Chapter Two
I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, the scene replayed on a loop—the lawyer’s even tone, the way Iris’s face twisted with hate, my mother’s stiff back as she marched upstairs like I’d personally murdered her sister.
I lasted until dawn before giving up on sleep.
A quick shower, a swipe of makeup to fake rested human, and I was zipping my life back into my absurdly expensive luggage which I shoved into a corner.
No point dragging everything along until I knew if I was staying at Alice’s house—or if there was some loophole that would let me escape Hickory Hollow without unleashing Iris the Destroyer.
Keys to Alice’s place in hand, I crept down the stairs. My Manolo kitten-heel strappy slides betrayed me, each flip-flip-flip echoing through the quiet house.
I stepped into the kitchen and pulled up short.
My mother sat at the table with a mug of coffee and the Hickory Hollow Mirror spread open in front of her. The paper looked as tired and beige as the kitchen itself.
Gladys glanced up once, eyes cool behind her glasses, then went back to reading. “Nice write-up in today’s paper about Alice.”
She folded the paper, crisp and neat, and shoved it across the table without looking at me. “You might want to read it.”
“Okay.” I shifted my weight, the keys digging crescents into my palm. “Mom, about the will—”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Piper.”
My name hit like a slap. Somehow, Gladys could make two harmless syllables sound like an indictment.
“Alice and I never saw eye to eye,” my mother went on, rising with her mug. “She got the last laugh giving you her estate.” She smoothed a hand down the front of her dress, every line in her posture carved out of ice. “Now that you have a place to live, I assume you’ll be moving your things out.”
My spine went rigid. God forbid we share a roof for more than seventy-two hours.
“I’m heading to the house now to check things out,” I said, keeping my voice level. “I’ll have my stuff out by the end of the day.”
“Good.”
Gladys swept past me in a cloud of cheap floral perfume, leaving the faintest wake of disapproval behind her.
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to smother.
I let out a long breath, the kind that deflated me all the way down to my bones. So, this was how it was going to be—frozen politeness and weaponized silence. Fine. Add it to the list. Fired. Dumped. Evicted. Disinherited emotionally, if not financially.
I bypassed the coffee pot. If I tried to drink anything right now, it would slosh in my already swirling stomach.
At the front door, I paused on the porch, blinking against the early-morning glare. The humidity hit me full on. It was like walking through soup.
Welcome back to Texas, sweetheart. Population: you and your bad decisions.
Alice’s car was at Alice’s house, and I hadn’t owned a car in Manhattan because that would’ve been like keeping a horse in the living room. I was officially, absurdly car-less.
But I was not asking my mother for a ride.
It couldn’t be that far. A couple miles, maybe. I’d walk, get some air, and avoid another round of Gladys Wakefield’s frosty domestic terrorism.
I slung my cross-body bag over my shoulders, keys in hand, and headed down the gravel driveway toward the main road, each step a reminder that I’d dressed for cute, not practical.
The strappy sandals were already cutting across the top of my foot and collecting rocks like souvenirs.
Sneakers would’ve been smarter, but the slides did look great with my airy white peasant top and iridescent blue capris.
Fashion over comfort. Some habits refused to die.
At not-quite-eight in the morning, the air already shimmered with heat. Sweat gathered at the nape of my neck. This was why I’d gone north—why I’d traded small-town scorch for city skylines and industrial air-conditioning.
And now I was back. With a house. A flower shop.
And a million dollars I hadn’t asked for.
At the end of the driveway, I turned left onto the two-lane road. A low rumble of an engine made me step closer to the shoulder. A blue extended cab pickup approached, slowed… then rolled to a stop beside me.
The passenger window hummed down.
“Good morning!”
The man leaned across the seat, smiling up at me like the heat didn’t bother him in the slightest. He was handsome in that infuriating, easy way.
Three-day stubble shadowed a strong jaw, and at the open top of his rumpled plaid shirt I caught a glimpse of a broad, lightly furred chest. His drawl slid over my skin like warm honey.
Sweet. Actual. Jesus.
“Need a lift?”
“Um. No. I’m good. I’m walking.” I glanced down the road, where the heat turned the blacktop into a shimmering mirage. My feet throbbed in protest.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I’m headed into town. I can give you a ride. Besides, it’s hot. And I have AC.”
My resolve wobbled. Pride tried to rally. “I never accept rides from strangers,” I said, giving him my best cocky smile.
“Oh, so that’s it.”
He laughed, a deep rumble that I felt straight through the soles of my fashionable shoes.
The truck eased fully onto the shoulder and stopped. He climbed out, sauntering toward me with a knee-melting grin that crinkled the corners of his dove-gray eyes. Up close he looked even more annoyingly attractive, his sandy hair an artful mess that belonged on some rugged cologne ad.
“You’re Piper,” he said.
“And you hold me at a disadvantage, sir.”
“Sir?” He chuckled, amusement lighting his eyes. “Don’t remember, do you?” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Figured you wouldn’t. You’ve been away a while. But you haven’t changed a bit.”
He stuck out his hand. “Mac.”
“Mac,” I repeated slowly, searching old yearbooks in my mental Rolodex and coming up empty. “Just Mac?”
“For now.” The grin widened, pure mischief.
Cryptic. Great. Just what my day needed.
“Welcome home,” he said. “Now that we’ve been properly introduced, how about that ride?”
This time when he offered, I took it. I did not want to arrive at Alice’s house looking like I’d crawled out of a sauna.
“That would be great,” I admitted.
Mac opened the passenger door for me like some old-fashioned gentleman. Once I was in and buckled up, he slid behind the wheel, rolled up the window, and cranked the AC. Blissful cold air washed over my face.
“Thanks,” I said, trying not to sound as dazed as I felt. Get a grip. He’s just a guy with climate control.
“Don’t mention it.” He pulled back onto the road. “Where you headed?”
“My aunt’s house,” I said. “But if you’re going into town, you can drop me there. No need to go out of your way.”
He shot me a sidelong grin. The cologne—some warm, spicy thing—coiled through the cab and took up residence in my nervous system.
“Hey, no problem,” he said. “I can drive there. Snapdragon Drive, right?”
“You know it?”
“I sure do. Be glad to take you there.”
Of course he did. Everyone knew where everyone lived in this town.
He cut me a curious glance. “You were going to walk all that way?”
“Well,” I started, “I’m not exactly the favorite one at the moment, so yes.”
“Hmm,” was all he said.
I realized I was still worrying the keyring, spinning it around my finger like a nervous tell. “I know you from somewhere,” I said. “Were you at the funeral?”
“I was.”
“Where do I know you from?”
“We both grew up here.”
Non-answer. Irritation pricked.
“Did we go to school together?”
I studied him while he watched the road—straight nose, strong jaw, a face teenage girls used to drool over. I tried to sneak a look at his left hand. No ring, but that didn’t mean much. Guys could be commitment-phobic and still have girlfriends. Plural.
Not that I was in the market for one. Not after Preston the Human Dumpster Fire.
“Did anyone tell you staring is rude?” Mac asked, laughter threading through his voice.
I snapped my gaze forward. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Really.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Nope, I didn’t.”
“Are you going to?”
“Maybe.” He shot me another sideways glance, gray eyes amused. “But not today.”
I huffed. “You want me to guess.”
“I like to build suspense.”
“You are frustrating. Did you know that?”
“I’ve been told.” He turned onto a narrower lane flanked by trees and scrub.
I let my head fall back against the seat. “I’ll figure it out eventually, you know. Did you know my aunt?”
“I did,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry for your loss. It was a shock.”
“It was?”
“No one told you?”
I shook my head, throat suddenly tight.
“She keeled over in her garden,” he said. “It’s what I heard, anyway.”
“She did?”
That didn’t line up with the Aunt Alice in my memory—sturdy, tireless, the woman who could haul bags of soil in August heat without breaking a sweat.
When she wasn’t elbow-deep in flower beds, she was in the greenhouse.
When she wasn’t there, she was running Enchanted Blossoms like a queen holding court.
“I’m sorry, Piper. They think it was a heart attack,” Mac added.
“A heart attack?”
In all the years I’d known her, Alice had never been sick. Not a cold, not a cough, not even allergies.
“It’s weird, right?” he murmured, dropping his voice like we were sharing a secret.
He glanced at me, and I saw genuine concern in those gray eyes.
“Yeah,” I said slowly. “Weird.”
“So, tell me,” he went on. “Why are you headed to your aunt’s house?”
I seized the change of subject like a life raft. “Well, it’s my house now,” I said. “She gave me everything in her will.”
Mac slammed on the brakes.
The truck screeched to a halt so abruptly my seatbelt snapped tight, biting into my collarbone.
“What’d you do that for?” I demanded.
“Everything?” His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Even Enchanted Blossoms?”
“Um. Yeah. Why?”
Color drained from his face. His knuckles went white.
“No reason.”
Liar, my instincts supplied immediately. It wasn’t surprise on his face. It was recognition. Like he knew something he wasn’t willing to say.
“Nothing,” he added, throwing the truck back into gear. “It’s a surprise. That’s all.”
“Oookay.”