Sweet Trouble (Sugarville Grove #11)

Chapter 1

JILLIAN

Jillian stood by the fountain in the old park, watching her two little girls chase each other to the pavilion, giggling as they ran.

All around them, signs of the coming holidays were in the air—from the shoppers with their colorful bags, to the crew hanging evergreen boughs on the lampposts, to the shop windows that proudly displayed their festive decorations.

As the cold, sweet air of Sugarville Grove filled Jillian’s lungs, she smiled at the idea that she was home again, that the three of them were really home.

The knot of tension that had been tightening in her chest for two years finally began to loosen and she felt tears of happiness prickle behind her eyes.

Raising children in the city had never been her idea, but Alan had insisted, and Jillian was a good wife.

Not good enough, apparently, since he’d left anyway.

A familiar pang of guilt gripped her. Even now, years after Alan had left and divorced her, she sometimes felt like a failure about it.

Ahead of her, the girls had made it to the pavilion, where they were holding hands and spinning around, their laughter pealing bright like bells in the cold breeze.

“Everything is just right,” Jillian reminded herself as she watched them, her heart feeling lighter and lighter by the second.

This was her world now, and it was just about perfect. The only real thing bugging her at the moment was the carload of groceries waiting for them. But it was cold enough that nothing was likely to melt, so it wouldn’t hurt to let the girls just relax and have fun for a minute.

As Jillian watched them play, she was surprised and delighted to see her first-grade teacher coming down the sidewalk in her direction.

“Jillian Johnson?” the woman’s voice called out softly. “Is that really you?”

Of course it was Jillian Price now, had been for years, but she didn’t bother to make the correction. She would always be a Johnson in this town. And with the way things had ended with Mr. Price, Jillian thought that suited her just fine.

“Mrs. Fournier,” she said, taking in the older woman’s white hair and purple coat. “It’s so nice to see you.”

“You can call me Edith now, dear,” Mrs. Fournier said, her eyes twinkling. “Are those your little girls?”

“Yes,” Jillian said proudly. “That’s Marigold in the blue coat, and the little one is Posey.”

“You always did love flowers,” Mrs. Fournier said fondly. “And now you have a garden of children. How lovely.”

“I’m really lucky,” Jillian replied honestly.

“Are you here for a visit with your grandparents?” Mrs. Fournier asked, her eyes still on the girls, as if a lifetime of watching over kids about their age had formed a permanent habit.

“We just got to town, but we’re actually here to stay,” Jillian said. “I got a job as a nurse at the high school. Mari is in second grade and Posey is in kindergarten.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Fournier said. “Sugarville Grove is a magical place to grow up, as you well know.”

“Are you still teaching?” Jillian asked. “Maybe Posey will be in your class next year.”

“Oh, heavens no,” Mrs. Fournier laughed. “I was a little old lady when I taught you. I’ve been retired for years now. I mostly just look after Mr. Fournier. He’s still working though. I’ll never convince that one to retire.”

Joe Fournier had worked at the gas station for as long as Jillian could remember. It seemed like a nice, laid-back job for an older person like Joe, who had always been super social.

“How about your husband?” Mrs. Fournier asked.

“He’s not in the picture anymore,” Jillian said, just as she had practiced it in the mirror, but a little more softly than she wanted.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Mrs. Fournier said like she meant it. “But don’t you worry, this whole town will be looking out for you and those precious girls. You did just right by moving home.”

“Mama, Mama, Mama,” Posey yelled, scampering down the pavilion steps and taking off across the park toward them.

Marigold followed her, a big smile on her face.

“I’ll let you tend to the little ones,” Mrs. Fournier said. “But I’m in the phone book. You call anytime I can help out, and I’m sure I’ll be seeing you in town.”

The older woman continued down the path toward Moose Avenue, leaving Jillian free to embrace Posey, who was still moving at a full sprint.

“Wow,” Jillian said, lifting her daughter in her arms. “You’re so fast.”

Posey replied with another peal of bright laughter, and Mari arrived just as Jillian was putting Posey down.

“There’s an ice cream store,” Posey called out. “Can we go to it, Mama, please?”

Jillian glanced over at the shop, her stomach twisting.

The Lawrences owned the ice cream shop and stocked it with dairy from their farm, which was just past her grandparents’ place on Fox Hollow Road.

The Lawrences were beloved in town, and she knew she was bound to see them around at some point.

But there was one Lawrence in particular that Jillian wasn’t looking forward to bumping into.

What were the chances that Tripp Lawrence would be at the shop though? Surely he had a job in the city by now.

As if summoned by the mere thought, a man hopped into the bed of the pickup truck in front of the shop, hoisting up a huge barrel of ice cream and balancing it on one broad shoulder.

He was big as a lumberjack now, but Jillian would have known that dark hair and athletic posture anywhere. Somehow, Tripp Lawrence always had the build of a quarterback and the grace of a dancer. And he’d put both gifts to good use as the star center on the hockey team back in school.

She watched as he leaped out of the truck and headed for the ice cream shop. He was bigger and taller now, but otherwise just the same, right down to that lanky, lazy gait that always got him where he was going faster than anyone else because of those long legs.

He was still Tripp Lawrence.

And the sight of him still made her cheeks burn.

“Wow,” Mari said. “Is that ice cream in there?”

“It’s a lot, and a lot, and a lot of ice cream,” Posey sang out, sounding like she was sugar-drunk already.

“I think we’d better get to your great-grandparents’ house before the ice cream we got at the grocery store has time to melt,” Jillian told them gently, hoping the reminder of their own ice cream might cushion the blow a little. “But maybe this weekend we can check out the shops in town.”

“Okay,” Mari said sadly.

It broke Jillian’s heart that the girls didn’t argue with her. She tried her best never to let them see she was hurting, but sometimes she felt like they were the ones treating her with kid gloves.

I’ll do better, she told herself firmly. Every day is a fresh chance to show them what resilience looks like.

“Are you excited to see the house?” she asked the girls, smiling and taking their hands. “Do you remember what I told you is in the backyard?”

“A tire swing,” both girls yelled at once, their high spirits bouncing back instantly.

“Yes,” Jillian told them as she led them to the car. “And it’s big enough for both of you to swing on together.”

“Just like you and Aunt Amberlee,” Mari said.

“Exactly,” Jillian agreed. “We had so much fun playing in Gram and Grampy’s big backyard. And now you will too.”

“Gram and Grampy need our help,” Posey said softly as Jillian opened the car for her and helped her untangle the straps of her booster seat.

“Yes,” Jillian said. “We’ll get to help them around the house. And they’ll help me keep an eye on you little scamps.”

She poked Posey’s belly, which predictably cracked her up.

Mari was quiet in the seat beside her sister, but Mari had always been more thoughtful. Their dynamic reminded Jillian of her own sisterhood—she had been older and more serious, while Amberlee was the energetic, wild one.

“Here we go,” Jillian told them, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Do you remember visiting here before, Mari?”

“No,” Mari said, shaking her head, eyes serious.

“Well, you were younger than Posey is now, so that makes sense,” Jillian said. “One day soon, it will start to snow and before you know it, the whole town will look just like a Christmas card. And there will be fairs and festivals and all kinds of fun things to do.”

She had told them all this before, but she sensed that her shy, thoughtful Mari needed encouragement with so many new things happening.

And just as she’d hoped, Mari smiled at her in the rearview mirror.

Jillian smiled back and then pulled out of her parking spot, looking carefully to be sure there were no pedestrians nearby.

The town was busier than she remembered, and a lot of the shops were new and kind of fancy. But it stood to reason that people who could afford it wanted to leave the city and come to beautiful places like this, where they could live a simpler, less stressful life.

The new café on the corner of Maple and Moose looked really nice. Maybe they could stop in over the weekend.

She turned on the radio and smiled when “Jingle Bells” came on and the girls began singing along right away.

She lost herself to their sweet voices and the sight of the little town melting first into suburban homes and then into the wild, winding vistas of the Vermont countryside.

Fox Hollow Road curved north out of town. Just before her grandparents’ house, there was an actual covered bridge. Jillian had always loved the way the car tires thundered over the wooden planks when she was a little girl, announcing that they were almost at Gram and Grampy’s house.

As an adult, she could appreciate that it was also a little tricky to navigate. The thing was barely wide enough for one car.

She paused on the south side of it, rolled down her window, and tapped her horn, just like her dad had always done.

“Why did you do that?” Posey piped up from the backseat.

“I beeped to let anyone on the other side know that we’re going into the bridge,” Jillian explained. “Because there’s only room for one car at a time.”

“Okay,” Posey said, taking her mom’s explanation at face value.