Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Emerson
I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and glower at the offensive envelope on the passenger seat.
The divorce papers. I drove to pick them up, and then I stopped at Zack’s for the trust papers.
Both packets hold documents that will change my life, but I only want to use one.
What do I do with the others? Shred them? Keep them?
I stood in front of the paralegal and made a high-pitched noise instead of asking, Hey, what if I no longer want to get divorced? What do I do?
What if I never wanted to get divorced? Ever since I said I do, a part of me has been clinging to this union and the fantasy come to life that is Lane.
Instead of getting a million signs for why it’s wrong, he’s only shown me how right we are together.
He’s shown me that maybe it’s safe to give my heart to someone. Maybe they won’t throw it back.
But I didn’t ask the hurried professional. The old fear of having a spotlight on me and not looking my best roared back. I took the papers and drove to Huckleberry Springs like it was an ordinary day. And it is. I don’t have to do anything with these.
What if Lane surprises me with his own divorce papers? Do I brandish these and go Aha!?
I push my hair off my face and stare at the house. The Lane I love wouldn’t do that, and if he does . . . Then I deserve better. He’s the one who proved that.
I’m the one who has divorce papers. Dammit.
Shred them. It’s that easy. No one’s going to police me if I don’t file them. Right?
God, I don’t know. The back of my throat burns, and my nose is raw. My vision grows blurry. Something drips off my cheek. Another drop. I pat at my face. I’m crying.
I grab my phone and open the note I made from Hillary’s text weeks ago.
Bunny: Roosters puff up and display for hens.
Bunny: A rooster protects his flock.
Bunny: Roosters don’t have a penis.
I laugh, alone in the pickup. “Thanks, Bunny,” I murmur. I blow out a slow breath.
I pick up the white envelope with the divorce papers and the lightest of gray envelopes with the closing papers and head into the house.
We’re supposed to go over them, and we’ll do that tomorrow.
Then we’ll run to town and make it all official if Zack’s appointment goes long and he can’t make it to the house.
Lane arranged it that way so Hillary could feel like we did the sale in her new home.
Inside, I don’t even take off my shoes. I go straight through the house and dump the envelopes by my laptop. I blow out a breath. Do I hide them?
I should go outside and set them on fire, but then I’d have to explain that. Hey, Em, why are there bits of paper smoldering in the ashes? I don’t want to rip them up and risk him seeing them.
Ugh. I’ll figure it out later. I have an invite to the bakery.
A business meeting. But I don’t want those papers with me.
I’m like a spy, smuggling state documents or something.
I sell kombucha, for fuck’s sake. I bury the white envelope under my laptop and then leave the office.
I’ll deal with them after the house is sold and I know for sure Lane won’t cut and run before the ink dries.
Guilt rears up, and I stare at them for a moment. That’s not fair to Lane. As soon as I have a moment, maybe when he works the tasting room this weekend, I’ll roast the papers and some marshmallows.
The trip back to town takes less than ten minutes. I park in front of the bakery. Elodie’s leaning against the counter, a hand in her sweats’ pocket, chatting with the girl taking orders, but it’s early afternoon and the bakery closes in an hour. Only one booth has people in it.
Elodie smiles, says one more thing to the girl, and walks toward me. “Thanks for coming. Did you recover from the dance?”
“Yes, I hadn’t been out that late in years.”
“You’re telling me.” She gestures to a booth in the corner. “I usually wake up about the time we got home.”
“It was fun. A really good time.”
She pushes her glasses up and chews on her lower lip. “So, I hope you don’t mind mixing business with pleasure. I’d like to hire you—for a consult if nothing else.”
She gave me a heads-up that she wants to pick my brains, and that she was willing to pay. This isn’t a surprise, but her nervousness is. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
“Good. Because Cruz told me about your pitch with Foster House Gold, and that’s just . . . amazing insight.” She tips her head. Her gaze is shrewd behind those glasses. “I want to expand.”
Her compliment is great, and I’m thrilled for her. “That’s awesome.”
She nods, but she leans forward, all business. “I want to do it in a way that’s self-sufficient. I love Cruz, but he will sell his part of Foster House Gold in a heartbeat if I get into financial trouble.”
“Big, generous hearts seem to be a thing with the guys.”
“I love it, don’t get me wrong.” Pink dusts her cheeks.
She must be thinking about him. “But I admire what the guys are doing with that distillery, and I want that for Dee’s Sweets.
I want to give more back to the community.
I do this cookie dough fundraiser, and we’re limited on space and bodies.
I could add more goods if I had more space.
I could make the fundraising a whole thing, and a lot of the money would go back to small communities, but it’d also be its own thing, which is where you come in. ”
Am I getting a job? If I pick up Elodie as a client, would taking on Foster House Gold be the next step? It’d prove I can work from Huckleberry Springs. I can make a life here. “I’d love to.”
Elodie’s relieved grin spreads across her face. “Oh, good. Now I can tell Clem, and she’s going to want to meet with you too. You’re going to be so in demand.”
“All because I’m with Lane?” I’m not sure how I feel about that. If something happens, will they just . . . ditch me?
“We found you through Lane, and I don’t see him settling for someone who’s crappy at anything.
” Elodie’s expression turns earnest. “When I first opened the bakery, I got quoted an obscene amount by an office out of Billings. A place in Bozeman almost laughed me out of the county. They said they don’t take on campaigns less than seven figures.
I just needed some branding and a strategy. ”
It’s like pulling a plug and draining my unease. I know exactly where she’s coming from. The accounts who’ve found me got chased away by other companies because they’re too small.
“And Clem complains all the time,” Elodie continues, “that she can’t get someone to personalize her marketing.
It’s all cookie-cutter promo, and she says I’m the only one who should be using cookie cutters.
Prescott’s helping her with her socials, but she could use you.
Then there’s the distillery. I know they’re just waiting for the go-ahead from Lane. ”
“For what?”
“To hire you.”
I told Lane no. “I thought it would be out of pity, so I said no.”
“Definitely not pity.” She taps her fingers. “Did you know he asked me if I’d think about carrying kombucha?”
“He did?” My laughter turns everyone’s head. That man is trying to help me succeed. He’s the best, in every way. “He’s unreal.”
“He’s crazy about you.”
“Yeah. I think he is.”
Lane
I’m at the bank of computers lined up behind the mash tanks. Once I wrap this up, I’ll go to the meeting at Brooks’s place and we can put the whole trust business to bed. Then I’ll take my wife to bed and show her how much she means to me.
I finish typing in all the temperatures just as my phone rings. It’s Zack.
“Foster,” I answer.
“Lane, hello.” His voice is tinny, like he’s driving and I’m on speaker. “I just got out of my appointment, but my wife would like me to cut out early. Any chance we can meet now?”
Emerson’s in town, meeting with Clem and Prescott. She was so damn happy last night, quizzing me about everything I know about Dee’s Sweets. Tonight’s celebration is going to be extra special.
And afterward? I’ll give her that wedding. A party with everyone in her life who adores her. I’m going to make that girl’s dreams come true. I just have one thing to give her, and I’ll do it after we sign over the house.
“She’s in a meeting,” I say, “but I can grab the documents and get over there a little early just in case she can get there.”
“Worth a shot. Let Brooks know I’m on my way?”
“Will do.” When I hang up, I shoot off the message.
Lane: I’m heading over. Give me twenty minutes. Zack is on his way.
I get a thumbs-up in return.
Leaving the computer station, I type a message to Emerson.
Lane: Go straight to the meeting when you’re done. I’ll grab the documents to save time. Zack can be there a little early.
Hopefully, she won’t rush, but I know this is also important to her to do for Hillary.
When I’m about to walk out, Cruz enters. He runs a hand through his longish hair and grins. “Going to get it done?”
“Yep.” I can spare a couple of minutes for my brother. “Do I have you to thank for directing Elodie to Emerson?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Other than helping her in the back and making sure she takes time off, I’m hands off at that place. But I told her about the pitch, and how we think she’s gifted at seeing the heart of a place. So, what’s after this?”
“Enjoy married life.”
Intrigue fills his expression. “Just like that?”
However it needs to be. “The ball will be in her court, but she’s taking on jobs. I think she finally realizes I’m serious.”
“She’s talking. She hasn’t been hired yet.” He says it almost like a warning. “Wants to be official with a contract and all that.”
“Smart.”
He nods, but he’s monitoring me. “You really think she’s staying hitched?”
“I really think we’re in love.”
“She dropped her lease and all that?”
Not yet on the lease, and I’m trying not to look into that too hard. She needs time and she needs reassurance. I’ve got as much of each as she needs. “I’m going to propose for real.”
“And you think she’ll say yes?”
“Yes,” I say honestly. “I really do.”
“Nice.” He pulls me into a quick hug and slaps my back. “I’m happy for you.”
I am too, but Emerson was pensive last night. She hid it well, but I could tell. I don’t have all of her yet, but I will.
We chat about work for a few minutes, then I leave him and head home. A few minutes later, I’m walking through the house to the office. When I enter, I scan the desk. Her laptop is on the edge, and there are two envelopes.
I grab the one on top and flip it over. It has Zack’s info on it. That must be it. But what’s the other one?
I slide it out and flip it over. Another attorney’s office.
A pit forms in my stomach, opening wider the longer I look at it.
I should leave it alone. It’s in my office, but it isn’t some piece of mail I forgot.
There’s no postage. This is something Emerson had to pick up.
What could be that important? Driven by the dread in my gut, I undo the metal closure and flip the top.
I shouldn’t do this. It’s not my business.
But I finish digging the documents out. One word catches my eye.
Divorce.
A frigid, icy cold washes through my veins, forming sharp icicles in my chest. The forms slip from my fingers and scatter on the desk.
Fuck. She had divorce papers drawn up?
But I thought . . .
Fuck.
Divorce, divorce, divorce echoes through my head.
Why did she . . . Doesn’t she . . . I thought she loved me. So what the hell is this?
I toss the papers on the desk and stare at the office.
It’s chicken decor–free. Why haven’t I noticed that?
She spent the most time here, followed by being in my bed with me.
I clutch the envelope we need for the house transfer and stare at the messy divorce documents.
How long has she had those? How long has she planned on leaving me?
Since the beginning. I’ve been a fucking idiot.
First, I need to get this house deal done. Then . . . I’ll ask her about these, and I’ll tell her what she needs to do with them.