We said our goodbyes and I ended the call, letting my head fall back against the van's interior wall. The metal was cold even through the blankets, and I closed my eyes, trying to process everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
Boyd Biggs—James Biggs—arrested for identity fraud.
Dylan's devastated face when he realized his entire life was built on a lie.
Jessica's fury and grief mixing into something explosive.
And somewhere at the bottom of the Kentucky River, possibly, the remains of my real father, trapped in a car for nearly three decades.
A sharp rap on the window made me jump. I opened my eyes to see Jett standing outside. He waved.
I unlocked the door and he climbed into the back seat beside me, bringing a rush of cold air with him.
"Room for one more?" he asked, though he was already settling in.
"Always." I noticed he was holding something small and green. "What's that?"
He held it out—a tiny rosemary plant shaped like a Christmas tree, complete with a miniature star on top and a red ribbon tied around the small terra cotta pot. The scent of fresh rosemary filled the cramped space immediately.
"I was making deliveries for the farm—honey gift sets for the holidays—and I saw this at the garden center. Made me think of you." He placed it gently in my hands. "Figured you could use some cheer."
I stared at the little tree, feeling tears prick behind my eyes. It was perfect—practical and beautiful and alive. Something growing despite the winter cold.
"Thank you," I whispered. "It's perfect."
"How are you feeling about everything?" His voice was gentle, concerned.
"I'm still sorting it all out." I brought the rosemary to my nose, inhaling its sharp, clean scent. "It's a lot to process."
"I'm sure." He was quiet for a moment, just sitting with me. "You know it's okay to not be okay, right? You don't have to have it all figured out."
"I know."
"Good." He checked his watch and grimaced. "I have to go—got three more deliveries before dark. Just wanted to stop by and try to cheer you up."
I smiled at him, genuinely this time. "It worked."
His answering smile lit up his whole face. "Then my job here is done." He squeezed my hand briefly, then climbed back out into the cold. "Text me if you need anything. Seriously."
"I will."
I watched him walk to his pickup truck, start the engine, and drive away. Then I was alone again in my van, holding the tiny rosemary tree.
I brought it to my nose again, breathing in the fresh, herbal scent. Rosemary for remembrance, I thought. How fitting.
December 19, Friday
back labelthe rear label on a bottle providing tasting notes, distillery info, and legal statements
THIE TOURbus stopped outside the office. Jett shifted into park and left the engine idling. I was gathering my notes and water bottle when the door hissed open and Naomi Sook bounded aboard with the energy of someone who'd just consumed three espressos.
She went straight to Jett, leaning down to plant a kiss on his mouth—quick but unmistakably possessive, her hand lingering on his shoulder. "Hey, babe."
"Hey." Jett's voice carried a note of surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I need to talk to Bernadette." Naomi was already moving down the aisle toward me, her designer boots clicking against the rubber floor mat. She slid into the seat across from mine, her expression bright with professional excitement. "I heard about James Biggs. The entire state of Kentucky is consumed with the news."
I set my water bottle down carefully. "Word travels fast."
