Cara is buzzing with excitement, nearly bouncing in her chair, as though she can’t wait to get out of here and begin making the fireworks arrangements. Meanwhile, in my head, I’m thinking of the amount of work Mom is going to have to do on top of the wedding cake and running the bakery to get another four hundred mini cupcakes done.

  But of course she’s going to do her best. “Of course. Also, if I may be so bold, you mentioned snack food too. I’ll get with Etta—she’s the owner of the best café in town with the best cook in town. We can do small fry baskets and cheeseburger meatball bites, some good old-fashioned deliciousness to keep people partying.”

  Cara snaps her fingers and points at Mom. Here, Rover, good dog. “Yes! Perfect! Do it all as one quote and send it to me.”

  And with that, Cara stands again, effectively ending the meeting. “This all sounds great, everyone! Let’s get to it!”

  She claps her hands and then she’s off, leaving Avery, me, and Mom at the table feeling like we’ve lived through a tornado of whirlwinds and debris. I look around and take a deep breath. “Anybody else feel like a cow just flew by? Mooo,” I deadpan. Mom and Avery look at me in confusion. “You know, Twister Cara? She’s a lot.”

  “I know, and I resisted at first, but I couldn’t have done this without her,” Avery says, sighing a little bit. “She’s right, Winston has all this family and they have expectations. I think if I’d organized the wedding myself, we’d have ended up as laughingstocks.”

  I don’t like that, not one bit. My friend might not know how to throw some black-tie cotillion or anything like that, but any wedding she’d plan is one I’d have a blast at. “You stop that right now. Like any of this matters. It’s pageantry and appearances, not the real stuff,” I reassure Avery, patting her on the shoulder. “This is one day. The important thing is that you and Winston have a life together.”

  “There’s value in pageantry too. There’s a tradition, a shared experience, in something like this. For the wedding,” Mom says as she turns to Avery, “there’s a foundation being built by going through this with Winston, but also, a woman’s wedding day is something she talks about forever. Don’t wave it off like it’s nothing, Hazel.”

  Mom’s eyes are sad and glittery, as she likely remembers her own wedding. I’ve misstepped and hurt her unintentionally. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Mom shakes her head, waving me off. “It’s okay, baby. I know you’re focusing on the forever for Avery, not the one day. And you’re right there too. Just don’t overlook that forever is built one experience at a time. None of them are unimportant.”

  She makes me sound noble and puts my feelings into words better than I ever could.

  I nod, telling Avery, “That’s what I’m trying to say. Badly. I want you to be happy, and if Winston makes you happy, then I’m on board. But I know you, and all this fanfare isn’t your style. That’s all I meant.”

  Avery smiles and throws her arms around me in a tight hug. “It’s not, but can I let you in on a secret?” I meet her eyes questioningly. “It’s so much fun! I mean, can you imagine . . . fireworks at a wedding? That’s like Hollywood movie–level stuff, and it’s going to happen at my wedding. Me, Avery Dawn Singleton! Who’d have thunk it?”

  She throws her voice into a heavy accent for the last bit, making herself sound more country than she is, but I get her point. Things like this don’t happen to people like her and me. We’re just small-town girls, not Zendaya or something. “I really am happy for you, girl.”

  Avery grins. “Thanks.”

  We hug again and Avery excuses herself to go check on Grandpa Joe. Before she leaves, Mom gives her a bag of muffins, danish, and a loaf of bread. “Tell Joe to let me know what he thinks of these muffins. It’s a new recipe I’m trying out.”

  Avery smiles gratefully, promises a no-holds-barred Grandpa Joe review, and leaves with the goodies.

  Alone again, Mom looks at me with worry in her narrowed eyes. “I truly hope that boy doesn’t hurt her. I think he loves her, but she is so kind and good-hearted, and that whole family is ugly to the roots of their family tree. Makes me scared for her spirit.”

  Mom doesn’t talk bad about folks usually. But Jed Ford’s business dealings have left the downtown retailers hurting, especially with him owning most of the commercial buildings, including Mom’s, and she’s bitter and fearful about his next project and the effect it’ll likely have on Cold Springs. And while Bill Ford has been a good, even great, mayor in the past, his brotherly support of the rezoning has turned folks against him now too.

  “Everything okay for now?” I ask, turning to Mom’s business. “Nothing new with Jed Ford, is there? Or the development?”

  Moms shrugs. “Nothing new, just the same people saying the same things. He’s lying through those fake white teeth of his, reassuring us all that the development’s going to be beautiful and bring new blood to our stores. And the whole town is threatening to hang him at sundown for betraying Cold Springs by selling out to people who don’t care about our town and its traditions.”

  There’s that word again . . . tradition. It’s the biggest battle around here—the townsfolk desire to honor it, respect it, and keep things the same as they’ve been. And Jed’s desire for progress, not for a noble reason like growth, or to keep Cold Springs vibrant and alive, but for the oldest reason in the books: money.

  “Well, if anything changes, or there’s going to be riots in the streets, let me know so I can get my ass-kicking boots on, ’kay?”

  Mom laughs, reasonably sure that I’m kidding.

  To be honest, though, I’m not. Jed Ford scares the bejesus out of me, not because of the man himself, but because of the power he holds. My mom, aunt, brother, and me all live and breathe Cold Springs, and if Jed fucks that up, we’re done for.

  The same as so many others.

  “As for Winston and Avery, if he does hurt her, I’m going to need to borrow your freezer and have you give me an alibi.”

  I smile when I say it, pretending I’m joking.

  Plausible deniability, you know.

  Mom frowns slightly, knowing I’m not. “You can’t put the bodies in the freezer, baby. They always get found there. Now the old, dried-up well behind your place . . .”

  Dark humor for sure, but we both laugh, all the while hoping it never comes to that.

  Chapter 7

  WYATT

  “Where is everyone?” I ask Maria as I finish the breakfast taco she made for me this morning. It’s not my usual start to a day—I’m normally a simple eggs-and-coffee type of man. But I would never turn down anything Maria makes, both because it’s always delicious and because I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.

  “Waiting for you,” she says quietly. She jerks her chin toward the hallway that leads to Dad’s office, and her eyes deliberately cut to the left and then back, so quick I almost think I imagined it. “Be careful, mijo. You’ve been gone a long time. Things are different now.”

  “What do you mean?” I whisper, following her lead. Maria is an incredibly wise woman, and more than once growing up, I trusted her advice more than that of my own parents.

  She shrugs as she scrubs a nonexistent spot on the island. “Mr. Bill . . . he is worried all the time.”

  I remember Dad’s midafternoon drunken stupor earlier this week. I don’t know if worried is the word I’d use to describe it. Out of control, maybe? But I don’t want to argue semantics, so instead I say, “About what?”

  “Mmm,” she hums. “Mostly about Mr. Jed. He is . . .” She pauses as though searching for a word to describe my uncle.

  “A pendejo?” I suggest.

  “No, you awful boy,” she scolds playfully, swinging the towel at me. I laugh and duck away, and she smiles softly. I’ve missed her. Always taking care of us and kind, but also firm when a situation calls for it, especially with us “kids.” “He is not well liked in this town. That’s what worries Mr. Bill.”

  “I think ‘not well liked’ is your sweet soul speaking. He’s downright hated from what I can tell, and that’s going by the signs around town.”

  Her dark eyes pierce deeply into mine, saying so much that she won’t let pass her lips. After a moment, she resumes wiping the counter. “You want another taco? I’ve got enough for one more.”

  She’s told me all she’s going to, and though I’d like to push for more, I won’t do it with Maria. When she shuts her mouth, it’s sealed tighter than a bank vault. It’s time to find out what’s going on from the source. “No, thanks. This was delicious, but I’m stuffed.”

  I get up and automatically rinse my plate before putting it in the dishwasher. It’s a new habit, one that’s developed since I left Cold Springs, and doesn’t go unnoticed. Maria leans back on the counter, her arms crossed over her middle. “Ah, mijo. You are different too. Living on your own has been good for you.”

  I chuckle, and though my cheeks flush, I wink at her teasingly. “Growing up has been good for me. If I stayed here, I think I would’ve only grown out.” I pat my belly, full of her good food. “And then what?”

  She laughs happily, enjoying the compliment. “You’d best get in there,” she says, glancing toward Dad’s office once more. “Just remember . . . tranquilo.”

  I nod, but I’m still gritting my teeth as I steel my spine. Squaring my shoulders, I purposefully blank out my face before I go down the hall and knock on Dad’s office door.

  I fucking hate this. Shit like this is why I left in the first place.

  I don’t wait for permission to enter. I’m not a kid anymore, and this family meeting has been a long time coming. We all know it. I open the door to see Dad sitting behind his desk in his leather chair and Winston in one of the club chairs in front of it.

  Dad looks like he’s ready for the office, wearing a white collared shirt and patterned gold tie, likely part of his usual suit, but he’s removed his jacket and his sleeves are rolled up his forearms as he steeples his hands and stares at Winston.

  Thankfully, Dad’s eyes seem clear and bright this morning, so at least he’s sober. I shiver inside, thinking, When did that become a thing to be thankful for?

  Winston is dressed more casually, though still professionally, in khakis and a polo embroidered with Uncle Jed’s business logo on the chest.

  “Morning,” I say, not as a greeting but more as a way to get this ball rolling. “You ready to ream me out for leaving, Dad?”

  My distaste and, to be honest, lack of a single fuck is obvious in my dry delivery. I hear Winston’s sharp breath, but my attention is focused on Dad’s reaction as I casually take a seat in the other club chair and get comfortable. His eyes narrow and his cheeks go a bit ruddy, which I take a bit of twisted delight in.

  So many times before, I shrank beneath this same glare, but that was when I was a boy. Now, living on my own, proving myself to myself and the world, has made me strong enough to stare back, prepared for whatever he throws at me. Years of imagining this moment have let me anticipate every possible move he’ll make.

  He sighs, resigned. “I deserve that, but no, I’m just glad you’re here.” There’s a small pause before he adds, “For the wedding.”

  The fire I’m holding at the ready to unleash in a verbal smackdown cools at his quiet concession. This is not the powerhouse giant of a man in my memories. Has he become weaker, or have I grown that much stronger? Or maybe the distance and time have done both of us some good?

  “I wouldn’t miss Winston’s vows.” I leave off that it was that damn please in his letter that got me back.

  Winston butts in: “You say that, but we weren’t sure. I’m glad our doubts were misplaced.” He holds out a fist, and I bump it with one of my own.

  “How are you feeling about the wedding?” I ask my brother. I already know the answer, but this is a conversational directive to get us where I’d like to go. Winston’s equally aware and plays along as though we haven’t had this conversation already over beers and burgers.

  “The wedding? Fine. The marriage to Avery? Fucking ecstatic. She’s everything, more than I deserve for sure.” Winston’s smile is brighter than I’ve ever seen, and that alone is worth facing my dad and uncle for.

  Dad snorts. “You deserve anything and everything, son.”

  Aaand there it is.

  It’s the same entitled attitude I grew up with as a guiding force, the one I came to realize was nothing more than bullshit and illusion. Shedding it was both freeing and terrifying, and without it, the world feels grossly unbalanced but also as though anything is possible.

  “You don’t deserve anything, Winston. You’ve earned Avery’s love, the same way she’s earned yours,” I state flatly, only partially talking about Winston and Avery’s relationship.

  “Is that what life out there has taught you?” Dad demands, laughing bitterly.

  “Yeah, it’s too bad you haven’t learned that lesson.” I look around Dad’s fancy office, the same one I used to sneak into and sit in front of the fireplace, imagining the room was mine and I was a businessman.

  Dad sneers, driving a fingertip into the surface of his desk. “You think I haven’t earned every bit of this? That I haven’t worked myself to the bone for this city? For you?” He points at me with a slightly trembling finger. “You come back all self-righteous, like you haven’t benefited from being a Ford since the day you were born. Easy to piss on that from your place on high, son. But at least I recognize it and take on the responsibility it comes with. I don’t run away from it. So excuse me if I take a bit of appreciation in the luxuries I’ve worked for.”

  He holds his hands out, encompassing his office in appreciation, not in judgment like I did. Keeping my cool, I throw back, “I hear you’ve been ‘appreciating the luxuries’ quite a bit recently.”

  I glance down at the mug on his desk, questioning whether there’s a bit extra in his coffee. Dad flinches before picking it up and taking a long, deep drink. “Pure Colombian dark roast, if you must know. I wasn’t expecting you the other day and had a liquid lunch because I was working, something you know very little about.”

  “You don’t know anything about how hard I work,” I scoff, quickly remembering the hours of sweat and aching muscles I get from my woodworking. “You don’t know anything about me, Dad.”

  “Whose fault is that?” he accuses, then shakes his head sadly. “It breaks your mother’s heart.”

  “Guilt trip? That’s what you’re going with?” I toss back. “If Mom wants to say something to me, she’s certainly strong enough and capable enough to do it for herself.”

  Whatever his next strike was going to be is cut off by the door opening.

  “Hey there, boys! How’s it going?” Uncle Jed bursts in with his trademark Colgate-approved smile as he pulls his cowboy hat from atop his head. The very air changes, feeling thick and heavy with his sliminess. He’s a good-looking man, I can allow that, with his full head of blond hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. Age has given him some wrinkles, but they serve only to lend him a sense of weathered ruggedness. If you saw him in passing at a party, you’d be impressed by his gregariousness and romanced by his charm. It’s only deeper that his true ugliness lies.

  I see the moment he realizes I’m here. His eyes widen slightly, but he’s quick to play it off. “Wyatt! Well, I’ll be damned, boy. It’s been a while.”

  He comes in closer, holding his hand out for a shake. I hesitantly glance at his hand for an instant, but shake it, not wanting to start off at worse odds than I’m already facing. That won’t serve me in finding out what’s happening around here. “Jed.”

  “What the hell you been up to?” Jed asks as he perches on the side of Dad’s desk. It looks casual, a logical solution to there being no available chairs, but distance and time have allowed me to see that it’s so much more than that. It’s a calculated move that permits him to loom over all three of us, making him seem like the man in charge, though he’s in someone else’s space.

  I purposefully smile as though we’re friends. “Little of this, little of that. But I’m sure you already know that, don’t ya?”

  Jed chuckles, nodding. “Gotta take care of family, you know. Glad to hear your little woodworking business is doing well in Newport.”

  Dad’s eyes cut to me in surprise, but he doesn’t speak. So Uncle Jed didn’t tell Dad about coming to see me. Interesting. Winston didn’t know where I was until he did some investigating, but Jed not telling his own brother about his kid is another level of shitty. I wonder if he was holding that card for play against Dad at just the right time too.

  “How about you? I hear you’re up to big things in Cold Springs.”

  “Oh, little of this, little of that,” Jed replies, throwing my own words back at me.

  I do the same: “Yeah, gotta take care of . . . Cold Springs, you know.” His eyes narrow, so I dig a little deeper, at the same time lightening the mood strategically with a laugh as I ask, “What the hell is a private tech hub, anyway?”

  “Damned if I know!” He slaps his leg, laughing at his own unfunny joke. “But I hear it’s all the rage, something about work-from-home folks wanting flex offices, fiber optic cables, and some other techy shit too convoluted for me to understand.”

  He’s lying through his whitened, straightened smile, making himself seem like a good ol’ boy who doesn’t know a thing. Truth is, he knows each and every line item on his balance sheets at his company. But it’s a time-old trick so people will underestimate him. I won’t make that mistake. Not again.

  “Gotta give the people what they want, I guess,” I hedge carefully. I want to get him talking about one of his favorite subjects—the first one being himself, the second being his work—but I can’t be too direct or he’ll be suspicious. “That the big seller for the new subdivision?”