“Are you talking about the Thunderbird Charlotte left Noah in her will?” Troy asks.
“Yes,” Kate replies.
“Vintage cars are huge in LA,” Troy tells me. “I have a friend who collects them. I bet he’d be interested in buying it from you once you’ve finished restoring it.”
I shake my head. “It’s not for sale.” Charlotte wouldn’t have wanted me to sell it. And I don’t want that either.
Kate checks her phone. “We should get going if we’re going to meet up with everyone at The Barn.”
The Barn? It’s exactly as the name suggests. Except it’s been a long time since animals stepped inside it. Now it’s a place where the artisans in the county sell their products during the warmer months.
Sophie and Violet told Kate about it and she wanted to check it out, to see if there’s anything that would work in Charlotte’s house.
TJ’s truck pulls up to The Barn shortly after the three of us arrive. Jake, Sophie, Violet, and Deacon are with him.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to bring a date,” Troy says, spotting the occupants of TJ’s vehicle.
Kate laughs. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and meet someone here.”
I smack him on the back. “And if not here, there’s always the county fair afterward.” Which is the other reason for today’s visit to The Barn. Because Kate is returning to Beverly Hills in ten days—after her uncle inspects the house—Sophie and Violet wanted to make sure that she experiences another aspect of small-town life before she leaves.
Troy doesn’t have a chance to respond. Sophie and Violet rush over and hug Kate.
“You look great,” Sophie says to her. And she does. She’s wearing a white sundress covered in large pink roses and her cowgirl boots and hat.
The dress isn’t from a high-end designer. The mom of one of the kids Kate has been working with made it for her.
Kate beams, and my heart does its own quick two-step dance. Like it always does when she smiles that way.
Inside The Barn, we wander around, inspecting the assortment of western-themed decor.
Kate picks up a square, rustic piece of wood with a cartoonish squirrel painted on it. She shows it to Violet. “This would be perfect in the nursery.” She points to the selection of similar artwork, but with different woodland animals painted on them.
Kate has been decorating the baby’s room for Violet and TJ’s upcoming family member.
“Oh, that’s adorable,” Sophie says, and Violet agrees.
“Are you sure you want to return to Beverly Hills?” Sophie asks Kate. “Noah, how about you kidnap her? And then when Jake and I eventually have a baby, she can decorate that nursery, too.” She grins at Kate even though she knows Kate has no intention of staying in Copper Creek.
I park my hand on Kate’s lower back. “I would, but I think Austin might have something to say about that.” Her relatives, too.
Kate laughs. “You’re probably right about that.”
TJ picks up the six wooden pictures, and Kate continues with her search. By the time we’re ready to leave, she has found several different items for the house. I swear I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen her this excited.
Troy and I load up my truck; then we all head to the county fair.
As soon as we arrive, Deacon bounces up and down like a puppy on a pogo stick. “Daddy, I want to see the petting zoo.”
TJ lifts him onto his shoulders, and we weave through the crowds toward it. I hold Kate’s hand the entire way. It feels natural. Being here with her feels natural.
Which is completely screwed up because this isn’t Kate’s world. It’s mine.
As we walk, Sophie points out the things we should check out after we see the animals. She, Violet, and Kate chat and laugh together the entire way there. Kate’s excitement at the sights around us—the farmer market booths, the stages with the various country music acts, the magician entertaining the kids, the jugglers, face painters—is hard to miss.
Someone Troy seems to know stops him to talk, and Troy tells us he’ll meet us at the petting zoo in a few minutes.
Once we get there, TJ lowers Deacon to the ground. The small corral houses the usual assortment of animals: lambs, goats, piglets, rabbits, chickens, a giant tortoise.
