35. A Missing Ingredient
A Missing Ingredient
T he driveway crunches under my tires as I pull up to Logan and Primrose’s farmhouse.
I’m so nervous, you’d think I wasn’t invited to the wedding.
The guests aren’t here yet, but my mouth feels dry the second I spot them .
Shane gestures animatedly, his whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his glass, while Heaven shakes her head at whatever he’s saying.
Next to them, Ian and Amelie stand side by side, his hand on the back of a chair, hers curled around a wineglass. They look relaxed. Comfortable.
The backyard spreads out behind the house, transformed into something out of a magazine.
Twinkling lights hang from the towering oak trees, casting a shimmering glow over the space.
Round tables covered in crisp white linens are scattered across the lawn, lanterns line the stone pathways, and a wooden arch wrapped in ivy and blush pink roses stands at the edge of the yard, overlooking the rolling fields.
It’s beautiful. Romantic. I can see Primrose’s entire personality behind it.
I take a breath, adjust my tie, and step out of the car.
Time to face the music.
I step onto the lawn and make my way toward them.
The moment Shane spots me, his easy grin falters, the story he was animatedly spinning fizzling into nothing.
Heaven follows his gaze, and while her expression doesn’t harden like the others, there’s still a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
Ian straightens and Amelie goes completely still, her grip on the stem of her glass turning bone-white.
No one says anything. It’s like I walked straight into a brick wall of awkward silence.
I clear my throat. “Hey.”
“Hello,” Heaven says after a beat, offering me a small, hesitant nod. The only one.
Ian nods stiffly, Shane takes another sip of his drink, and Amelie—well, Amelie just stares at me like she’s debating whether or not to dump her wine over my head.
“Look,” Heaven finally says, shifting slightly between us. “I get that you guys have your issues, but today is for Primrose and Logan, so can we put all of it behind us? For them?”
Amelie takes a quick sip before answering. “Well, I don't know. Aaron isn’t that great at following simple rules. Or common sense .”
Shane hums in agreement, while Ian just stares into his drink like he wants to drown in it.
“Yeah,” I cut in, giving her a hard look. “And I’m not sure Amelie cares about this wedding all that much. She only chooses to care about a very limited number of people. The rest can eat dirt.”
Amelie’s head snaps toward me, her eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”
Shane mutters something under his breath, Heaven sighs, and Ian finally looks up, jaw clenched.
Yeah. This is going great.
“Oh, shit, you’re here,” Kyle stumbles toward me, sweat beading at his forehead, his chest heaving like he just ran a marathon.
His shirt is half untucked, and his tie is loosened like he’s been yanking at it.
“We’ve got an emergency. A real fucking emergency, and I’ve been running around—but I just?—”
“What’s going on?” Shane interrupts.
Kyle swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Logan’s gone.”
A general gasp lifts from the group.
“Wait, what?” I stare at him. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“Gone,” Kyle repeats, dragging a hand down his face. “He said he was going to pick up your parents, but they were already here when I arrived.”
I glance past the group, my gaze landing on Mom. She’s seated next to Darren, a pink shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders and the ends draped carefully to hide the bandages on her arms, like she’s trying to pretend nothing ever happened.
“Did you ask them?—”
“He drove them over and then took off,” Kyle cuts in, hands flying in exasperation. “Said he had something important to do.”
“More important than getting married?” Ian asks in a dubious voice.
“Apparently.” Kyle takes a sharp breath, pacing on the grass like standing still might actually kill him. “Primrose just asked about him. Someone needs to go distract her while we find Logan, or—Jesus, what the fuck do we do? The wedding is in two hours.”
A beat of silence stretches between us before Heaven steps forward.
“Okay, okay.” She holds a hand up. “I’ll go keep Primrose company. Text me the moment you find him.”
With that, she strides off toward the house, her dress billowing behind her.
Kyle’s shoulders relax, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. “I still have a couple of places to check out. Shane, go to his parents’ place. Aaron and Amelie, take my truck and drive around the farm.”
“I can go with Aaron,” Ian offers immediately.
“No.” Kyle shoves his keys into my hand and turns to Ian. “You need to be here. Mingle and entertain once the guests start arriving if we’re not back. Use your dumbassery for good in case people start asking questions.”
Ian opens his mouth like he wants to argue, then apparently decides against it.
I roll Kyle’s truck keys between my fingers. “I can go alone.”
“Yes, you can,” Kyle agrees, “but to be honest, the tension between you two is about as pleasant as stale fart stench, and if you don’t clear things up right now I swear I will grab you both by the ears and?—”
Ian steps closer, cocking a brow.
Kyle shrinks and shifts tactics immediately. “And . . . calmly voice my displeasure.”
“Hmm.” Ian smirks, pointing at him. “You’re lucky I take ‘dumbass’ as a compliment.”
Kyle shoos us forward. “All right, everyone. Go.”
The truck rattles down the dirt road, every bump jolting through my spine.
The air inside feels thick—thicker than the humid spring breeze slipping through the open windows.
Beside me, Amelie sits with her arms crossed, body angled toward the door like she’s one sudden movement away from flinging it open and jumping out.
She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just stares out at the endless stretch of fields rolling past, fingers drumming a tense, erratic rhythm against her arm.
The silence is unbearable.
I shift my grip on the wheel. “So,” I say, voice rough, “are we gonna talk, or are we pretending the other doesn’t exist?”
Amelie doesn’t even blink.
I scoff, adjusting my grip. “Right. Silent treatment. Very mature.”
Nothing.
The truck creaks as I steer around a bend, the only sound between us the crunch of tires over gravel and the occasional rustle of trees.
“I’m not giving up on Charlotte. And you know what?
I don’t care if I’m not part of your family anymore.
You’re part of mine, and I’m not giving up on you either.
I’ll never stop trying to fix things between us, just like I never stopped trying with Logan.
And I won’t stop trying to get you to accept Charlotte. You’re not going to just wipe us away.”
Her fingers pause their restless drumming. “When I say I chose my family, I don’t mean that I pick and choose,” she finally says. “It’s not a membership or something.”
“I know.”
“My mom left me, Aaron. And my dad—he was the most emotionally unavailable man on the planet.”
“Worse than Logan?”
“Please. Logan is a teddy bear in comparison.” She turns to me, eyes serious. “I worked really hard to get to the place I’m at now.”
I nod. I know that, too.
“And I worked really hard to find my people.”
“So you want your sister to work just as hard as you did.”
“Yea—” She stops herself, turning back to the road with a huff.
“Or maybe the fact that you had to work this hard means she gets to have it easier,” I suggest. “That you get to make it easier for her.”
She sinks into the seat. “She never reached out, Aaron.”
“She’s reaching out now.”
“Because she needs something.”
I swallow my annoyance. “Because Beatrice told her you didn’t want to get to know her.”
I catch her eyes widening in her window’s reflection.
“Which, I guess, isn’t so far from the truth.”
The truck bounces over another dip in the road, and I scan the fields for Logan, but all I see is green and more green. Where the hell is he? He’s not leaving Primrose—that’s ridiculous. And he’s not the type to get jittery about commitment. He might as well have her name tattooed on his forehead.
“Is her dad in the picture?”
I focus back on Amelie. “No. Wants nothing to do with her, according to Beatrice. Left them behind.”
Her fingers start tapping again. “So she has no one except you.”
“And I can’t be everything for her,” I admit. “She’s too smart to let me. She knows it wouldn’t be healthy, that it wouldn’t prioritize Sadie, who’s already been through enough. Because your sister is also incredibly empathetic and caring.”
“Does she need money to leave then?”
I glare. “No, afraid you won’t get out of this with a check.
She’s got money—her mom stole it, but I intend to get it back.
She just needs...support. Beatrice kept her sheltered, drilled it into her head that she wouldn’t be anything without her.
So she needs...” I tip my head back against the seat.
“She needs to learn how to make lunch. How to pay bills. She needs somewhere safe to be herself and follow her dreams. A family.”
Amelie is quiet for a long moment. Then, “What else?”
I blink. “What?”
“What else can you tell me about her?”
I shift my grip on the wheel, thinking. “She’s very mature. Impulsive at times, and unpredictable, but...you know Josie’s staying at our place, right?”
She nods.
“Well, Charlotte is just...okay with it. You’d expect a twenty-three-year-old woman to struggle with something like that, but no. And it’s not because she’s not the jealous type, trust me.” I smile. “She just gets it.”
“What else?”
“She punched a guy who punched me.”
“She what? So that’s how you got your black eye?”
“Uh-huh. And she broke his nose.”
Amelie lets out a startled laugh.
“She makes her own clothes,” I add. “She’s incredible at it.” I turn toward the orchard, still searching for Logan. Nothing. “And she loves ice cream,” I continue. “Vanilla. Midnight Reckless?—”
“What’s—”
“A terrible band.”
Amelie is watching me now instead of the road. Her expression is friendlier, her body more relaxed. “You love her, don’t you?”
I glance at her before refocusing on the road. “I do.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Not yet, no. She told me though.”
“She told you first?” She lets out a short, amused noise, like that alone might actually make her like Charlotte.
“Yeah. She’s...” I clear my throat when the words stick there. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, but in this—in how strong and fierce she is—she reminds me of you. A lot.”
Amelie blinks, the joy fading from her voice. “And what is...what’s this thing about her diet?”
“Her mom—she helped her build a career as a model. I guess she forgot to ask Charlotte if that’s what she wanted. And in the name of her career, she starves her.”
“But twelve hundred calories? Even for a model, that’s...”
“Sometimes I think Beatrice just hates her. Other times, that she hates herself for leaving you.” I purse my lips. “Either way, she’s making Charlotte pay the price.”
“Well, what—” She squints out the window, then stiffens. “Aaron? Is that...”
My neck stiffens as I follow her gaze.
There, in the middle of the open field, stands Logan beside his truck. But what the fuck is he doing?
As we get closer, and what we’re staring at becomes clearer, I blink in shock.
“Holy shit.”