a notepad, not a piece of scrap paper.
Ah, the printer! She yanked a few sheets from the feed tray and returned to the desk chair and leaned over to sketch out some ideas.
She drew a curving brick boundary wall with a rock garden and pair of cacti.
Oh, and off the front, they could add a serving station with warmers and coolers for the most popular dishes.
Her phone chimed and she picked it up and looked at it. And then her heart jumped.
Ethan: You still up?
Smiling so much while all alone in a room was probably a sign of idiocy, she thought. But it felt like there were springs in the corners of her lips. Idiocy.
She keyed back a one-word answer.
Lily: Yes.
Ethan: I took your advice. Called a bunkhouse bonfire with the cousins. Tomorrow night, if you want to come.
Her brain typed out YES!!!! But she forced her fingers to tap the word, “Sure,” instead. And then, on autopilot, “What can I bring?”
Ethan: Would love some of that dip you made at Christmas.
She smiled, warm right to her toes.
Lily: Dad’s recipe. I’ll make a jumbo batch.
Ethan: Thanks.
She held the phone, waiting for more, but he didn’t say anything else, and the silence stretched to awkward. She had to reply somehow. You’re welcome? YW? De nada?
Ethan: What do you think they’ll say when I tell them?
She mulled on that for a moment. But it didn’t take long.
Lily: They’re your family. They’ll want you take over the Cantina and stay.
Ethan: Yeah.
Lily: At first. But if you ask them to be objective, they’ll try. And good ideas will follow.
He sent back prayer hands. Then…
Ethan: So what’s keeping you awake?
Lily looked at her sketches and notes.
Lily: Something that’s none of my business.
Ethan: Mysterious.
Lily: Ideas for the cantina. They wouldn’t let me sleep till I got them down.
Ethan: Bring them tomorrow night?
Lily: And dip, right?
Ethan: And dip, yes. See you around eight?
Lily: See you then. Good night.
Ethan: Good night, Lily.
She exited the app and pressed the phone to her chest, closing her eyes. Then she popped them open again, and said, “No. You are not doing this to yourself again, Lily.”
It happened every time. Whenever Ethan was home, he made her feel as if he must adore her. And every single time, he left again without so much as a kiss.
And yet, here she was, convinced he felt the same thrill in her presence that she felt in his. You couldn’t fake something like that, and why would he even want to?
A little voice crept into her head. How can he feel anything for me when he doesn’t even know me? And how can he know me when I don’t even know me?
She looked at the photo of her mom. It hung in a black frame on the wall opposite the window.
It was like looking into a mirror that reflected the future.
Her mother’s face, her palest blond hair, her big blue eyes, her tender smile, they were all older versions of Lily’s own. Even their names were the same.
Her mother was a saint. And a nurse.
All her life, Lily had tried to model herself after her beautiful, kind, perfect mother. And when the first Lily had died, those efforts had tripled.
Now she felt as if she was buckling under the weight of trying to fill the empty space in her family that her mother had left behind.
The following night, Lily tried three different outfits, and each time, got halfway to the front door, where her father was waiting, then changed her mind and went back to her room.
The third time she came out in jeans and boots and a navy-blue tank with a long, lighter blue cardigan over it. The only special part of the outfit was that the blue tank was made of a sleek satiny fabric that shimmered if the light hit it just right.
Her dad, who’d been waiting near the front door the last two times she’d come down, had taken a seat in a kitchen chair and had a novel open in front of him, but he looked up. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, set his book aside, got up, and put on the Stetson hat Harry and Maria had given him for Christmas.
He never left home without the thing. She noticed he’d dressed up, too.
Wore a pair of spanking new Levis and a light-blue dress shirt, all tucked in and buttoned up.
Garrett and Chelsea had invited him to have dinner at the ranch with them.
Said they were having a friend over anyway and could use a fourth.
She sniffed. He was wearing cologne. Who was this friend, having dinner at the Brands’ tonight? Mom had only been gone for…two years. Two years.
She sighed.
He said, “I’m driving. I’ll drop you at the bunkhouse and head down to the ranch house,” he said. “That way I can head home after dinner. You’re staying over, right?”
“That’s generally what happens at the bunkhouse bonfires,” she said. “Hence the bunkhouse part.”
“Slumber party for grown-ups.”
“Who you callin’ grown up?” She elbowed him and handed over the keys.
She’d objected to the pickup truck, but her dad couldn’t be talked out of it.
She was still driving her little crossover.
She’d flown home to pack up all their things and close down their lives in New York.
She’d hired movers for what she’d kept. She’d cried her heart out at everything she’d let go.
But she’d felt lighter after. Once everything was donated, sold, or packed into moving trucks and on its way, and the house stood empty, Lily had cleaned it, wall to wall and floor to ceiling.
There had been a few things she hadn’t trusted to the movers.
Her mom’s good china, her teapot collection, and all the family photos, along with her own clothes and belongings.
She left the bucket and cleaning supplies on the curb and wrote FREE on the pavement in chalk.
Then she’d dropped the chalk into the trash can.
Lily blinked out of the past when her father said, “We’re here. You sleeping, sweetheart?”
“Daydreaming,” she said. “Thanks for the ride, Dad. Have a good time tonight.”
“You too, sweetheart.” He eyed her and said, “You look great. You looked great all three times.”
“You’re biased.” She leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek.
He was truly thriving in Texas. But only physically.
She wondered if he was depressed. She grabbed the huge container of dip in a one-armed bear hug and got out of the truck.
As her dad drove away, Lily sent a rapid fire, one-handed text to Ethan’s adopted mom, Chelsea, who was a psychologist.
Lily: Dad on way. Seems depressed.
Chelsea: I’ll keep an eye on him.
Chelsea always texted in complete sentences, she’d noticed. Most of the elder Brands did that. Her father didn’t text at all, unless absolutely necessary.