Chapter 2
CHAPTER
Rhett
The Past
May—Fifteen Years Ago
THE SICKLY SWEET scent of freshly baked pastry and Lucy’s mother’s overly strong perfume hung in the air as we sat around the cake-laden table in Crème Dulce Bakery.
The name made me want to laugh at its efforts to be chic and cosmopolitan.
It was small, but stylishly decorated and seemed out of place, with its overpriced baked goods and high tea menu.
After all, Fern River was a small town with not much else but a Dollar General, a two-screen movie theater, a bowling alley, and a diner that served the best home fries and derby pie I’d ever eaten.
I wasn’t sure who had insisted on the five-tiered cake, but it was a perfect symbol of how out of control the wedding was becoming.
Most of the people on the guest list I had never even met.
I’d wanted something small and intimate, but it didn’t matter.
Lucy and her mother had taken over the wedding preparations with the tenacity of a couple of generals preparing for battle.
My mom said this was normal, though, and to let Lucy have her moment to shine, so I’d taken a step back.
“How are we feeling about this one?” The bakery owner, whom Mabel had introduced as Leslie Franklin, asked with a tight smile.
She’d brought over more cake samples for us to try, and seemed to be growing just as frustrated as I was with the lack of decision-making.
“Obviously we’d decorate it with the right color scheme, maybe add some real flowers to match the bridal bouquet. ”
Leslie was a sweet-faced, gray-haired woman that my future mother-in-law seemed to know very well. Then again, she knew everyone—and their business. You couldn’t take a shit without Mabel Herbaugh knowing about it two minutes later.
It was simultaneously fascinating and terrifying.
Mrs. Mabel Jean Herbaugh was beloved by most people in Fern River. Even if she did command that affection with an iron fist coated in southern gentility.
Mabel pushed the small plate away and scrunched her upturned nose. “Not really what we’re looking for. We were hoping for something with a bit more ‘wow’ factor. Isn’t that right, Lucinda?”
Lucy put her fork down and nodded. “I agree, don’t you, Rhett?”
My opinion was completely redundant, yet still required, if only for them to shut it down in unified dismissal.
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed uncomfortably.
I was a nineteen-year-old boy—cake was cake to me, no matter how they tried to sell it.
Mabel looked satisfied as both Lucy and I fell in line.
She dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin before speaking again.
“I’m sure you must have something absolutely perfect.
You’re the best baker in town, Leslie.” Mabel smiled at her friend, who preened at the compliment.
Mabel’s ability to make people feel good, while manipulating them to do exactly as she wanted, was quite the skill set.
I couldn’t help but be impressed as Leslie headed back to the kitchen again.
I inwardly sighed–never outwardly. “Is Bailey coming?” I asked, wondering where my future sister-in-law was. I couldn’t imagine the fifteen-year-old missing out on an opportunity to eat as much cake as she wanted.
“Bailey?” Mabel scoffed absently. “No, she has volleyball practice and her math tutor afterward. Besides, too much cake isn’t good for children … or wives-to-be.” She raised an eyebrow as Lucy took another bite of cake.
“You know, I could help Bailey with math. If she’s struggling or whatever. I’m really good with numbers.”
“Bless you, Rhett,” Mabel patted my hand, “but we’ve hired a great math tutor. I think he will know what’s best for Bailey.”
“Right,” I muttered, sinking back into my seat.
Since my proposal almost a year ago, it had felt like I was on a circus ride I couldn’t get off. Our wedding was looming like an ominous black cloud.
And everyone in this goddamn town seemed to have an opinion about my relationship. And my future.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me—the heavy burden of their gazes and sour-faced judgments. It was something I had come to accept over the years from the people of Fern River.
It was a small town filled with small-minded people who didn’t like change—or outsiders. Despite having lived here for over ten years, I still wasn’t really accepted as one of them. I had learned the hard way it was best to fall in line.
Lucy squeezed my hand under the table and gave me a forced smile.
I looked at my fiancée and admired the sight of her.
Her cheeks were flushed from the heat. Long strands of hair had come loose from her braid.
She was traditionally beautiful with almost white blond hair, blue eyes, and a slim yet toned body.
She really had it all. I, on the other hand, often felt like the beast to her beauty. The nerd to her homecoming queen.
It’s not that I was bad looking. Enough girls had told me I was cute over the years, but we were on two different levels.
We were as mismatched as two people could possibly be, yet somehow, against all odds, we made it work.
Though, perhaps, that had more to do with Lucy’s firm resolve than our undying love.
Lucy’s family was well respected. Particularly her father, Mr. Clifford Herbaugh, who was the circuit court judge for the fifty-eighth district.
He had built a name for himself, having come from nothing, to now be a man of power and influence.
And her mother, the formidable Mabel Jean, was a former Miss Fern River Fair, which was a big deal in these parts.
She would be the first to laughingly tell you her beauty pageant days were far behind her, yet her daughter had followed diligently in her footsteps.
The professional photographs lining the hallway of their magnificent home were a testament to their glory days.
The people of Fern River valued beauty and strength above all else.
And the Herbaughs had both in spades. So, of course, they were at the top of the social hierarchy.
Her family existed in a privileged position bought and paid for by Mr. Herbaugh’s role in the community.
Because of this, they operated within a different stratosphere from everyone else.
They wanted it, they got it. And I was lucky enough to reap the benefits because Lucy loved me.
Fern River was what people quaintly called a “one-horse town.” It was tiny but with an affable charm that many around here seemed to love.
It was an old town on the edge of the Cumberland Plateau, and dated back to 1780.
While it tried to shake itself off and join the modern age, its old-time morals held true.
People were still very conservative and a little too interested in what was going on with their neighbors, all in the name of “community.” Maybe it was the way with all small towns, but in Fern River it felt particularly overbearing.
I wasn’t a native. I was an implant, which Lucy loved to tease me about. And because of that, my affection was harder won. I didn’t have the roots like the Herbaughs. My family was made of different stuff.
The Clarks weren’t Kentucky born and bred.
We came from Northern Virginia—the suburbs as Mabel stated, with a note of derision that she could never quite hide.
My dad left Mom and me when I was little, and we hadn’t heard from him since.
After that, things were tough, so needing a fresh start, Mom moved us to Kentucky, where we had no connections and could start over.
She had to work two jobs to keep a roof over our heads, and I was looking forward to the day when I could help out more.
Lucy took a small bite of the new cake sample and then immediately cut another small piece. “Oh my gosh, try this one!”
She pressed it to my lips before I had a chance to agree. I dutifully swallowed the vanilla, lemon, and ginger cake as my fiancée eagerly awaited my thoughts as if I were deliberating over world peace.
I nodded appreciatively. “Delicious.”
Lucy took the comment seriously. “Though …” she took another bite of the overly frosted cake, “I bet the coconut and praline from earlier would be good too.”
Mabel made a sound in the back of her throat and covered it with a cough.
“Yes, the coconut is lovely. Maybe we can order it for your birthday,” she suggested before turning back to Leslie.
“I think for the wedding we need something more traditional, so we’ll order the fruitcake with bourbon cream. ”
I wondered what this entire cake-tasting session had really been about, because Mabel had clearly known what she would order from the get-go.
I would have loved for my own mother to be a part of the preparations, but unfortunately, working two jobs left her with little time for much else.
Lucy’s face fell, but she nodded as she fell in line with her mother’s expectations. She picked up her fork again to take another bite, but her mother stopped her with a gentle pat on her arm.
“Not too much,” her mother advised softly, wiping a smudge of frosting from her daughter’s chin. “I’m not sure another dress fitting is in the wedding budget.” She said it offhandedly, almost as if she were joking, but the point was made.
I saw the flash of hurt as Lucy lowered her fork. If Mabel noticed, she didn’t let on.
I placed a hand on top of Lucy’s. “One more small bite won’t hurt—”
“Spoken like a man who never has to worry about his weight,” her mother interrupted with a tight laugh.
“Mom’s right, Rhett.” Lucy shoved the plate away decisively.
“Moms usually are,” Mabel remarked primly before taking a large bite of her own cake. Clearly those arbitrary rules about calories didn’t apply to her.
“Well, that’s another job on the list completed,” Mabel said with an air of accomplishment.