Chapter 24
OWEN
I don’t know if I’ve slept better in my life than with the comforting weight of Thea’s head on my chest, which makes it even more startling when she bursts out of my arms like a wild animal escaping its cage.
I jump up, pulling her behind me to protect her from the unknown threat, but as I look around the barn, there’s nothing but us.
Thea whimpers, and I spin to look at her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
She’s looking at the door, light drifting in through the slats. “That doesn’t look like sunset, does it?”
Now that she’s pointed it out, I can see what she means. The sun streaming into the barn is softer than it should be. The air is cooler, and even before I dig out my phone, I know we slept through the night.
“Shit,” Thea mutters, moving around the barn to gather her things.
I follow Thea’s lead. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get going now.”
We make the short walk from the barn to the car, only for the morning to go from bad to worse.
A tree limb lays across the hood, and I spot a crack in the windshield, splinters shooting out from the point of contact.
I glance up at the oak trees over our heads, a dozen heavy branches stretching toward each other.
With the storm as bad as it was, we’re lucky the car was only hit by one.
I brace myself for Thea’s reaction, facing her with my arms outreached like I’m approaching a skittish animal.
Her dark eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them as she stares at the branch before slowly facing me.
She holds my gaze for a handful of seconds, then a laugh bursts out of her mouth, so forceful it makes me jump.
She bends at the waist, hands clasped over her knees as she continues laughing.
I can’t stop myself from joining—it’s contagious, that sound on her lips—and I pull her to stand, wrapping her in my arms and kissing the top of her head.
After a minute, she extracts herself and turns back to the car.
“Well,” she says with shocking calm as she anchors her hands on her hips. “That tracks with how the past twenty-four hours have gone.”
I slip my hands through her arms and rest them over her stomach. “I wouldn’t say the past day’s been all bad, would you?”
“There were a few highlights.” She kisses the underside of my jaw.
I plant one last kiss on the side of her head, then walk over to the limb, giving it a tug. It’s heavy, but not impossible for two people. I eye Thea’s arms. “Got any muscles in those string beans?”
“I’ll have you know I lifted ten whole pounds once.”
I laugh, jerking my head toward the limb.
She follows the unspoken instruction and takes a spot on the opposite side of the car.
I count us down, and we lift. My side makes it a couple of inches off the hood, but hers barely budges.
We try again. And again. And again, until she huffs and drops to the ground.
I walk around the car, expecting to find her crying or screaming in frustration, but instead she’s lying flat on her back with her legs pointed up at the sky.
“What are you doing?” I ask, trying and failing to hold back my laughter.
She looks at me like it should be obvious. “My legs are stronger than my arms.”
I laugh again, assuming she’s just trying to lighten the mood, but she widens her eyes like an impatient schoolteacher waiting for her student to do what she said.
She has me place her feet right under the limb, and I run back to my side.
This time, after I count us down, we get the branch off the hood, making it half a foot down before it slips off Thea’s feet, slamming back down onto the hood with a concerning thud.
Thea scrambles to her feet, eyeing the impressive new dent in the hood. “Fuck me.”
I meet her on the other side of the car. “We should probably keep our focus on the car.”
Thea laughs, then drops her head into my chest. “We’re so screwed.”
I run a hand over the dent. “This will need to be replaced anyway. Any objections to me just dragging the branch the rest of the way off?”
Thea shakes her head, and I wrap my hands around the limb. It slides off the hood, the knots leaving grooves no body shop owner could buff out.
I brush my hands together, looking over at Thea with a triumphant smile. “Let’s see if this thing starts.”
She rushes over to the driver’s side, muttering what I think is a prayer under her breath. The key turns, but nothing happens. Thea groans and drops her head against the headrest.
“Can’t a girl catch a break?” she yells at the ceiling.
I slip my phone out of my pocket—still no service—and run a hand down my face. “We’ll have to hike to my uncle’s house. It’s only ten, maybe fifteen minutes from the barn.”
She glances back at her car. “But what about—”
“I’ll call my cousin Jourdan to come get it. She has an auto repair shop.”
Thea looks over at the gate, and for a second I think she’s going to refuse to leave her car, but then she groans, grabbing the ring box from the center console before climbing out.
I’m a second behind her, and she gestures for me to lead the way.
We reach for each other’s hand at the same time, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than the casual intimacy of the move, the knowledge that she’s seeking me out just like I am her.
We should rush, but by unspoken agreement we meander through the trees, savoring our last few minutes with nothing but the chirping robins to see our connection.
My thumb makes slow, sweeping motions over the back of her hand as we share stories and dreams. She tells me what she loved about her old restaurant and the type of experience she wants out of her next job.
I tell her my favorite things to bake and what staples I’d serve if I started something of my own.
When my uncle’s house comes into view, Thea pulls me to a stop, placing a soft kiss on my lips, and my body melts at the sweetness of the gesture.
“I can’t wait for Sunday,” she whispers against my lips.
The day we can come clean and stop all this nonsense. “Me too.”
We’re on my uncle’s doorstep when my phone recognizes the Wi-Fi and starts chirping with texts and voicemails. I share the password with Thea, and her phone lights up, too. One call to my mother, and they’re on their way.
The bus pulls into Uncle Dennis’s driveway ten minutes later, and dozens of my family members come pouring out. Lynne gets off last, looking down at the bus keys in her hand with a scowl, and I place a hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
My mom rushes over, tears rolling down her face. “We’ve been so worried.”
I give her a tight squeeze to reassure her, then look over her head at Harrison. “We got caught in the storm and had to pull over.”
Addy has her arms wrapped around Thea, her tears wetting Thea’s shirt. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah,” Thea says, running a hand over her hair. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Addy’s lip trembles, and Thea wraps an arm around her shoulder, whispering something into her ear that has her laughing even as she starts crying again. The sisters stay tangled up like that through the walk to the bus and the drive back to the inn.
“Can someone bring us breakfast in the kitchen?” I ask Harrison once we’re back at the inn. “Thea and I have some work to do on the cake.”
Thea steals another glance at Addy. “Is there someone else who can help? I just…”
I can see it now. Addy’s shaking—subtly, but enough for Thea to feel it—and there’s a blank expression in her eyes. When Thea pulls away to walk over to me, Addy’s shoulders cave forward, like Thea’s strength was the only thing keeping her upright.
The scent of cinnamon and fresh hay swirl around me when Thea comes close, triggering memories of the night before, the two of us wrapped around each other in our makeshift bed. “She needs me,” she whispers.
I nod, running my hand down her arm. “I’ll sort something out.”
“Thank you,” she says, smiling softly.
When I face my family, everyone’s homed in on the small touch. I yank my hand away like I’ve been burned, and they all unfortunately clock that, too.
I turn to my mother, who’s looking at Thea with a pinched expression, like she blames her for us getting caught in the storm.
“Can you help me with the cakes?” I ask.
Her face contorts into a pout. “I wish I could—you know I’d do it in a heartbeat—but I’m going to town with Aunt Dawn today.”
I cross my arms. “What for?”
She blinks at me, like she never expected me to call her out.
And I guess there’s legitimacy to her surprise.
I’ve never done it before. It’s been a defining part of our relationship that if she can’t do something, I’ll take care of it instead.
But I can’t do this on my own, and I’m tired of acting like it’s fine.
“Well…” she starts, her eyes flashing around the group. “We were going to a new restaurant she wanted to try.”
“I think she’d agree this is more important.”
“You want me to just cancel on my sister? I taught you boys better manners than that.”
There’s a knee-jerk reaction to apologize and take full responsibility for the cakes, but I think about the conversations I’ve had with Thea over the past few days. Her questioning why I don’t speak up for myself and challenging the perception that I have to take care of everything.
“Mom, I need you to do this.”
She sputters, looking for any excuse and coming up short, then nods.
Addy gives Thea’s arm a little tug, towing her away from me and into the inn. My mom follows them in, dragging her feet while I make a quick call to Jourdan about the car.
Working on this cake suddenly sounds a lot less fun.
We split the work of torting the cakes before filling each layer with the blueberry reduction–infused buttercream I made yesterday. It’s soothing, even without Thea here to keep me entertained.
“You know,” Mom says, breaking me out of my trance and making me almost fumble the cake I’m stacking, “your dad went through a baking stage, too.”
I glance up at my mother, then back at the cake. “I don’t remember him baking.”