Chapter 11
Lucy
“Iced vanilla latte for Lucy!” the barista calls, and I grab my drink off the counter.
“This is the best coffee shop in town,” Willow says from beside me, leading us over to a small table by the window.
The vibe of the place is cute. Rustic, wooden beams are visible on the walls and ceiling, and art from local artists is displayed around the shop.
A gorgeous painting of sunflowers sits on the wall right beside me.
I take a sip of my latte. “This is good,” I tell Willow.
It’s Saturday, and she’d texted yesterday asking if I wanted to meet up with her today.
I suspect it’s because she feels a bit bad for me.
Maybe because I just moved here and am still getting my bearings.
But I’d been happy when she suggested it.
I’ve really enjoyed the conversations I’ve had with her over Sunday family dinners.
She grins. “Have you done much exploring around town?”
I shrug. “Not much.”
“Tate keeping you locked up at the ranch house?” she jokes.
I snort, feeling myself blush slightly. I’ve never been much good at lying. And she’s not far off. While I’m admittedly a bit of a homebody, I’ve definitely spent more time on the ranch than I otherwise would have if it weren’t for me and Tate’s new … predicament.
“How are things going with the new house? And wedding planning?” I ask, simply to try to move the subject away from me.
And also because I truly do like Willow and want to get to know her better.
I know she and Tate’s younger brother, Jack, are engaged and currently in the process of building their own house.
Willow sighs, smiling wistfully before taking a sip of her latte.
“God, don’t ever try to get married and build a house in the same year,” she says with a laugh.
“But no, it’s all good. We’re supposed to be breaking ground on the property this week.
” She holds up crossed fingers. “And as far as wedding planning, we hired a planner because the whole thing can be a bit of a headache. So, she’s got it covered. ”
I nod along. “That’s so exciting. How long will the house take?”
“Hopefully six months. We’re trying to get it done before the snow flies in November. But we’ll see.” Her eyes sparkle with both excitement and nerves. “You know how things go.” She giggles to herself.
“That’s all so amazing, though,” I say with a shake of my head. “Marrying the love of your life, building the house of your dreams.” I shrug. I know Willow is a few years older than me, but not by much. And everything about her life just feels so put together. Not at all like mine feels right now.
She nods. “It really is. I have to pinch myself sometimes.”
A silence settles over the table, and that mischievous grin from earlier returns to Willow’s face, and she leans forward. “So how are things with Tate?”
“Tate?” I echo, my eyes going wide. “Fine. I mean, good.” I fiddle with my coffee cup in my hands.
Willow nods, pinning me with her gaze. Then she lets out a quiet squeal and throws up her hands.
“Okay, I can’t keep it in. Theresa told me she watched Fern while you guys went on a date and—I just have to ask how it went.
” A hesitant grimace is plastered over her face like she’s afraid she’s gone too far but simply can’t help herself.
And it only helps to pull my guard down. I laugh, and Willow seems to relax a bit. “Honestly …” I stare down at the table, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my face at the thought of Tate. “Really, really well.”
Willow squeals again. “Oh my god. So you like him?”
I nod, and then all of a sudden I’m spilling everything.
How we connected over Fern, how we almost kissed, our first dates, and subsequent dates since then.
And it’s been so long since I’ve gossiped about guys with a girlfriend, and it all just feels so good.
Within half an hour, Willow and I are practically best friends.
Especially once she shares stories of growing up with the Thatcher brothers as kids.
“There was a good two years or so of elementary school when Tate insisted upon wearing a cowboy hat constantly—even when the teachers would ask him to take it off during class,” Willow tells me.
“I’m definitely bringing that up when I get home,” I choke out through laughter.
And then it hits me the word I just used.
Home. And while it’s technically correct—I do live at Thatcher Ranch—something about calling it home just now hits different.
Because of its potential to be a home I create with Tate.
A forever home. And while that possibility feels so bright and like it’s standing right it front of me, it also feels so far away. Because I have loose ends to tie up.
So many loose ends.
“Willow!” The voice pulls me from my thoughts when I see a woman about our age approach the table.
“Anna, hi!” Willow greets her, patting the empty chair beside her. “Lucy, this is Anna, my best friend since childhood. Anna, this is Lucy, Fern’s new nanny.”
Anna smiles at me, warmth radiating from her deep brown eyes. “Oh yeah, I heard Tate had hired a nanny. It’s nice to meet you. You must be amazing to have lived up to Tate Thatcher’s expectations.”
“Oh, she’s lived up to his standards, all right,” Willow says, and I feel another blush coming on.
Anna widens her eyes and looks back and forth between us while stifling a laugh. “Um, am I hearing that the elusive Tate Thatcher is finally off the market?” she asks.
And just like that, I think I’ve found another friend here in Cedar Ridge. Anna forgoes her plans for the day, and the three of us sip coffee for the next few hours, chatting about anything and everything under the sun.
As Willow drops me off back at the ranch house on her way up the mountain to the cabin, she shoots me a smile from the driver’s seat. “Lucy, whatever happens, I truly want to be your friend, but for what it’s worth … I’d love to have you become a part of the Thatcher family.”
Warmth spreads through my chest as I grin back at her. “I’m starting to think I’d like that too,” I say softly.
I head up the steps to the front door as Willow drives away, and just as I turn the knob, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
The number isn’t one I recognize, but I’m pretty sure it’s a local area code.
I’d called around about setting up a dental appointment in town last week, so I wonder if it’s one of the offices calling me back.
Without thinking much of it, I answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Lucy.”
The voice stops me dead in my tracks on the threshold of the ranch house. My blood runs cold, and my limbs freeze. It takes everything in me not to drop my phone to the hardwood floor beneath me.
“Lucy,” the voice says again, more persistent this time.
I can only manage a whispered response. “Matthew.”
“Where the fuck are you?”
It’s now that I’m able to force my legs to move, and I beeline down the hall and into my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and leaning against it. “I … I told you it was over,” I say, my voice shaking, my hands shaking as they clutch the phone.
“Like hell it’s over,” Matthew spits back, his voice hitting me just as hard as it always has. “What the fuck, Lucy? You run away in the middle of the night? You just leave me? Why would you do that?”
My breath feels heavy in my chest, and it’s getting harder and harder to breathe in and out. “You know why, Matthew,” I say, my voice choked.
It had started as verbal assaults, like most abuse does. And it had escalated from there. Escalated to me wearing more makeup than I’d ever needed, to making excuses, to making up lies. To hiding away from the world because I was too ashamed of who I’d allowed into my life.
And after trying to end things with him over and over again, I knew the only way out was to run.
And so I did.
“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” His words are biting, like they’ve always been. They cut me to the bone, and I hate how much they affect me. As if they’re true.
I squeeze my eyes shut, a single tear escaping.
“You don’t just get to decide this for us. I’m part of this too,” he goes on.
“Leave me alone. Please,” I whimper, as if he’ll listen this time.
He’s yelling now. Screaming into the phone, and my mind is blocking it out like it blocked out so many things.
“Please, Matthew, I’m happy. I’m finally happy. Just let me be happy,” I beg through my tears.
“Oh, you’re happy?” he scoffs. “Well, fucking good for you. I’m glad you just get to go off and be happy and leave me high and dry. I’m gonna find you, you know that, right?”
“Please,” I say as he continues his rant. But I know he doesn’t hear me. He’s never heard me. Especially when he’s like this. “Please don’t call me again,” I whisper, and then I hang up the phone.
I throw it on the bed before I sink to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest. But my phone buzzes again from the bed, vibrating against the covers, loud in the silent room.
It buzzes again and again and again, and I stand, swinging the door open and rushing out into the hallway.
And running straight into Tate’s chest.
“Whoa!” he says with a laugh, steadying me with hands on my shoulders.
I sniffle, staring down at the ground and hurriedly wiping away my tears. But I know he’s seen them. It’s too late.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks quickly, his tone turning instantly concerned.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding furiously, but he reaches down to grasp my chin, tilting it upward so that I’ll look at him.
“You’re crying,” he says softly, his eyebrows knitted together.
I force a laugh, shaking my head. “Allergies,” I lie. “I get them really badly in the spring.”
He nods, but he’s still frowning, still staring down at me in concern.
“I’m fine, I promise,” I insist, pulling myself back into composure.
He doesn’t believe me. I know he doesn’t. But I also know he’s not going to push me. Instead, he reaches down to grasp my hand in his, squeezing it tightly, as if he can scare away whatever it is that made me cry.
If only.
“Fern wants to go see the new baby cows born this week,” he says softly. “You in?”
My smile becomes more genuine at the prospect of baby animals. “I’m in,” I say and clutch Tate’s hand tighter as he leads the way.