Steal My Magnolia (Love at First Sight Book 3)
Page 5
"Daddy," I interrupted smoothly. "Can you please close the fridge and look at me?"
"I could've sworn we had bacon," he mumbled. "Well, sausage will be just as good."
"Daddy."
He yanked open a drawer and pulled out a package of links, studying the package carefully. "Lord, who stamps the dates on these things? They ought to fire whoever does their quality control."
"Daddy," I snapped. "I am trying to talk to you."
His whole frame went still because I could count on one hand the number of times I'd ever raised my voice to him. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd raised my voice at anyone.
The fridge door closed quietly, and he set the sausage on the counter, his eyes assessing me. "Normally, I'd tell you to watch your tone when you address your elders, but since you don't make a habit of it, I'll let it slide."
I don't know if most people know how hard it is for a proper young woman raised in the south to hide an eye roll. We all do it in our heads, but we're taught to fight the impulse as though someone is holding tight reins on our facial expressions. The mental eye roll I just executed would've gone down in record books.
But I kept my face smooth, kept it even, and I slid the paper across the counter so that he could reach it. "This is for you."
He made no move to pick it up. In fact, he didn't so much as glance at it. His eyes stayed on my face, and I knew he was trying to search out what I was doing. I might've inherited a few things from Momma, but my poker face came straight from J.T. MacIntyre.
"What is that?" he asked.
I didn't answer, simply held his gaze steadily. His cheek clenched when I didn't blink. But then again, neither did he.
"Magnolia," he said quietly, "why don't you just tell me what this is about because I don't like that look in your eye."
"Please just read it, Daddy. I could've waited to give that to you tomorrow at the office, but I decided that this would be best."
He slicked his tongue over his teeth. How he knew with surety that whatever was on that paper was something he didn't want to read, I had no idea.
The slider connected to the sprawling deck slid open, the only thing that could've broken our stalemate. Daddy's gaze landed, unerringly, onto my mother. It always did when she entered a room.
"Magnolia," she greeted quietly. "Wasn't expecting you tonight."
"Hi, Momma."
If anyone truly questioned whether my father was born without a soul, all they had to do was spend five minutes in my parents' company. It wasn't until Tucker broke up with me that I started studying my parents as carefully as I was now. I'd always taken their relationship for granted, but in the wake of my only long-term relationship ending, I saw them in a different light.
The way my daddy looked at my momma when she walked into a room was how I wanted a man to look at me. I wanted him to feel a peace so deep that it settled him down to his core when he simply shared space with me. That was what my daddy looked like right now.
And even though my mother had a quieter nature about her, she was the same way with him.
They were magnets, drawn together simply because they couldn't not be.
She walked over to Daddy, slid a hand up his chest, and kissed his cheek. He wrapped an arm around her and set his nose against her temple, drawing in a deep breath. I glanced down at the counter, feeling like an intruder on this quiet moment between them.
"What's that?" Momma asked, reaching for the paper.
I held my breath and found Daddy's gaze. "Something for Daddy."
She handed him the paper without a single glance because it wasn't in her nature to pry if we didn't ask her to.
The muscle along his jaw jumped, and he finally reached out to take the paper from her hands. He gave it a quick glance, and I held my breath.
"What the hell?" he whispered. His eyes, wide and confused, jerked up to mine. "Is this a joke?"
The paper floated to the counter, and before she picked it up, my momma's eyes moved from me to Daddy and back again.
"It's quite serious," I told him. I lifted my chin, but my insides were vibrating dangerously. The reality of quitting the job he'd given me, and the security it provided, was far scarier now that he was actually looking at the words I'd typed. I felt like a kettle set to boil without a way for the steam to escape. The water boiled and bubbled inside with nowhere to go.
"You're quitting?" he thundered.
Momma set her hand on his arm, her eyes still on the paper. Only briefly did she lift them to me, and they gave away nothing. If there was anyone in the world who could handle him, it was her, but maybe because I was ready to boil over myself, I didn't want her to. I wanted to handle this myself, without interference.
"I'm giving you my notice," I corrected. "For the next two weeks, I'll help transition Marcia to handle my duties as she's more than capable."
Marcia had worked in the Chamber office a solid ten years longer than I had, and she would take over the reins seamlessly. Not only that, but she wasn't afraid of Daddy, and that was invaluable.
"It's not Marcia's job to manage my office." He flung his hands out. "How can you do this to me, Magnolia? Is this the treatment I've earned as a father?"
"No, of course not."
My easy agreement had him pausing. His arms fell to his side.
"This comes as a result of you as a boss, not a father. You undermined me today with Candy when I was perfectly clear that I wanted to handle her. As per the chain of command in that office, it was my right as the office administrator. You took that choice away from me and opened us up to a wrongful termination lawsuit because she's only been written up once, not twice like the HR handbook mandates."
His face slowly turned redder and redder as I spoke in direct correlation to the increasing firmness of my voice.
"I have asked you so many times, Daddy. I've asked you to let me handle things as I see fit, and every time, you do whatever you want."
He slicked his tongue over his teeth again but didn't respond. Maybe because Momma still had her hand on his arm.
Carefully, she set the paper down, gave my father a long look, and then glanced back at me. Again, I marveled at the inscrutability of that gaze. Maybe the poker face came from both of them.
When he still didn't speak, I kept going, the words I'd practiced in the car flowing easily now. "It's past time for me to try something new, and I think you know that. I can't keep crafting a life for myself in the confines of what you say is acceptable."
"Try something new?" he asked. "You have a new job already?"
That tone was as dangerous as a coiled snake, and I probably should have sidestepped. But I tipped up my chin, met his gaze, and nodded.
"Who hired you?"
"Someone awfully smart, considering how damn good at my job I've been," I snapped.
"Don't you sass me, young lady." I saw the wheels in his head start to turn. "You're not working at the Lodge, are you?"
"It's no one you know, so you can quit trying to figure it out."
His eyes widened. "No one I know? Impossible."
My mom's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"They paying you more?" he asked.
Of course, he thought it was about money. But the answer was no. Not even close. Grady's opening salary, and my ability to accept it, was resting solely on the fact that I'd crafted myself a budget at the age of sixteen and stuck with it religiously. Dave Ramsey should've taken lessons from me.
"That's none of your concern."
"None of my concern?" His tone was sheer incredulity. "I'm your father, Magnolia. Everything I've done for the past twenty-six years has been out of my concern for you, to make sure you've got a good life."
"How am I ever supposed to know what's good and right for me if everything's dictated by you?"
"I'm not dictating your life, Magnolia. You chose what you went to school for. You chose where you went to school. You chose that house you live in."
"
You gave me lists, Daddy. Lists of majors, and lists of colleges and neighborhoods and homes, and yes, I got to pick from those, but that's hardly freedom."
"Look around this place, young lady." He swept an arm out, to the home that housed our family, the land they owned, the view that unrolled in front of us like a beautifully crafted painting. "Your mother and I built this life with our bare hands, but we didn't turn our noses up at the support of our families either."
A laugh burst out of me, startling them both. I couldn't help but gape. "Are you trying to be funny? Is this a joke? You two didn't listen to a damn thing anyone had to say about your life, or your relationship, or how you should or shouldn't do things." I leaned forward. "And I love that about you. No one—not your family, Momma, or your family, Daddy—kept you two from being together."
That softened him, just slightly. But the hurt in his eyes almost killed me.
Theirs was the bedtime story I was raised on, instead of princesses locked in a tower, waiting to be rescued. My parents were almost forty when I came into the world, and as he told it to me, he'd asked my momma to marry him at least a hundred times in the fifteen years leading up to the positive pregnancy test. Sometimes, he said two hundred, and the truth was that I wouldn't have doubted it if that turned out to be the case.
When you had a woman from one of the wealthiest Black families in town and a man from one of the wealthiest white families in town, both of those families were relieved every time Bobby Jo Boone turned down J.T. MacIntyre. But what he saw in my momma, from the first time he took her out on a fishing date and she caught a bass three times the size of his own, he knew in his gut that he'd love her for the rest of his life. According to him, she knew it too. She just liked to play coy since everything else in his life came easily.
And it was the hundred and first time he asked (or two hundred and first, depending on the telling) when she finally said yes. Their marriage blazed a trail as the first interracial marriage that Green Valley had ever seen. Even though the Boones and the MacIntyres would've both picked different partners for their kids, they embraced the new family immediately.
When I came into the world at six pounds and nine ounces, with a shock of black hair, I was the jewel on the top of their crown, according to my daddy. And he'd never let me forget that. Not in how he treated me or the people who dared cross me.
"Daddy," I said wearily, "you and Momma walked down that aisle with your middle fingers waving, and you know it. You never let anyone tell you that you shouldn't marry her because she was black. And Momma did the same to you. So, don't tell me that I haven't earned the right to do the same thing in this world, simply because you've erected some sort of shield around my very existence."
I stood, and he watched me with careful, suspiciously shiny eyes.
"I'm not trying to keep you from the world, Magnolia," he said, voice gruff. "But I can't protect you when I'm not around."
"I don't need you to protect me. I need you to trust me. Trust that I know what's right for me."
He opened his mouth, but Momma slid her hand over his. "Let her go, J.T.," she said softly.
A shaky exhale of relief escaped my mouth, because as much as I loved my momma, and I did, we didn't often find ourselves agreeing on things. For the handful of physical features she gave me, our personalities were night and day different. She'd spend all her time outdoors, fishing rod in hand, if given the choice. And while I respected that about her, it didn't always leave room for a strong maternal instinct.
But this was a moment I needed her to take my side, and my heart beat erratically that she had.
I came around the corner and gave her a brief hug, which she returned with a brief squeeze of her lithe, strong arms.
Daddy was staring down at the counter, like he didn't dare look at me. The color was still high in his cheeks, and I found myself tearing up, simply because he was wearing his hurt like a neon sign.
It was unfathomable to J.T. MacIntyre that I might crave something outside of the life he built for me.
But I did.
"I love you, Daddy," I whispered.
He wrapped me up in a fierce hug that stole my breath, and I pinched my eyes shut against the warmth of his chest.
"Love you more," he said into my hair. "Now go before I change my mind about allowing this."
Since no one could see my face, and something about small rebellions felt right, I rolled my eyes.
Chapter 6
Grady
Today would be better.
Today, I would not look like a fool.
I parked my car in an open spot by the curb and took a deep breath. I'd hardly slept the night before, so while I might not look like a fool, I had dark circles under my eyes that couldn't be hidden.
What was I supposed to do? My whole body was a giant mass of nerves and anticipation.
It was her. I was going to go to work and see her every single day while trying not to make an idiot of myself when I'd generally never had a problem with the opposite sex.
With one last glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror, I just had to hope she didn't ask why I looked hungover as hell. Imagining my answer was an exercise in misery. "Oh, no, I didn't have a single drop of alcohol last night. I laid in bed, thinking of you, how I can find out every single fascinating detail about you, earn your heart and your respect, while starting a successful business and trying to figure out if you're going to fall in love with me in the process or if I'm doomed to love you from afar for the rest of my life."
I groaned, dropping my forehead onto the steering wheel. This was awful.
I'd avoided all contact with my family the night before because I couldn't handle a single I told you so moment when they realized that I'd no longer be able to write off the Buchanan curse as bullshit.
Oh, it was bullshit, all right.
Heart-shredding, start-writing-poetry-about-her-eyes-and-her-lips, soul-too-big-for-my-body-because-all-it-wanted-was-her bullshit.
Resolutely, I lifted my head from the steering wheel and stared at the front of the office space.
I was more than capable of managing this.
Every member of my family had experienced these feelings, and no one had died from them yet. If Lia was my perfect match, then I didn't need a pep talk from Grace, or my cousin Levi, or anyone else. All I needed to do was calm down, be patient, and know that anything that was good and worthwhile in life was worth being patient for.
Just as I had that thought and felt the calm certainty of it, I saw her walking down the street. There was no bright yellow dress today, but I smiled at her outfit all the same. Southern belle does unpacking in a dusty office had a whole different vibe to it than anything I was used to from California girls.
Instead of jeans and a T-shirt like I was wearing, she was wearing bright pink slacks that hugged her curves. Around her feet were bright yellow heels with a thin strap around her ankles. Her shirt was a loose white blouse covered in small pink flowers that she'd tucked into the front of her pants. Her dark hair was twisted up in an elaborate knot, and around her head, she'd knotted a white and pink handkerchief.
She looked like Rosie the Riveter, if she'd dressed in pastels.
My heart turned in a backflip, and I rubbed at the spot on my chest, willing it to calm down.
Before she beat me to the door, which was still locked, I grabbed the spare key I'd had made for her at the hardware store and hopped out of my car. "Hey," I called out.
She stopped, shading her eyes from the sun. "Afternoon."
A tractor rumbled down the street, and the man driving it gave us both a lazy wave.
I jogged across the street once the behemoth had passed between her and me. "Still not used to seeing stuff like that," I said, hooking a thumb over my shoulder at the tractor.
"Y'all came from California, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah. My mom is still outside LA."
She peered at my face. "Must be quite a change. Do you miss it?"
Her smile was sweet and quick, and I felt another telltale flip in my heart. I liked that smile. If this kept going, I'd have to start a log in my phone of all the different ways her lips curled up and the things they told me about her.
"I miss my mom," I continued, flipping on the overhead lights. "Miss some of the restaurants. But I hated so much about LA. The traffic. The smog. The traffic."
She laughed.
"I'd sit behind my computer every day at work, no window to look out, and feel like I was trapped in a cage. I'd sit in my car for hours on the drive home on my way to an apartment that was hemmed in on every side by other buildings." Where these words came from, I wasn't even sure. I found myself leaning up against the wall, admitting my unhappiness to someone other than Grace, and it was happening so easily, I could hardly believe it. It was the kind of stuff I never said out loud except for a random joke here or there. I shook my head. "That's why I haven't been in here yet today. I woke up and found myself wanting to spend some time in the mountains."
"You sound like my momma," she said. Setting her purse on the edge of the desk, she perched a hip there. "She'd spend all her time outdoors if she could too."
"Yeah?"
Her answering nod was slow, and she stared out the window, her eyes unfocused. "When they drew up the plans for their house, my daddy put in as many windows as he could facing the mountains and trees because then she could still feel like she was outside, even when she wasn't."
I hummed. "Sounds like he loves her a lot."
She blinked, standing abruptly from the desk. "He sure does." Then she clapped her hands. "All right, if you've got a box cutter, let's open these up and get moving. They won't unpack themselves."