Chapter 22
brAVE MAGNOLIAS
Ginny
I’m in my office, working on a layout for the gift shop, when the doorbell rings early Friday evening.
Adelaide’s been mostly hiding in her room since she arrived, which isn’t unusual for new guests.
We’ve made sure to bring her food and drinks regularly, and we’ve repeated as often as possible that she should make herself at home, that nothing’s off-limits, and that all we ask is that she let us know if there’s something she needs.
Mabel did it for me when I got here, and while I hate the reason women arrive here, I love that I’m able to give back.
So I don’t expect Adelaide to answer the doorbell, and everyone else is out working on the wine and getting ready for a post-harvest cookout, even Pip.
Which means it’s on me to find out what’s going on.
I’ve been keenly aware all week that Declan’s back, and there’s no small part of me hoping he’s at the door.
While also hoping he’s not.
I haven’t been able to make use of my drawer of vibrators and dildos without thinking of Declan.
I haven’t been able to use my coffee mug without thinking of Declan.
I haven’t been able to work, to hang out with my friends, to look at the stars, to see a cloud, to see Lav’s cat, Fluffy, or basically do anything without thinking of Declan.
There are imprints of him everywhere, and the longer I go without seeing him, the more I want to.
So when I swing open the door and find a delivery driver holding a brown paper bag, I’m both relieved and disappointed that it’s not him.
“Delivery for Declan Fox?” the guy says.
Fuck.
Yes!
It’s been years since I’ve felt like this much of a disaster.
And also this full of hope.
I don’t think, I just accept the bag instead of sending the delivery guy across the property with it. “Thank you.”
He eyes me. “Like…Foxy Declan Fox? The guy who put out a fire here during that celebrity wedding?”
“You never know what name my Aunt Pip will put on her delivery orders,” I reply. “Have a nice evening.”
I smile and shut the door politely, but my heart is hammering over what I know I need to do.
What I’ve been avoiding all week.
And as the scent of fried rice tickles my nose, I realize he might need it more than I do.
Chinese takeout is Declan’s comfort food.
If he’s ordering fried rice—and I’d bet the success of the winery that there is crab rangoon in this bag too—then he’s struggling with something.
The idea hits me in the softest parts of my belly and my chest.
I don’t want me to be what he’s struggling with.
“Ginny?” a soft Southern voice whispers from the hallway.
I turn and find Adelaide peeking at me from the stairs. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” she says. “Like I want fried chicken, if I’m being honest.”
I take quick stock of her, noting that the dark circles that were under her hazel eyes when she got here seem to be fading, that she’s in loose cotton pants and a button-up blouse that I haven’t seen her wear yet, which means they’re probably clean, and that the usual shell-shocked overall vibe that most of our guests arrive with isn’t so strong off of her right now either.
Good.
We’re helping.
That matters.
“There’s a pub in town that makes pretty decent fried chicken,” I tell her. “Want me to order some for you?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Mabel got me some earlier this week. I know I should say thank you and be grateful, but I’m picky about my fried chicken, and it was about as edible as shoe leather with as much flavor as mud.”
It’s impossible to hide a smile at that. “You don’t have to pretend to like it. I’ve had real Southern fried chicken, and I understand what we have around here isn’t the same.”
“But I don’t want to make any either,” she grumbles.
“Heath’s smoking ribs out by the barn. We’re having a little party to celebrate the end of harvest tonight. You’re welcome to join us, or I can bring you back a plate if those sound good.”
She studies me for a minute, and I recognize something else in her that I felt when I got here too.
Apprehension mixed with longing.
The fear of more rejection, but the desperate desire to be with people again.
“It’s just us ladies and Heath,” I add. We debated inviting Winona and ultimately decided that if Adelaide might be anywhere near ready to leave her room and the house, then we wanted it to just be those of us who’ve also gone viral.
She glances at the bag in my hand. “Is that—is that for the real Declan Fox? The hockey player?”
Hearing his name makes my heart do a pirouette. “Yes. He’s here filming a longer segment of Foxy Goes There about trying his hand at making wine. But please don’t mention it to anyone—this is one of those things that we’re trying to keep secret for the moment.”
She bites her lip, and her eyes take on a sheen. “Will he be there?”
“Unlikely, if he’s ordering takeout. I need to go drop this off for him.”
“He was my mom’s favorite player,” she whispers.
My heart squeezes.
Declan always—always—had time for hockey fans and his fans.
All of the guys on the team would do school visits and hockey camps, but Declan volunteered for all of them.
He was always the first guy to stop and say hi to any of the sick kids that the team regularly hosted to be a player for the day, and he was most likely to toss pucks over the glass to fans during warm-ups.
It made the way he treated me all the more unbearable for knowing that he was so, so kind to everyone else.
And now—now I understand.
I understand so much more than I want to.
Now, half of me wants to be a complete dick to him so that he won’t like me anymore, and the other half of me is afraid if I so much as look at him, I’ll turn my heart into a crash test dummy.
“Do you want to meet him?” I ask Adelaide as normally as I can.
She blinks quickly. “Is he leaving soon?”
“I’m not sure what his schedule is.”
“My mom would’ve died to—” She stops herself and swipes at her eyes. “Yes. If he doesn’t mind a mess.”
“I think he’d understand the significance of your feelings. He’s a good guy.”
He is.
He always was.
While I might not appreciate his methods when it came to me, I get it.
Mabel was right.
A guy doesn’t write something like that note he left me if he just liked you.
But did he love me?
Or did he love the me that he thought he saw?
And what about me now?
“Are you sure?” she asks.
“Very,” I reply.
Adelaide bites her lip again. “I’m less picky about my ribs, and I am hungry.”
I smile. “If you don’t like them, there’s always ice cream.”
“But Foxy won’t be there?” she asks.
“He has free rein around here at the moment, but I hear he’s been working hard all week and might need a break. I honestly couldn’t tell you if he’ll show up or not. Unless you want me to tell him to stay away.”
She shakes her head so hard, so fast, that her auburn hair whips side to side too. “Oh, no, don’t scare him off. There’s places to hide in the barn if he shows up and I chicken out.”
“There are,” I agree.
Though I need to quit using hiding places.
It’s time to face the elephant and go see Declan myself.