Chapter 4
Chapter Four
HAYDEN
“So, baby girl, what do you think?” I asked, looking back at Ivy through my rearview mirror.
“It’s so pretty!” she squealed excitedly.
She wasn’t wrong about that. I hadn’t been here often—less than a handful in the past decade since my husband hadn’t been a big fan of my eccentric great-aunt Sylvia—but I was no stranger to this small town.
Even then, I never got over how beautiful Hope Valley was.
Each visit had been like seeing it for the first time, and as I drove through the main drag just then, it was no different.
After lecturing me for what felt like an eternity about loosening my grip on my husband so that he slipped through my fingers—their words—my parents had insisted Ivy and I move in with them when everything in my life had fallen to shit.
That was completely out of the question.
I loved them, but our relationship had been frayed for as long as I could remember.
Though we’d lived in the same city, we didn’t see each other on a regular basis.
In fact, I’d gone out of my way not to attend family dinners and the like.
They were impossible to please. Nothing I did was ever good enough.
Even my accomplishments were ridiculed. I’d get an entire list outlining how I could have done better.
They didn’t like the way I did my hair or makeup. They didn’t like my clothes. They didn’t like the name I’d picked for my daughter or the house we lived in or the car I drove. Everything I did or had could have been better, better, better.
The rest of my family was exactly the same, cut from the same cloth as my parents, and I couldn’t imagine ever leaning on any of them, let alone during such a hard time in my life.
I understood that blood was thicker than water, but sometimes you had to cut out those people who made you feel bad about yourself . . . even if they were your family.
There was only one relative I’d ever felt a real connection to.
Even though I hadn’t seen Aunt Sylvia in years, we were still close.
We’d kept in contact with emails and phone calls.
We’d bonded over being the two black sheep in our family, and that bond had stayed strong, keeping us connected no matter how long it had been since we were face-to-face.
When I called to tell her my world had basically imploded, she told me emphatically she’d been thinking of slowing down but didn’t have anyone she trusted to take over the reins of her flower shop.
She went on about the timing being kismet and all but demanded I move to her “little slice of paradise.”
Hope Valley was a little less than an hour from Richmond, making it easily drivable, so Alex hadn’t given me grief when I told him I had a job opportunity there.
I assumed it also helped ease things with his pregnant fiancée that the woman he’d thrown over and the kid they had together were no longer going to be living in the same city.
But I tried really hard not to dwell on that.
Another thing I’d worked hard not to think about was my night with a certain stranger I’d picked up in a bar.
I had started to wonder if I made the whole thing up.
He’d been too damn good to be true, it had to have been my imagination.
But even days later, I’d move or shift in a certain way and feel a twinge that reminded me that night had been very, very real.
Those twinges were gone now, but the memories certainly weren’t, no matter how many times I told myself to stop thinking about it. I was never going to see Micah again, after all. I just prayed he hadn’t ruined me for all other men.
Ivy stared out the window in wonder as we passed through the town, pointing out everything that caught her eye, which was a lot.
She was particularly taken with the clock tower in the center of the town square, and rattled on and on about it until the moment we pulled up in front of Sylvia’s house, an adorable bungalow overrun by so many shrubs and plants that her front yard looked like a jungle.
Her love for all things green had carried over from her flower shop.
There was a trellis covered in wisteria at the side of the house, a line of rose bushes to the left of the porch.
Azaleas, butterfly bushes, hydrangeas, elephant ears, and so much more.
The backyard looked much the same. Her property was, hands down, my favorite place on earth.
It was like stepping into a whole new world.
I’d spent hours and hours in her yard, weeding and turning soil or curling up on one of the cozy chairs or loungers she had scattered throughout.
“Mommy,” Ivy said on a wondrous breath, “it’s like a secret garden.” I threw the car in park and glanced over my shoulder, seeing my girl’s face and hands pressed against the window. “Do we get to stay here?”
“Yeah, love bug. This is our new home. You like it?”
Ivy sucked in a huge, dramatic breath before declaring in a voice so loud it nearly burst my eardrums, “I love it so much!”
“Then let’s go check it out.”
I killed the engine and pushed the car door open just as Sylvia appeared, like a brightly colored beacon amidst all the greenery.
“Yoohoo!” she called, waving an arm in the air, making her dazzling, brightly colored caftan sway in the breeze. “There they are! Welcome home, my lovelies!” She reached the edge of her walkway just as I pulled Ivy from the car.
For a woman in her early eighties, she was so full of life it practically radiated from her pores.
I’d gotten my strawberry blonde hair from her, and she was obviously keeping up with regular salon visits to keep her once-natural color intact.
Making my way toward her, my vision blurred as my eyes welled.
The sense of relief and familiarity that washed over me was almost overwhelming.
“It’s so good to see you.” My voice radiated with emotion as I whispered into her ear, inhaling her familiar scent. She’d been using Chantilly dusting powder for as long as I could remember. I associated that fragrance with so many happy memories, and smelling it now made me smile.
“Oh, my precious girl.” She pulled back.
Her fingers, slightly gnarled with age, pressed against my cheeks as she took my face in her hands.
I looked down at her, seeing the many years she’d lived—enthusiastically sucking every drop of life from them—written on the soft, papery skin of her face beneath the impeccably applied makeup she wore every single day, no matter what.
She’d taught me that beautiful undergarments made a woman feel sexy, even if no one was going to see them, and that there was never an excuse for a woman to go out in public without lipstick.
She was of the mindset that it made you feel good to look good. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
Stepping back, she looked to my daughter, her eyes lighting up as she threw her arms out at her sides. “Come give your Auntie Sylvia a hug, darlin’ girl.”
Ivy clung to my leg, her little arms like a vise as she looked up at me, her blue eyes wide and inquisitive.
I nodded reassuringly and gave her a little squeeze.
“It’s okay. You’ve met Aunt Sylvia before.
You were just really little, so you don’t remember.
” Leaning down, I whispered conspiratorially, “She’s my most favorite aunt in the whole wide world. ”
That did it. Letting me go, she ran the distance between me and Sylvia and wrapped her arms as far around her middle as they’d go. “Hi, Auntie Siva! I’m Ivy!”
My great-aunt smiled down at her, running her fingers through my girl’s pale red curls. “I know, darlin’ girl. I actually planted some ivy near the back porch just for you the day you were born. Would you like to see it?”
Ivy gasped and shouted, “Yeah!” She latched onto one of Sylvia’s hands and looked back at me. “Come on, Mommy.”
“You two go explore. I’m gonna start unloading the car.”
Sylvia gave me a wink, knowing I needed Ivy occupied while I tried to get our stuff into the house. My girl would insist on helping, which would take twice as long. “Come on, precious. There’s a lot to explore. Better get started before we lose the sun.”
I watched as my aunt guided my daughter around the side of the house and out of sight. Then I went about unloading our lives from my four-door sedan.
I felt like I was running on empty as I made my way down the stairs to the kitchen in the back of the house.
Sylvia was sitting at the small dinette table tucked into the bay window.
The top was covered in a bright mosaic she’d made years ago, using broken stoneware and vases.
The whole house was full of vibrant colors and crazy patterns—from the big, over-stuffed velvet couch in burnt orange, with its eclectic collection of throw pillows, to the squishy lounge chair in peacock blue, to the rugs and the paint on the walls.
It looked like a rainbow had exploded, or the sixties had a massive acid trip and puked all over the place.
I absolutely loved it. It was funky, just like her—and like how I used to be before I’d tamped that part of me down for Alex.
I’d spent years living in a monochromatic show house where everything from the dinnerware to the light fixtures matched. It hadn’t been me, not in the slightest. But I tried to appease myself by claiming that I’d been happy so I didn’t care that Alex had shot down every one of my design ideas.
I would never make that mistake again. From here on out, I was living my life on my terms. My house would look how I wanted it to look. I’d dress how I wanted to dress. I would be exactly who I wanted to be. Never again would I let someone mold me into their version of Hayden.
“Is she down?” Sylvia asked, closing her sudoku book as I pulled out the chair across from her and took a seat.
“Yeah, finally.”