She winks at me. “Arranged marriages have a funny way of working out. But if you’re serious about this, I’d act fast. He’s quite the looker, a real catch for a small town like ours I’d say. Successful, hardworking, tall and broad as a tree, too.”
“Ugh, there’s so much more to marriage than a hot guy,” I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them. I don’t mean to be so short, but Mrs. Mayberry either doesn’t notice or graciously pretends not to.
I’m heartbroken. Devastated. My dreams feel shattered into a million tiny pieces, and for once, that’s not even being dramatic.
She chuckles softly, like I’ve told her a good joke. “You’re right. There is more to marriage than just being attractive. But I get the impression there’s more to this guy than what meets the eye. He’s older, too. Forty-one years old. I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you. I’ve already heard the way women in this town are talking about him.” She tilts her head, studying me. “Want his contact info?”
“No.” My response is sharp, clipped, my head shaking too fast and then I soften my voice because Mrs. Mayberry’s always been like a mother to me when I didn’t have one growing up which is probably why this hurts even more. She knows how much this would mean to me and there’s nothing she’s willing or can do about it. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”
She smiles at me with that same gentle sympathy that somehow makes the lump in my throat feel even heavier.
“Regan, for what it’s worth, I really do want you to have this place. Connecting it to the Marshall family next door, with you running things is ideal. You’re the best person for it, no question.I’d love to see what you come up with around designs. I do hope you figure things out.”
I nod, but it’s a hollow gesture, my mind spinning too fast to form any real response becausefiguring things outmeans getting married and I’m not ready to do that with a stranger.
She gives me one last encouraging look before turning toward the door. “Let me know if anything changes, dear. I’ll be back at the main house so please lock up on your way out.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me standing in the quiet room, staring out the window at a view I know better than my own back yard. The beauty stretches across the lawn, past the serene pond where I’d imagined so many photos being taken, so many memories being made. My gaze follows the landscape to the stately colonial style home at the base of the mountain—myhome. Or at least, the home I’ve pictured for years being mine. The one I’ve dreamed of growing old in. Maybe with a partner someday. I think that’d be nice, even if I can’t picture who that person could be. Perhaps even with a kid or two, if my one stubbornly functional tube and ovary decide to cooperate when that time comes.
The first tear since she left sneaks down my cheek, and then another, and another. My fingers lift to wipe them away, but they keep coming, hot and unstoppable and I decide to leave them.
I don’t want to make Mrs. Mayberry feel any worse about this than she already does. It’s not her fault. It’s not her late husband’s fault either, really. They probably thought they were being wise, making a decision that would protect their property’s legacy.
But God, I wish they’d thought of me—thought about the possibility that I’d be standing here, about to turn thirty-years-old, nowhere close to being married, still fighting to find myfooting in this world. Fighting to feel like I belong. Fighting for a future I know I deserve.
I swipe my hands over my cheeks again, forcing the tears to stop.
Crying won’t fix this and neither will moping. Because this property? It feels like mine.It is mine.It’s in my bones, calling to me. This is where I’m meant to be, and I know it as surely as I know my own name.
I draw in a deep, steadying breath. I’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes.
Because there’s no way I’m letting go of my destiny.
Chapter 6: Regan
“This is a really bad idea,” I mumble.?
“No, this is agreatidea!” Rae, my future sister-in-law counters, her grin stretching wide, her usual grumpier demeanor replaced with something closer to mischievous delight.
I eye the brownie she’s holding out like it’s some kind of science experiment, hesitating before I pluck it from her hand. I sniff it, inspecting it like it might bite back but all I smell is warm, fudgy, chocolatey goodness.
“I don’t know about this, Rae…”
Rae bobs her head enthusiastically, her chestnut brown hair swinging back and forth in dramatic agreement. “Do it,” she hisses, like some kind of devil on my shoulder.
The weed brownie is clearly working its magic on her because her usual sarcasm has left the building and shifted into something bordering on chaotic naughtiness. She pushes thesilver tray toward Lydia next, who wrinkles her nose and shakes her head without even looking up from her phone.
“Absolutely not.”
Rae rolls her eyes and pivots to Molly Marshall, my childhood best friend and my twin brother Colt’s new wife.
Molly raises both hands as if Rae’s just drawn a weapon. “I’m a cop. I’m literally about to go on duty. There is no way in hell you’re getting me to eat one of those.”
“You guys suck,” Rae declares with dramatic flair, turning back to me again like I’m her last hope. “Looks like it’s just you and me, sis.”
I take another sniff. It smells normal enough. Looks normal enough too. And really, I’ve never been the type to shy away from a little risk. Besides, it’s legal here in North Carolina. How bad could a single weed brownie actually be? These were the kinds of things I probably should’ve experimented with in college, but I’d been too busy studying to ever find out.
Cautiously, I take a bite. Lydia sighs sharply without looking up at us, and Molly rolls her eyes, already rising from the couch and heading toward the kitchen. Meanwhile, Rae looks like she’s going to explode from excitement. She’s biting down on her bottom lip like she’s trying to hold back a giggle, and her green eyes are wide.
