Chapter 1
Ellery
PRESENT DAY
Homecomingsare always bittersweet.
When I catch my first glimpse of Sweetbriar, a familiar ache of loss in my chest dampens the joy of being back home. Eleven years have passed since the car crash that stole my parents, leaving me in the care of my older brother, Simon. Time has dulled the pain but it will never go away.
Only happy thoughts, Ellery.
My grip tightens on the wheel. Slowly I make my way through the small town. Sweetbriar is one of those places where everybody knows everybody and no secret stays secret for long.
But, it is that same sense of community that saved us.
After the funeral, practically the whole town adopted Simon and me. They helped Simon while he navigated his sudden role as my guardian. They also made sure we had everything we could need.
While I drive down the bustling streets of the historic downtown, that deep sense of nostalgia grows stronger with every familiar place I pass. Quite a few unfamiliar places, too. One or two new boutiques. A new restaurant. That swanky salon on the corner is owned by my friend Luz.
Soon, I come across a stately Victorian mansion on the corner between Main Street and Weatherly Avenue: the McAllister Estate. The building is long-vacant but full of character and old-world charm. The building has three floors and eighteen rooms and sits on a spacious acre of land. At least that’s what the realtor told me. Not that I needed much of a sell. I remembered this place well and fell in love with it at a young age.
And I have plans for the old house.
A heady sense of anticipation thrums through my veins. Excitement at the possibilities. I have been dreaming of building a community art center here for so long and, finally, I have the chance to give back to the town that gave me so much. I cannot wait to start.
Eventually, the storefronts and townhouses shift into single-family dwellings and cozy neighborhoods. I keep driving until they grow farther apart. The road grows isolated, surrounded by thick trees and lush foliage. Then I come across the hand-painted wooden sign that welcomes visitors to the Briar Patch, the small farm that has been in our family for generations.
Just past the entrance is a co-op store and gift shop, housed in what was once an old barn. There are several cars parked out front. Seeing that warms a bit of the melancholy chill out of my bones.
I was worried for a long time that the farm would fall apart without Mom and Dad to keep it going. Simon loves our home as much as I do, but neither of us had much of a desire to run the place. We all thought we had years to figure things out.
Once again, our neighbors stepped up in a big way. Several business owners in town came up with the idea to expand the idea of the store and turn the entire farm into a co-op. With their help, the Briar Patch not only survived, it flourished. And it left Simon and myself free to make our own paths in life.
Simon followed our father’s footsteps and ended up joining the police force.
I paved my way by going to college on a full art scholarship. Then I spent a few years immersed in the New York City art scene, soaking up everything I could. Making a name for myself.
Funny how my path took me away only to swing back around. Life brought me around full circle.
When I reach the entrance to the orchard, I follow an impulse and cut the wheel, heading inside. This was always Mom’s favorite place. I have never been able to resist spending a few moments enjoying the peaceful scenery. Blooming fruit trees surround both sides of the winding dirt path my trusty old sedan leads me down. A gentle summer breeze carries the sweet scents of apple and peach blossoms in through the open windows. Each breath I take fills my lungs with clean country air and, for the first time since entering the town limits, the tension in my limbs loosens.
Cliché as it sounds, there is no place like home.
When I reach the other side of the orchard, I continue down the winding road. Soon a familiar break in the trees brings a white, two-story Victorian house into view. Late afternoon sunlight bathes the wooden siding in a champagne glow, trickling down to the ground and lighting a welcoming path up the porch steps.
I step out of the car. My eyes close for a moment to enjoy the syrupy warmth of early September in South Carolina. All around me, birds chatter and flit among the treetops. Their cheerful song is another balm to the ache in my chest.
New York City may have been my home for the last seven years, but I have always been a country girl at heart.
While I am lost in thought, the front door creaks open. A familiar voice calls out my name.
“About time you showed up,” Simon teases. “I was beginning to think you got lost.”
My eyes snap open. When I turn around, my big brother is smiling down at me from the top porch step. His dark blonde hair glints like gold in the sun.
I smile back and roll my eyes. “How could I, when you called me every half hour to check on me?”
“Please. I called you like two times.”
“No way! At least four.”
He scoffs. “No more than three.”
We stare at each other for a few beats, eyes narrowed until I—being the paragon of patience that I am—break character. Laughing, I race up the steps and launch myself at him. His arms open just in time to catch me mid-leap. Then, with a chuckle, he envelops me in his tall, stocky frame.
“Missed you, sis.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Even your horrible taste in music.”
I snort into his chest. “I missed you too, butthead.”
His warmth slowly starts to melt the tension in my travel-weary body. Eight hours in a car is way too long. My muscles are yelling at me for it. Plus, Simon gives the best bear hugs, so I linger there for several more moments just enjoying the feeling of safety and home. His grip tightens around me for another moment. Then he pulls back.
“Gonna take me a bit for this to sink in,” he murmurs.
“What?” I frown in confusion.
“That you’re here. Home. Not just for a visit.”
My throat constricts at the undercurrent of pain behind his words. I really should have come home more, but life always seemed to get in the way.
“I’m here,” I echo, smiling into his shirt. “Not going anywhere this time. You’re stuck with me till we turn old, wrinkly, and gray.”
“Good. You can take care of me for a change.”
“Oh, I intend to. Only the very best nursing home for my dear brother. I’ll even spring for a garden view,” I deadpan.
He staggers back, clutching his chest in mock horror.
“You would put your only family member in a home? Cruel. I was hoping for a live-in nurse, at least.”
“Dream on.”
With a chuckle, Simon drapes a heavy arm around my neck. “Come on, pipsqueak. I’ll help you with your bags.”
Together, we head back down the steps and toward my car. He reaches for the largest pieces of luggage sitting on the ground, leaving me with just a small weekend bag and my purse.
“Look at you,” I quip, “learning manners and being all gentlemanly.”
“Hey! I have manners.” Simon glares at me over his shoulder. “And I am always a gentleman.”
“I have seen no prior evidence of this.”
“That’s because I save my manners for people who matter.” Even so, he still holds the front door open for me.
“Rude!” I shove his shoulder playfully then breeze past him.
Entering our family home sometimes feels like stepping into a time capsule. Simon has changed very little over the years. Simple repairs here and there, or appliance upgrades. But the heart of the place, the memories we built with Mom and Dad before… well, before.
Those things we left untouched.
On the way up the stairs to my old room, I let the comforting sights and smells of home wash over me. Lavender and rosemary come from one of Mom’s favorite candles. Simon always has at least one burning in her honor. The scent of leather is from Dad’s book collection, forever scattered throughout the house.
But the sight I love most? Walls covered in family photos. My favorite hangs at the top landing, framed in antique gold. When I reach it, I stop and take in the details. Even though I have every inch memorized. In the picture, my parents stand in the middle of the orchard, laughing happily in a beautiful candid moment. Dad has his arms locked around Mom’s shoulders from behind. He dwarfs her small frame, and she gazes adoringly up at him. The love between them is palpable.
My chest pinches and longing fills my veins. I want someone to look at me that way. To love me that strongly. It may have made me picky, and it may be the reason I am still single, but I will never settle for less.
I hear Simon start up the stairs behind me. Quickly, I kiss two fingers and press them against the glass. Something I started after the funeral that became a habit.
Then, I head toward my bedroom.
Fresh linens cover the bed. The room is clean. Simon even left the window open to a gentle breeze. But—just like the rest of the house—this space is a museum dedicated to the girl who grew up here.
Another candle is lit on my nightstand. I lean down to breathe in the calming floral scent before stopping to peek out my window. After a few beats of silence, Simon clears his throat.
I look over my shoulder at him.
“I’ll, uh, let you get settled,” he says.
He motions to the luggage sitting just inside the door.
“Aw, running away so soon?” I grin cheekily.
“Just have to head into town for some errands.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“Nah, you rest, get some beauty sleep.” He winks. “Didn’t want to say anything, but… you look like you need it.”
With a cry of mock outrage, I grab a pillow off my bed. It flies through the open doorway. Simon ducks out of sight before it can reach him. Damn football reflexes. Instead of wailing him in the face like I had hoped, it falls harmlessly to the floor.
Simon’s laugh taunts me while it trails away down the hall. The front door opens and closes. I quickly step back to the window, watching as he climbs into his old pickup truck and drives out of sight.
Then I physically deflate.
Simon may have been joking, but a rest sounds like exactly what I need. The drive from New York City is a long one. I am exhausted.
Like a magnet, the bed pulls at my body. I don’t put up much of a fight. Don’t even bother to take off my shoes. Instead, I collapse onto the mattress, bury my face into the soft pillows, and snuggle in tight.
Sleep settles over me like a warm blanket.