Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Mira
“Honey, will you run back to the hall closet and get a vase for these flowers?” Lolly asks, holding up the bouquet of tulips I brought her.
Sun pours into the kitchen, filling it with an optimism that I appreciate. Fried chicken perfumes the air. The sizzle of the grease and water boiling for the mashed potatoes is the soundtrack to my childhood playing as we prepare Sunday dinner.
I smile. “Sure.” I toss the dish rag in my hands onto the kitchen counter and then make my way through the house.
Pictures hang everywhere, lining the hallway in mismatched frames.
Images spanning decades hang frozen behind glass.
Some are easier to see. The snaps of Lolly and Pop when they were dating, and of Markie and me on various trips and holidays, are fun to revisit.
But then there are the others—equally as important and exceptionally more valuable —and nearly impossible to view.
Mom sitting on the edge of a boat, mid-laugh. Dad’s hand on my shoulder just before I walked into kindergarten. My parents snuggled on a sofa with Markie in their arms, fresh from the hospital.
It’s proof they existed outside the confines of my memory. But it’s also a reminder of the loss I’ve never fully accepted. That I can’t accept, no matter how hard I do or don’t try.
The bridge of my nose burns as I dig through the closet until I find a vase large enough to fit the flowers.
“Mira!” Lolly shouts just as I reenter the kitchen. “Oh, sorry, honey. I didn’t see you there.” She holds up her phone. “I need to make a call. I forgot to call Darla Depue back yesterday about a bake sale, and she’s waiting on my answer.”
I make a face, uncertain why she’s telling me this. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back,” she says, stepping outside as if this bake sale is so important that it will end world hunger.
“Whatever makes her happy,” I mumble, finding a pair of scissors.
My stomach buckles like I’m sitting in a chair with a broken leg. It’s been like this all day. No, it’s been like this since last night when Hartley left the bar.
The relentless pressure behind my ribs feels like a warning. It began as soon as I lay in bed and closed my eyes. Groggy from the alcohol at Patsy’s and buzzed from being in Hartley’s arms hours before, it was a long and restless night.
Morning came too soon. With it came the reminder that I’ll learn today why Lolly summoned me back to Sugar Creek. And although I haven’t worried about it too much, something in my gut tells me I should worry more. A lot more.
My jaw tenses. “And then there was church.” I snip the end of a flower a little rougher than necessary.
According to Markie, the little blonde who sat by Hartley is new to town and works at the bank. She’s been sitting beside him for more than a month. Not that it’s any of my business, but if we weren’t in church, I would’ve made my way up there and staged an introduction.
And I hate that. I hate that I would do that because that makes me a jerk.
“I’ve missed you, too, Mira. But it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Still … I would’ve, and I probably would’ve tugged the collar of my dress down a little to show off my cleavage to boot.
I’m going to hell. I grin, recalling Audrey giving Brooks a look, warning him to behave. God knows what he was doing. At least Brooks will be in hell, too.
I grab another flower when the door shuts behind me. “I know we’re Methodists and don’t exactly believe in confessionals,” I say to Lolly. “But I had some super mean thoughts today in church, and I feel like maybe I need to tell someone to absolve me of my guilt.”
“Oh, really?”
Whipping around, my heart ricocheting off my rib cage, I spot Hartley leaning against the doorway with a pie in one hand. Damn. That’s a picture of dessert in a few different ways.
“I thought you were Lolly,” I say, giving him a little laugh that sounds pinched.
He shoves off the wall, placing the pie on the table, then lazily moving toward me. “What mean thoughts were you having this morning?”
Shit. There’s a shimmer in his eyes, nearly making the browns appear green, and I know he knows exactly what mean thoughts I was talking about. He did catch me glaring at the back of Lora’s head … twice.
My cheeks flush. “Why are you here?”
“Lolly asked me to come in that way where it’s debatable if she’s really asking or telling, and I wasn’t man enough to find out.”
“That would make two of us.”
He smiles, and every worried, guarded part of me softens.
It’s tragic how quickly he undoes me. It’s equally unfortunate that he’s the only person in the world who can affect me in this way.
There have been times in my life when I would’ve given a lot of things up just to have someone else—anyone else—be able to flip a switch inside me like Hartley Adler.
But no man has ever come close to possessing that ability.
“How’s Pigasso?” I ask. “I haven’t gotten around to calling any rescue centers yet, but I will.”
“Sure.” He winks. “What are you working on?”
I glance over my shoulder. “I brought Lolly some flowers, and I’m trying to cut them down to fit in this vase.”
“Need help?”
“Not with that.” I grimace, facing Hartley again. “Do you know what I do need help with?”
He hums.
“Fried chicken.” I lift my shoulders, trying not to gag at the idea of eating a baby chicken. “After the whole Pigasso thing, I’m a changed woman. I can’t do it. I can’t eat any animal.” I frown as a shiver runs down my spine. “I don’t know what to do because I can’t hurt Lolly’s feelings.”
Hartley laughs. “What in the hell am I supposed to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I could slide my pieces under the table, and you could eat them?” I bat my lashes in case it helps. It usually does.
He just shakes his head in amusement, so I move along. We both know that if I thrust a breast in his hands, he won’t turn it down.
My cheeks heat at the double entendre, so I go back to the flowers. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“What about it?”
I grin. “Oh, you know me and tequila.” I laugh, hoping to keep the conversation light. “It’s not that I was goading you on the dance floor with what’s his name, but I did sort of put you in a position, and I apologize for that.”
“How do you figure?”
“I mean, I was looking at you when he grabbed my ass.”
Hartley leans against the counter beside me, folding his thick forearms across his chest. His sleeves are cuffed at his elbows. From the corner of my eye, I notice the flex of his muscles and the veins tracing down his arms.
“Darlin’, I would’ve done the same damn thing whether you were looking at me or not.”
His words make my knees weak. Heat colors my cheeks, and I refuse to look up at him.
“Not what I expected to find in Lolly’s kitchen,” Markie says, just before I register that the back door has opened. “Am I interrupting anything?”
There’s humor in her tone that I don’t appreciate. I fire a look over my shoulder.
“No,” Hartley says, staying rooted in place. “You’re not interrupting a thing.”
She hums, placing a bag of ice in the freezer. “Whatever you say.”
“Did you see Lolly out there?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
“Yeah. She said she’ll be inside in a minute.” Markie washes her hands, then checks the oven. “Damn, that smells good.” She closes the door. “What are you doing here, Hart?”
“Lolly told me to be here at two thirty for lunch. So I’m here at two fifteen.”
“What a good boy,” Markie says, teasing him. “But I’m actually glad you’re here because I heard through the grapevine this morning that Jasper’s devastated you’ve banished him from the ranch.”
I shove the final tulip in the vase before turning to face Hartley. He’s good friends with Jasper. Why would he not hang out with him anymore?
“I love it, by the way,” Markie says, smiling from ear to ear. “I don’t even care why. If it’s true and Jasper’s miserable, I’m happy.”
Hartley sighs, heading to the sink. He turns on the tap and fills the sink with hot, soapy water.
“I don’t want to get into the weeds about it because it’s none of my business.
But I heard that he was messing around with a girl from Colfax County while he was with you, and I don’t need that bullshit around, you know? ”
I exchange a look with my sister as Hartley washes a couple of pans in the sink.
“And I don’t need that bullshit around.” He says it so offhandedly, like it costs him nothing—like that kind of nobleness and humility are just who he is … because it is.
His back muscles ripple beneath his shirt.
Well, he’s that and sexy as fuck, too.
My heart softens as my core heats as I watch him.
It’s a volatile combination that I’d love to blame on the tequila from last night—from allowing myself to fall into his arms and experience the warmth of his body for a few minutes.
I know better than to let interactions with Hartley get to that point, a problem I rarely have, thanks to my avoiding Sugar Creek and his avoiding me.
I hate that it must be this way, but it does.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate his forearms in that shirt.
“Yup,” Markie says, turning off the oven.
“Jasper was cheating on me. That pisses me off because, I mean, he cheated on me. Why couldn’t he have just broken up with me, you know?
” She grabs mitts and opens the oven, taking out a platter of chicken that Lolly was keeping warm.
“But more than that, word has it that he might be plotting to try to take me out in the pickleball tournament during the Sugar Days festival.”
I cover my mouth so that my sister doesn’t see my smile.
“Well, I’d hope he’s not dumb enough to do that,” Hartley says, keeping a straighter face than me.
“Right?” Markie rolls her eyes. “I’m the ten-year reigning champ, and a cheating punk will not challenge me. I don’t care who I have to get as a partner—because we’d been practicing so we could do it together—but I will beat his ass until he doesn’t recognize it from a hole in the ground.”
A giggle escapes my lips as Lolly opens the door.
“Hartley, you made it,” she says, pulling him down to kiss his cheek. “Looking good, handsome. I love green on you.” She flicks the open collar of his shirt. “You should wear it more often.”
“Geez, Lolly,” Markie says, winking at me. “Did you bring him here to seduce him or what?”
Hartley blushes.
“Who brought the pie?” Lolly asks, busying herself with moving the food to the table. Markie and I join in. “It looks delicious.” She glances over her shoulder. “Must’ve been you because neither of these girls can cook and it looks homemade.”
“Hey,” I protest, but she’s right.
Hartley carries the chicken into the dining room. “Cathy made it for me. It’s my counter cake for the week—even though it’s a pie.”
“I forgot about counter cakes,” I say. “I used to love Cathy’s counter cakes.”
“What’s a counter cake?” Markie asks as we take our seats at the table.
“Cathy makes a cake or pie each week, and it gets left on the counter,” Hartley says. “Really, it’s any dessert. I just like a little piece of something after dinner, and then I’ll have a piece in the middle of the night every so often.”
His gaze flashes to mine, and I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
“Okay,” Lolly says, placing a napkin on her lap and surveying the scene in front of us. “It looks like everything is here.”
“It looks great, Lolly,” Hartley says.
She smiles. “Thank you. Would you like to say grace?”
“Sure.”
His voice is low as he gives thanks for the meal and for those who prepared it and are sharing it. As he says this, his foot nudges mine beneath the table. I open my eyes, glancing up to see if he’s looking at me, to determine whether it was an accident or intentional, but he keeps his eyes shut.
I force a swallow, wait for the amen, and then bring up the pickle contest because that will get Lolly talking. And if she’s talking and everyone is paying attention to her, they will ignore me. And I can have a couple of moments to calm down.
Because if we’re talking, there’s less opportunity for everyone to hear the beating of my heart.