The Reason I Married Him

“No, stop. Stop hitting him. Please, Dad. Please stop hitting him,” I cry out, catching the grateful look on Ryland’s face when our dad pauses for a moment and then slowly turns his head toward me.

“Do you want me to hit you instead?” The evil in his eyes should scare me at this point, but it doesn’t. It just reminds me of how dead I am inside.

“Don’t touch her,” Ryland shouts and charges toward my dad, but he’s smacked down before he can even get close.

Ryland lies on the floor. Is he unconscious? As Dad walks toward me, I move back toward the corner of the house, my legs quaking under me. With every step, where he draws closer and closer, my stomach churns.

Where’s Cassidy?

She would end this.

She always ends this.

When I bump into the wall, I squeeze my eyes shut, ready for his hand. When I don’t feel it, I look up at his maniacal smile.

“You’re a worthless bitch. You offer nothing to this family other than another mouth to feed.” He shakes his head. “Maybe I should just end you. No one will ever want you.” His muttered words of, “Ugly bitch,” finish his tirade. His standard.

And then with that, he turns back to Ryland, raises his fist and Ryland’s ear-piercing scream echoes through the house . . .

I shoot up from where my head is resting on my desk and look around my small office on the farm.

Sweat coats the back of my neck.

My heart beats wildly in my chest.

And tears are on the precipice of falling over as my throat grows tight from the memory still reverberating through me. It feels so real.

Like it was yesterday.

I pat down my face, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself from the terrible nightmare.

How did I even fall asleep?

Oh, I know. From stressing over the fate of the farm.

Of Cassidy’s farm.

Clearing my throat, I sit taller and wake up my computer. It lights up and brings me back into the mess that is the Excel sheet in in front of me.

“What is going on?” I mutter as I stare at my computer, trying to figure out why income is down when we’ve had the best tourist season to date.

I lean back in my chair and rub my hand over my forehead after staring at my computer for over an hour with no solution in sight. I’ve gone over production—we made nearly twice the number of bottles of almond vodka and almond extract than ever. We’ve increased our harvesting. We’ve even added bees to the farm for honey production so we can start infusing almonds with honey.

Yet here we are, not pulling in as much as we were last year.

Nothing has changed . . . other than I’m the one in charge now. And that does nothing for my self-confidence.

Needing to get out of the tiny office at the edge of the farm, I stand from the chair, shut the computer, and stretch my hands above my head just as Parson, my head harvester, walks into the office.

He removes his grungy, sweat-soaked hat and smiles at me. “Hey, Aubree, how are you?”

Clarke hired Parson. They knew each other through the volunteering they used to do throughout college. Parson majored in horticulture and has been a valuable asset to the farm. A hard worker, lover of model trains, and very much keeps to himself, never to be seen with a significant other.

“Doing okay,” I say, not wanting to lay down my frustration with him or talk about the dream I just had. “What’s going on? Are you done for the day?”

“Yes, I was coming in to let you know everything is looking good on our end and was wondering if I could take Friday off. There’s a convention over in San Francisco that I’ve been tinkering with going to. Since there isn’t much going on for the rest of the week, I thought it could be an opportunity.”

“Of course,” I say. “Take a long weekend. Enjoy yourself. Let the ladies know as well.”

The ladies, as in Aggie and Esther. Sisters with a work ethic stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. They are operations managers. Aggie takes care of the vodka, and Esther takes care of the extract. They are a godsend, and the reason I was able to take care of the farm and The Almond Store at the same time.

The Almond Store is our flagship retailer in the middle of town, where we sell our products and everything you could think of, including Cassidy’s famous almond cherry cookies. When Cassidy passed, she left me responsible for the shop and the farm. While I was busy in the shop, Aggie and Esther were there for me, aiding me with everything I needed. Now that Hattie has taken over The Almond Store, I can focus solely on the farm.

“Great. Thank you. Doubt they’ll take the time off.”

“Tell them it’s a requirement,” I say with a wink. “Have fun at your convention, Parson.” Smirking, I ask, “Does it have anything to do with model trains?”

He smiles back. “Perhaps.”

“Are you going to take Rodney with you?” Rodney is the owner of the model railroad museum in town.

“Was thinking about it,” he says. “Rodney talks a lot, though, and sometimes I like to enjoy the calm and peace away from the ladies.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

I chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me.” I offer him a smile. “Well, have fun.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he studies me. The crinkles in the corner of his eyes deepen while the smile lines around his face fade. “You know, you’ve been acting strange the last couple of days. You haven’t been out in the fields like normal. Is everything okay?”

“Yup.” I try to smile brighter, even though it feels so incredibly fake.

“Are you sure? Because if something is wrong, we can help you.”

“I appreciate that, Parson, but everything is great. Go enjoy your long weekend. And stop by The Almond Store on your way out of town. Tell Hattie I sent you to grab some cookies for your trip.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Aubree. Thank you. Maybe those will keep Rodney quiet, at least for a little bit.”

I wiggle my eyebrows. “That’s the plan.” I offer him a wave, and he steps out of the small shed—my office.

I recently made it feel homier by painting every inch of it white, including covering the mismatched floors with a washable rug—we’re on a dusty farm after all. I also added a few black-and-white pictures of the farm—one including a family picture of Cassidy, Clarke, and MacKenzie—as well as a few plants. Not to mention, two chairs for any employees who need a second from the fields. With the in-window AC unit, it’s pretty cool in here and offers a good break from the heat. One of the many upgrades I’ve made since taking over.

When I first realized I could shift all my focus to the farm, I sat down with the employees and asked them what changes they would like to see. Parson wanted an air-conditioned place to eat his lunch since he was eating in his car. Apparently, his niece yelled at him one day for idling his truck and causing unnecessary gas emissions. I chuckled because I feel like Mac would say that when she’s older. She’s headstrong.

Esther and Aggie wanted some updated equipment. It wasn’t anything too expensive, just a few things like a new cart to drive around in and some updated iPads. That was an easy fix.

We also talked about what we could do to help bring in more income, and that was when we decided to go all in on the honeybees, which of course required a new hire. That new hire is Echo Alaska. She’s a small-town girl from Texas who spent her whole life living on a honey farm. Recently, she decided to venture out and see what was outside her small town. Well . . . she found another small town. She’s our beekeeper, and when she’s not on our farm, she’s driving around to different locations in the state to help with honeybee infestations. She collects the bees and brings them to the farm to increase our honey production. It’s a smart business plan, and I hope it adds a new level to the farm.

And I hope it helps with the finances.

I just don’t get it. We sold more but made less.

How?

I let out a shaky breath. Just thinking about it makes me feel nauseated, which means I need to get out of here before I lose my mind.

Before I start spiraling down a slippery slope of hatred and lies.

Lies my father burned into me growing up.

Not smart enough.

Will never amount to a thing.

Worthless.

Ugly bitch.

Not beautiful like my sisters . . .

No, not going there.

I pack my bag, slip it over my shoulder, and head out of the office. I lock up and turn toward the electric four-by-four I was able to find for a great deal and slide in just as I see Echo approach. As always, she’s wearing her short overalls with a tank top and a straw hat. She’s adorable.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.

“I was going to head back to my place. Why? Do you need something?”

“Uh, I just thought I’d have a conversation with you, but if you’re on your way home, I won’t bother you.”

“You’re never bothering me.” I pat the seat next to me. “Take a seat, and I can drive you back to your car or wherever you need to go.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” She takes a seat and sets her backpack on her lap.

“So what’s going on?”

“Well, this is sort of embarrassing and doesn’t have anything to do with work, but I spoke to my mom last night, and she told me that I need to come back to Texas.”

“Oh,” I say. How does that not have to do with work? That completely disturbs my future business plans. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. She’s just, uh, a bit controlling.” Echo swallows nervously. “I don’t want to go back home. I like it here.”

“Well, I’m glad. We like having you here, Echo.”

She nods, and I drive down the dirt path toward the parking lot behind the barn.

“Thank you. One of my mom’s arguments was that I don’t have a life here. She said I have no friends, and all I do is talk to my bees.”

“How would she know that?”

“I stupidly told her,” Echo says as I round the bend and slow down as the barn comes closer. “Anyway, I told her that I did have friends, and that although the bees are my friends, I don’t always hang out with them. I hang out with other people, and that’s when I said I hang out with you and Hattie. Well, she’s coming out here to visit, and I was hoping that maybe you could, I don’t know, act like we’re friends or something while she’s here so she doesn’t try to manipulate me to go back to Texas. I really don’t want to go back there, Aubree. I have a bad history there, and I like it here in Almond Bay. It’s new and fresh, and the people are nice. I know that’s asking a lot, but do you think you could pretend when she’s here?”

I pull up to her light blue Jeep Wrangler and put the four-by-four in park before turning toward her.

“How about this? We actually hang out, and then we don’t have to pretend?”

Her brow creases. “You would do that? But you’re my boss.”

I chuckle. “That’s okay. We’re allowed to be friends, Echo. There’s no rule when it comes to stuff like this. As long as we keep business separate, then we’re fine.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Then, yeah, I would like that.”

“I can invite Hattie too. I’m sure she would love to have some more friends in town other than her boyfriend and me.”

Echo’s smile grows wider. “Hattie is so sweet. I would love to get to know her better.”

“Perfect. I’ll set something up with her.”

“Awesome. Thank you.” She steps out onto the dirt and smiles at me. “Have a good night, Aubree.”

“You too, Echo.”

She takes off, and I continue toward my place, where I know I have a family dinner tonight with Ryland, Hattie, Hayes, and Mac. I believe it’s Hattie’s turn to cook, which means Hayes is probably cooking since Hattie has been known to disappoint in the kitchen.

I drive down the dirt road, taking in the beautiful sunset of bright orange, and let out a deep breath. Cassidy loved sunsets, especially out here on the farm. It was one of her favorite things. She would sit out back on a rocking chair, just staring at the colors and enjoying the wonders that nature can create. I’ve started to associate these sunsets with her, almost as if they’re a sign from her, letting me know that even though she’s no longer here, she’s still with us. God, I miss her. Every day. Desperately.

I park behind my quaint guest house and grab my backpack. Since I spent zero time out on the farm and in the fields today—something I love doing—I don’t need a shower, so I head straight to the farmhouse.

When Cassidy was dying from breast cancer a few months ago, she told our brother, Ryland, that she wanted him to take guardianship of MacKenzie—Mac—her four-year-old daughter. Mac came with the very small two-bedroom, one-bath farmhouse, and they live there together. The guest house, located right next to the farmhouse, is where I live so I can help Ryland. Cassidy asked if I would be his support system, and I promised her I would. So even though my living conditions are not ideal, I would never complain, because there’s a four-year-old girl in there who lost her mom and her dad and needs all the love she can get.

And then there’s Hattie, the youngest. She was finishing school when Cassidy passed, but now that she’s returned to Almond Bay and taken over The Almond Store, we’ve been able to spend more time together—necessary given the strain on our relationship during Cassidy’s passing.

Now that everything seems to be at peace with my siblings, business is now at the top of my mind. And not flourishing.

It will be fine.

I’ll figure it out.

Hayes’s Rivian is in the driveway, meaning they’re already here, probably cooking, so I jog up the front porch steps and open the squeaky screen door.

“Aunt Aubree!” Mac shouts as she comes barreling toward me as if she didn’t see me this morning and coaxed half of my donut away.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say as I hug her. “How was your day?”

“Neighhhhh!” she says as she pretends her favorite item on this earth, Chewy Charles the horse stuffy, licks my leg. “He’s licking you. Isn’t that funny?”

I smile down at Mac and her bouncy curls and round face—a face that resembles Cassidy so much that sometimes it’s hard to look her in the eyes. “That is funny. Does he think I’m a salt lick or something?”

“Why would Chewy Charles need a salt lick, Aunt Aubree?” she asks, hands on her hips. “He’s not a horse.”

Uh, that’s news to me.

“He’s not?” I ask. “What’s with the long neck, tail, and mane?”

“That’s his disguise. He’s actually a skunk dressed like a horse, so don’t make him mad. He will skunk you.”

I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to be skunked. Lick away, Chewy Charles.”

“No, he doesn’t think you taste good.” She bolts away, only to jump into the air and fling her body onto the couch without any care as to whether she will break her back on the arm of the couch.

Ahh, to be that young.

She also does this thing that makes Ryland nearly throw up. She likes to jump up in the air and land on her knees as if her legs have no bones. It makes Ryland shiver every time.

It makes me laugh. I love my older brother, but as a middle child, sometimes it’s nice to see your siblings squirm.

I head into the kitchen, where Hattie sits on the counter in the corner. Hayes is nowhere to be found, and Ryland leans against the fridge with a beer in his hand. He will only have a drink if there are other grown-ups present. Something I noticed a while ago. He’s very protective of Mac and makes sure that she’s taken care of at all times. Meaning if he’s alone with her, he won’t have a drink just in case he needs to drive.

“Hey,” I say to them as I move toward the cup cabinet and grab one to fill it with water. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Hattie says.

“Where’s Hayes?” I ask.

“Out back grilling some kebabs.”

God bless Hayes.

The funny thing is, a few months ago, there is no way in hell I ever would have said that. Hayes Farrow, world-renowned musician and America’s heartthrob, was Ryland’s best friend growing up, along with Abel. They were inseparable until their relationship fell apart one day. I won’t get into it, but they stopped talking for years . . . I mean, years. It wasn’t until a few months ago, when Hayes returned to Almond Bay around the same time Hattie did, that he came back into our lives. Long story short, they fell in love, and the anger and resentment was resolved. Now, we’re one big, happy family.

Hayes has stepped up and takes his role in the family very seriously. He’s great for Hattie, is there for Ryland whenever he needs it, and is quite the chef. Plus, Mac loves him. He truly completes our family.

“Is there pineapple on them?” I ask.

Hattie slowly nods. “Yup. Steak, pineapple, and green peppers.”

My stomach growls at the thought of that.

“He’s also roasting corn, and he brought cut-up watermelon,” Ryland says before lifting his beer to his lips.

“How did we get so lucky?” I ask.

Hattie raises her hand. “Me, that’s how. And you’re welcome. I accept gifts if you want to show me your gratitude.”

“I’m pretty sure Hayes is your gift. Be happy with that,” I say.

“I am,” Hattie says with a blush to her cheeks.

Are you wondering if I’m jealous that my little sister has found love and beams with happiness?

The answer would be no . . . and yes.

Maybe a little more yes than no.

Like . . . eighty percent yes, twenty percent no.

I had a serious relationship a few years ago. His name was Matt—and no, not the same Matt who Hattie dated, who turned out to be the biggest douche in the world. Well, this Matt—we will call him Original Matt—did turn out to be a douche, but in a different way. Secondary Matt—Hattie’s Matt—told her she was boring and broke up with her. Original Matt, well, he didn’t want to live in Almond Bay and told me I wouldn’t be living my life if I stayed in one place. We broke up because I was invested in helping Cassidy, and he didn’t want to be with someone who farmed potatoes.

Simple as that.

I wasn’t good enough for him to stay in a small town. His dreams were bigger than mine. I just can’t see myself ever feeling settled in a place with so little upward trajectory, Aubree. You’re farming potatoes, for God’s sake. Small-town life just isn’t enough for me.

I try not to think about it too much—I’m barely hanging on as it is.

Ever since that relationship went up in flames, it’s been pretty . . . dry here.

Very dry.

Like years.

Hence the eighty percent jealousy. I’m jealous of the way Hayes can walk in the room and make Hattie’s cheeks blush. That blush says everything.

But the twenty percent that’s not jealous? Well, that’s because I don’t think I could handle anything or anyone other than myself and the responsibilities that fall under my command right now.

“So is he going to propose soon?” Ryland asks. “Because he hasn’t asked me for permission yet.”

Hattie’s cheeks turn a deeper shade of red. “I think we’re just, you know, content with where we are right now.”

Why don’t I believe that?

Maybe because I’ve seen my sister in a relationship before, and she was never this infatuated. If you look up the definition of head over heels in love, Hattie’s picture would come up. From the googly eyes to the absentmindedness to the giddy behavior—she’s a fool in love, and it’s great to see.

I take a seat at the table right next to the kitchen. “Do you want to get married?”

“Yes,” she answers. “I love him, and no one will ever come close to stealing my heart like he has, but I don’t want to scare him either.”

“Why would you think getting married would scare him?” I ask.

Anyone on the outside looking in wouldn’t think Hayes could be scared. He’s solid and set in his ways. He looks at Hattie as if she’s part of every aspect of his future.

“I don’t know.” Hattie shrugs. “Sometimes it seems too good to be true, and I don’t want to . . . I don’t know, mess it up.”

I can feel that. Things were good with Original Matt . . . until they weren’t.

“He won’t be scared,” Ryland says. “He’s very much infatuated. Also, if he’s scared, he deals with me.”

And there it is, our overprotective brother. He’s been like that ever since I can remember.

Our mom died of breast cancer when we were young. Our dad was left with four kids, and well, he wasn’t happy about it. He spent most of his nights drinking in front of the television while Ryland and Cassidy tried to hold the household together. Cassidy was mainly in charge because Ryland played baseball most of the time. But he protected his three younger sisters when he wasn’t playing baseball.

“I don’t think you’re going to have to put your big brother foot down,” Hattie says just as Hayes walks into the house holding two plates, one full of roasted corn and the other stacked with kebabs.

When we fall silent, he glances around us and asks, “Were you talking about me?”

“No,” Hattie says as both Ryland and I say, “Yes.”

He brings the plates to the table, and my mouth waters as I take in the charred kebabs. Seriously, this man.

Where can I find a Hayes Farrow? Not that I’m looking, but if one happened to fall into my lap, I wouldn’t be mad about it.

“Glad to see my girlfriend is the one lying to me.”

“Hey, how do you know I’m lying? They could be lying.” Hattie points at me and Ryland.

“Are they?” Hayes lifts an eyebrow, and Hattie cowers.

“No, but I was trying to spare your feelings.”

“Uh-huh, and what were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Hattie says quickly while attempting to give us a subtle evil eye.

“About marriage,” Mac says, bouncing into the kitchen. “Are you going to marry Aunt Hattie?”

Well, leave it to the four-year-old to tell it like it is.

I glance over at Hattie, who is now bright red.

Hayes scoops up Mac and says, “Probably.”

“Probably? Why just probably?” Mac asks.

“Well, you see, she does this thing that I’m not sure that I like yet, and I need to figure out if I want to spend the rest of my life dealing with this thing that she does.”

“What does she do?” Mac asks in almost a whisper.

I lean in, as do Hattie and Ryland, wanting to hear the answer.

“I don’t think I should tell you. It’s kind of gross.”

“What gross thing do I do?” Hattie asks, offended.

A subtle grin spreads over Hayes’s lips as he says, “She drinks pickle juice straight from the jar.”

“Ewwwwww,” Mac says as she looks over at Hattie. “Why don’t you use a cup?”

That makes us all laugh because I’m pretty sure that’s not the offense Hayes was talking about. Then again, Mac loves pickles as well, so drinking pickle juice wouldn’t faze her.

“Go to the bathroom and wash your hands, Mac,” Ryland says. “Dinner is on the table.”

“Okay,” Mac says. Hayes releases her, and she takes off toward the bathroom.

That’s when Hayes eyes all of us. “Marriage, that’s what you’re talking about?”

Hattie points at both me and Ryland and says, “They were, not me. I was just sitting here telling them that I love you.”

Hayes smirks and walks over to Hattie. He places his hand on her thigh and lightly kisses her. “Nothing is going to happen until I talk to your brother.”

“You know, some might say that’s a misogynistic, old-school conversation that takes the power out of the woman’s hands. Why does she need her brother’s permission to get married?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

“Glad to see you’re your typical curmudgeon self today, Aubree,” Hayes says before walking over to the fridge and pulling out the watermelon.

“I wouldn’t say that’s being a curmudgeon. I would say it’s sticking up for all women. We can make our own decisions.”

“You can,” Hayes counters. “Just because her brother says yes doesn’t mean Hattie will say yes.”

Hattie sticks her finger in the air and says, “Uh, for the record, I would say yes.”

Hayes glances over his shoulder. “Good to know.”

“Well, don’t you think you should talk to both me and Ryland?” I ask. “He might be the older brother, but I’m the cranky witch of a sister who can make your life a living hell if I don’t approve.”

Hayes chuckles. “Noted to include you . . . if that conversation ever comes up.”

Mac runs into the room and shouts, “Uncle Ry Ry, watch this.” She leaps into the air and lands on her knees before doing a tuck and roll right into one of the dining room chairs.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryland says as he walks over to her. “Are you okay?”

“Wasn’t that cool?” Mac asks, tangled in one of the chair legs.

“Yup, the coolest,” Ryland replies, his voice full of sarcasm. “Now, let’s sit down and get you a plate of food.”

Together, we move around, getting drinks for everyone and making sure Mac is situated with food. When everything is set, the grown-ups take a seat and start digging in.

“Getting ready for the school year?” Hayes asks Ryland. Ryland is a math teacher at the local high school, where he’s also the varsity baseball coach. Last season, their team took second in the league, and he wasn’t happy about it. He blamed himself because he hadn’t found a balance yet between his responsibilities of being a math teacher, the head varsity baseball coach, and taking care of Mac. I think he’ll get the hang of it soon, though.

Right now, Mac still goes to “school”—more like day care for half the day—during the summer, but with the new school year approaching, she’ll be going to preschool, which I know will help Ryland out a lot more.

“I mean, not much to prepare,” he says.

“Are you telling me you don’t decorate your classroom?” Hayes asks.

Ryland raises a brow. “Does it look like I’m the type of guy who decorates a classroom? I slept on a couch for months. Pretty sure I’m not about to put up bulletin boards in my classroom.”

I felt bad when he was sleeping on the couch, but he refused to sleep in Cassidy’s room. That was until Hattie thoughtfully cleared it out and redecorated for him.

“Maybe you should,” Hattie says. “Might make math more fun.”

“I don’t need decorations in my classroom to make math fun. Math is fun on its own.”

“To whom?” Hattie asks with a comical look of disgust on her face.

“People,” Ryland replies, knowing none of us at this table find math fun besides him.

“Well, if you need anything for the classroom, let me know,” Hayes says. “I can grab you anything you need.”

“Oooo,” I say while I sprinkle cotija cheese on my corn. “Maybe we should go into his classroom and give it a makeover.”

“No,” Ryland says. “My students will think I’ve lost my mind. They like the jail-like feel of it.”

“Pretty sure they don’t,” Hattie says while Mac dances her fingers over the table, pretending they’re spiders.

“Look, the spiders are eating the plate,” Mac says, laughing to herself.

“No spiders at the table, Mac,” Ryland says. “We talked about this.”

She drops her hands to her lap as her shoulders droop. Poor girl . . . the spiders just wanted to eat her plate.

“Um, some weird news for you. Do you know who came into The Almond Store today?” Hattie says. I could sense some reluctance in Hattie’s voice.

“Who?” Ryland asks.

“Amanda.”

My head lifts from where I’m biting into my corn. “Amanda . . . as in . . .”

Hattie nods. “Amanda Berteaux.”

“What is she doing here?” My skin crawls from the mention of her name.

Amanda was my closest friend growing up. We had some of the best times together until she moved away, and we lost touch. I figured that was what happened when you grew up. Until I started hearing that she was talking shit behind my back, using the same rhetoric as Matt—I was stuck in a small town and going nowhere. When Cassidy was dying, I never heard from her, and when I was left with a farm and a store to take care of, as well as help my brother with a four-year-old, I didn’t receive one message, one note. It solidified the notion in my head that she wasn’t the friend I thought she was.

But that doesn’t stop the spiral in my head from happening. Because why is she here?

“She actually moved back to town,” Hattie says.

“What?” I drop my corn on my plate and pick up my napkin. “Why would she move back here? She hates small towns.”

Hattie winces. “The only reason I’m going to tell you this is because I don’t want you to be caught off guard, just in case you run into them.”

“Them?” I ask. “Who’s them?”

“Amanda . . . and Matt,” Hattie replies.

I feel all the blood from my face drain as I sit back in my chair, completely knocked out from the news.

Amanda, the horrible, and Original Matt. How?

My eyes meet Hattie’s as I say, “Don’t tell me they’re a couple.”

“They’re . . . married,” Hattie says. “And expecting. They moved back to Almond Bay because they thought it would be the perfect place to raise their child.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say. The fucking irony. Small towns are not for me, Aubree. I’m destined for so much more. He treated this town like a disease, wanting to sprint away from here as fast as he could when, in reality, he knows this is the best place to be.

“Hey . . . language.” Ryland nods toward Mac, who is drinking her milk with two hands on the cup.

“Sorry. But . . . are you fucking serious?”

“Aubree,” Ryland warns again.

Mac sets her drink down and wipes the back of her hand over her mouth before saying, “Uncle Ry Ry, you say fuck all the time.”

“Mac, don’t say the F-word,” he says.

“I didn’t. I just told you that you say fuck. That’s a bad word.”

“Yes, I realize that,” Ryland says. “So don’t say it.”

“I didn’t,” Mac defends. “You said fuck.”

Ryland pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just say the F-word.”

“You want me to say fuck?” she asks, confused.

If I wasn’t so dumbfounded and sick to my stomach at the moment, I’d laugh at the hilarity that is Ryland trying to teach Mac what to say and what not to say.

“I think he means use the term F-word instead of saying fuck,” Hattie says softly.

“Only if you guys say it,” Mac says, a lift to her chin.

Oooh boy, good luck, Ryland.

“We will do better,” Ryland says, staring me down.

“Yes, sorry.” I turn toward Hattie and ask, “They seriously moved here?”

“Yes. Not sure where in town, but they came in for cookies and some almond-scented candles. Said they wanted their new place to smell amazing.”

“I’m sure she does,” I say as I push my watermelon around with my fork.

I doubt she really wanted the candles at The Almond Store. She probably wanted to rub it in my face that she’s married to my ex and expecting a child. What did they bond over? Their hatred for me? The reason they left Almond Bay? Only to come back and live here. Did they gleefully chuckle over the idea of shoving their relationship in my face? Talk about a whole bunch of insecurities racing through my mind.

Both left me for the same reason.

Both caused me heartache.

Both made me question who I am and what I want in life.

And now they’re together.

It settles horribly in the pit of my stomach.

“You okay?” Ryland asks.

I look up at him and plaster on a smile. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because your former best friend is married to your ex. They left you because they didn’t want to live in a small town, and now, they’re back. That has to sting,” Ryland says. Wow, is he good at pointing out the obvious. No sugarcoating it either.

I tilt my head to the side and stare at my brother. “Thanks for the recap, but I’m good. They can live their life the way they want.”

Verbally, I’m taking the high road. Internally, I hope their new house breaks a main valve and floods.

“Okay, but it seems like you’re . . . I don’t know, irritated.”

When am I not irritated is the question.

The constant badgering on this subject when I’m clearly trying to move on isn’t helping.

It’s actually making it worse.

Way worse.

“I’m fine,” I answer. “If they want to contradict themselves, move back here, and raise a child, that’s up to them. Who am I to say what they can and cannot do? It’s not like they went on and on and on about how they thought Almond Bay was the kind of place that you get stuck in forever and have no chance of growing as a person. And sure, I might not like doing all of the town activities, hate them actually, but that doesn’t mean I think Almond Bay is a bad place to live. I like it here. I’ve always liked it here, and if they realize they’re wrong in what they said, then sure, they’re just growing as people. And shouldn’t we accept them for the idiots they once were but note their growth?”

“You said idiots, Aunt Aubree. That’s not nice,” Mac says.

I turn to her, and in a sweet voice, I say, “Well, they’re being idiots. It’s fact. Wouldn’t you rather me tell the truth than lie?”

“Aubree,” Ryland says in a terse voice.

“Then Oliver and Landon are idiots,” Mac says.

“Mac, we don’t call our friends at school idiots.”

“She can if they’re acting like them,” I say, tapping the end of my fork on the table. Continuing my rant, I say, “And isn’t it just fitting that they would somehow find each other? They must have so much in common, even though Amanda said many times that she thought Matt was not my type and predicted that he’d leave me. Which she was right, but where was her concern with that comment when jumping into his bed? And not to mention, Matt once told me that Amanda had the resting face of a platypus. But you know, people evolve. They change.” I toss my hands in the air. “They move on. Their blinders can be lifted. If anything, I’m happy for them. Really happy. So happy that I should send them a gift. A bouquet of contradiction. Something that really says I’m happy that you were able to see the light and change. Because I’m happy. So fucking happy for them,” I roar just as I get out of my seat and push my chair in, taking off toward my guest house.

“She said fuck,” Mac says right before I shut the screen door to the farmhouse.

Yes, I’m fine.

Totally fucking fine.