a little. Also, the guesthouse…we’re going to be renting it out starting next week. We got a very good tenant.” At my surprised look, she flashes me a wry smile. “You’ve made a home in New York. I know you won’t be staying here. We want you to visit more often, but you’re not meant to live in Peach Pit, and it’s time we stopped trying to force it on you.”
“Mom.” My voice is husky with emotion. “I will come visit you more. A lot more. So much you’ll be sick of me.”
“Now, now. That could never happen. Probably.” She winks at me, and we both manage a shaky laugh.
A siren’s wail cuts through the air, and my father walks over to the window and peeks out through the curtains. “Oh, look, the sheriff’s here.”
Mom and I follow him over to the window. The sheriff is talking to a reporter who’s sitting in his van. The reporter looks annoyed, but pulls away and heads down the road. The sheriff moves on to another van.
“Can he do that?” I wonder. “I mean, not that I want them here, but I think they could argue that they’re on public property and they have the right to be here.”
“Well, there’s nowhere to park on this section of road, and if every single one of our neighbors says they’re not allowed to park in their driveways or on their front lawns, then they’re out of luck. They can’t just sit there blocking the public roadway.”
My father smiles in satisfaction as we watch the rest of news vans driving off. And it strikes me that this is why my family loves it here. Sure, there’s snootiness from some of the townsfolk, a lot of gossip and backbiting, but people have each other’s backs. The neighbors watch out for each other, just like my Kitchen Krew friends.
I flash a watery smile at my parents, blinking away the last of my happy homecoming tears. “I’m glad to be here. I needed a break.”
I really did, I realize. Working sixteen hours a day is just not sustainable. No amount of money is worth the exhaustion I felt working for Hudson’s. I was running myself ragged trying to keep up with Blake, even after he stopped with the whole “force Winona to quit” campaign. I always ended up staying late because he was staying late, and we barely had time for much more than nookie.
Although it was mind-blowingly amazing nookie.
No. I can’t think about that anymore.
I bend down to grab my suitcase. “I’m not going to be ready to meet up with folks for a couple of days at least,” I say wearily. “I just want to go crash in my room and relax.”
My mother’s eyebrows draw together in a fierce scowl. “Not until after you’ve had a good meal. You’re nothing but skin and bones.”
“Have you been talking to Edna?” I demand.
She smiles triumphantly. “As a matter of fact, I have. Thanks for reminding me. We need to talk about those late nights you were keeping.”
Good lord. The mom-tentacles have a really long reach.
“‘Were’ is the correct word,” I say with a wry smile. “I’m not working at Hudson’s anymore, so those days are behind me.”
After I sit down for a late afternoon lunch and let her stuff me like a Thanksgiving turkey, we apologize and hug each other a dozen more times. Finally, they have to get back to work, and I’m practically ready to pass out from a food-coma.
When I get upstairs to my room, though, I can’t help myself. I flop down on the four-poster bed with the frilly eyelet lace canopy, pull out my phone, and check up on Blake. It’s a little hypocritical of me, given that I have ordered all of my friends not to update me on anything they’ve heard about him, on pain of a very sharp scolding. After what Aunt Loretta said about the whole criminal family thing, though, I need to know he’s okay.
Part of me hates him for breaking his word about keeping the peach thing secret, and how he hurt my family and shamed them in front of everyone, but there’s that other part of me that will always…well…love him.
As soon as I scan the news, I remember why I’ve been avoiding him. Seeing news stories on him, looking at his handsome mug, makes my bruised heart throb in sorrow.
It seems Blake came clean about everything, including his father and uncle’s involvement with the original financial