The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,54

your mail and fields phone calls from collectors. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. I think what would shock me is hearing how it happened, because I don’t see you running around wearing Cartier and Louis Vuitton.”

I don’t want to tell her. I’m embarrassed. But she’s my sister, and she’s worried. “I donate most of my income to two charities, and before you say anything, I know it’s foolish. I know I need to stop.”

“Oh, Dakota. Are you serious?” Abby’s voice is softened with pity, and I don’t like the sound of it. “What charities?”

“A local women’s shelter and The Aneurysm Foundation.”

Abby sighs. Loudly. “And does it make you feel any better? Going into debt so that you can give to these causes?”

I look out the window at the pavement and say, “No.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Of course not.”

“Why don’t you tell him? I’m sure he’d help you out.”

“I don’t want to need Dad’s help.”

“Whether you want to or not, you do.”

“I’ve found a way out of it on my own.”

“Right. By marrying someone you don’t love.”

“Marriage wasn’t about love until the mid-nineteenth century, Abby. The Greeks saw lovesickness as a type of insanity and modern-day Tibetan Ma women raise children without active fathers. Also—”

“Stop, stop. I know what you’re doing. And as much as I hate it, I’m really curious about how you know all that.”

“I took a class on it at a community college when I was nineteen.”

“Of course you did. So.” I picture her placing her phone in the stand she keeps in her kitchen and leaning her forearms on the countertop. “You’re going to marry Wow Guy?”

I blink out at the red brick warehouse. “Better than marrying Underwhelming Guy.”

Abby snorts. “I suppose so.”

I look at my watch. Nine fifty-seven. My meeting starts at ten. “I have to get going, Ab.”

“Just tell me you’ll rethink the donations? If you’re unwilling to cancel them, maybe decrease their amount?”

“I will.” I’ll have to, unless I want to find myself in this situation again somewhere down the line.

We say goodbye, and just as I’m reaching for my phone to end the call, Abby says my name softly.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what you’re doing, Dakota?”

“I’ll be fine, Abby. Promise.”

We hang up and I head toward the front entrance, my mind stuck on Abby’s final question.

Does anybody ever really know what they’re doing? From what I can tell, whether people admit it or not, most everybody is just winging it. Life, love, parenting, careers, happiness… we’re all just doing the best we can.

I push my impending marriage sham out of my mind and pull open the glass front door, offering my winningest smile to the receptionist. She’s older, her chestnut hair streaked through with gray, and she wears dangly feather earrings.

“Hi, I’m Dakota Wright. I have a meeting with Daryl.”

“He’s expecting you, honey. Come on, I’ll take you back.” She stands up from her desk, and I see what can only be the names of all her grandkids on the front of her light blue T-shirt. Without being a weirdo and staring at her chest to count, I’d guess there are seven or eight names. She steps in front of me to lead me down a small hall. The back of her shirt reads #1 Grandma.

I follow her into the warehouse. It smells industrial, but I can’t make out any specific scent.

She stops short and shouts, “Daryl, Dakota’s here for your meeting.”

A man probably about the same age as her steps from an open door off to the side of the space. The receptionist disappears, and Daryl and I introduce ourselves. We talk at length about the project and tile. The entire time we’re discussing size and color, Wes lurks on the periphery of my thoughts.

I choose a large herringbone tile in a muted medium green. The aesthetic is modern farmhouse. I haven’t picked out lighting yet, but I’m picturing something black and copper.

Daryl shakes my hand after he sends the square footage calculations to his assistant. She’ll handle the billing. “I’ve heard a lot about the new building out there in Sierra Grande. My wife Cynthia said it’s going to be a wedding venue/wine bar/restaurant/picnic area/farmer’s market. That’s a whole lot of things wrapped into one.”

I smile. “I guess so. The chapel is an open-air concept, and can be rented out for weddings, large parties, what have you. The wine bar and restaurant will be open the rest of the time, and there will be space between the two buildings for