“I’m sure he doesn’t think you’re a baby.”
“He treats me like one. It’s so stupid—he missed an important class because he thought I couldn’t handle being alone, all while telling me how important school is. But hey, he already makes a ton of money with his mechanic stuff, and that’s even without a stupid high school or college degree. Why should I finish if he didn’t even?”
“Because you don’t have a family to take care of, and you deserve to have an easier shot at life than I had.”
Asher’s deep rumble interrupted the conversation. Paisley’s hands suddenly grew clammy and her usual confidence fled. She tried to hide the fact that she suddenly felt as if she had snooped through his things. All she did was read a research paper—not his diary. And she didn’t ask Izzy to disclose any personal information, so why did her cheeks burn with shame at invading his privacy?
“There are a million things I can do instead of going to school.”
“Like what?” Asher folded his arms across his chest, looking every bit the doubting and doting stand-in dad.
Paisley couldn’t tear her eyes away from his bulging biceps. Biceps she had a particular fondness for squeezing and stroking. She made a mental note to lick them next time, and then took a deep breath, growling in her head. This wasn’t an ongoing thing between them, and there wouldn’t be a next time. She had come here to punish him for crying out loud.
Izzy’s youthful, defiant voice interrupted her nasty fantasies.
“I could be a waitress.”
Paisley smiled. “That’s harder work than you probably realize. And the pay is inconsistent.”
“I could be a mailman. They make tons of money.”
“Pretty sure you need an education…” Asher added.
“You could teach me to fix cars. You could hire me, and when you die, I could take over your shops.”
Asher chuckled.
“I could teach you, yes. And you could take over my shops if you really liked the work. But you still need your education.” Asher picked up a piece of the steak he had abandoned on the plate on the table. He closed his eyes and sighed as he chewed the first bite. “Besides, even if I thought it was a good idea, you’re not old enough to withdraw from school. And what happened to your dream of being a veterinarian or a pediatrician?”
“Those were stupid ideas.” Izzy stomped dramatically into the kitchen area. She whipped open the fridge, paused as she presumably waited for something delicious to jump out at her, closed it, then noticed the tray of steak tips on the counter. “Who cooked?”
Asher pointed to Paisley as he shoved the last bite in his mouth. “Not too bad for a career woman.”
Paisley cocked an eyebrow at him, but he smirked around his full mouth.
“Ew, you guys totally did it.”
“Isabel Rachel! You do not talk that way!” Asher’s face darkened to a shade closely resembling an eggplant.
“Actually, I do.” Izzy helped herself to steak and a big scoop of potatoes. “Don’t blame me for your own embarrassment.”
Paisley stood up abruptly, hoping she could slip the research paper back into the pile without Asher noticing.
“What are you doing with that?” He snatched it out of her hands.
“Ouch. You gave me a paper cut!”
His face colored a bit, and his eyes searched her hands.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Need a Band-Aid?”
“Maybe she needs you to kissy her boo-boo.”
Paisley and Asher glared at the girl in unison.
“You’re not helping,” Ash muttered.
Izzy shrugged. Around a mouthful of steak, she said, “I told your girlfriend that you’re a genius. I don’t think she believes me.” She swallowed. “Tell her, Unc.”
“There’s nothing to tell, and she’s right to not believe you.” Asher pulled at the collar of his shirt, his neck reddening to match his face.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Ash. That’s amazing. And from what I read of that paper, it’s pretty obvious that you’re incredibly intelligent.” She waited for his embarrassment to fade, for him to crow and brag like all the other guys she knew.
He didn’t.
Clearly he was not the other guys.
“Anyone can write a paper. And anyone can score high on a stupid test. Are you going to eat?”
Paisley laughed. “I work with people with advanced degrees who cannot write as well as you. And, um, no… not everyone can score well enough to be classified as a genius.”
He didn’t respond, but he began to dig into his cold potatoes.
“I could heat that up for you,” she offered, but he shook his head and growled as he shoveled the food into his mouth.
Paisley sighed—even the way he consumed his food was turning her on. She had a sickness. Something worse than cancer.
She had a crush. A lust crush. She needed medication. Or surgery. Something to remove it from her life.
Paisley’s phone buzzed from the counter where she had left it. She hadn’t glanced at it in well over an hour. To anyone else, this may seem insignificant, but Paisley figured she needed to record this event for the record books.
The text was from Reed. “Urgent. Come home.”
Paisley didn’t delay. She uttered something sort of like “see ya, problem at home,” then hurried out the door.
Chapter Thirteen
Paisley hurried back to Reed’s place, all sorts of horrible images running through her head. She expected blood, injuries, screams. Something horrible.
She hadn’t expected a mountain of boxes.
“What’s this?” Paisley moved toward the pile, surprised to see her name and Boston address on them.
“They were shipped to your house, but were forwarded here. There’s no return address.” Reed looked as perplexed as Paisley felt.
“What does the post office stamp say?”
“Portland, Maine.”
“I don’t know anyone in Maine.”
“Me neither. Should we call the police?”
“For what?”
“You’re a lawyer. Everyone hates lawyers.”
“Gee, thanks, sweet sis.”
Reed raised an eyebrow. “Can you deny it?”
“I don’t make a habit of making enemies. But yeah, I guess you’re right. But don’t worry about this one. I don’t think anyone mailed me a bomb.”
“You can’t be too certain these days.” Reed picked up the phone and started to dial.
“Put the phone down. I recognize the handwriting.”
“A client of yours?”
“No, Freedom. It’s your sister. Harmony.”
Color drained from Reed’s face. She plopped herself onto the couch, cradling her belly as if the baby had already grown enough to hold.
“Why would she send you boxes?”
“There’s one way to find out,” Paisley responded as she ripped open the first box.
“Wait!” Reed held out a shaking hand. “We should wait for Simplicity.”
Paisley fell back on her heels and nodded. “Is she on her way?”
They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but when Paisley checked the time on her phone she discovered only ten minutes had passed. Ten long, excruciating minutes of curiosity. Worry. Pain.
Harmony had disappeared from their lives long before their mother died, and she refused contact with any of them.
So what on earth had she sent?
Simplicity floated into the room, her hair a mess and her clothes askew.
“Did we interrupt something?” Reed asked at the exact moment that Paisley began to utter the same words.
Ethan, Simplicity’s boyfriend, came rushing in behind her, his shirt buttoned unevenly. His dark eyes mirrored the worry they all felt.
“What’s going on?” he asked. Simplicity’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
“Oh, sweetie, it’s nothing bad. Everyone is okay.” Reed pulled the tremblin
g Simplicity into her embrace.
“Nothing that we know of yet. We just received these boxes. They’re from Harmony.” Paisley gestured to the mountain of wonder.
Simplicity perked up at the mention of their missing sister.
“Harmony?” Her voice squeaked. “She sent us something?”
Paisley nodded and reopened the box she had previously torn open. Ethan whispered something in Simplicity’s ear, then left without a word to the sisters. Simplicity and Reed joined Paisley around the boxes.
“Should we light a candle or something?” Simplicity asked. “We should honor our sister’s outreach.”
“Let’s just see what’s in the box.” Paisley hadn’t meant to sound so abrupt, but she was beyond worried about what they were about to find, and she was also pretty damned angry with her long-lost sister and her insistence on disappearing from their lives.
Simplicity grabbed the scrap of paper sitting on top of what looked like a pile of clothes. Paisley and Reed leaned over to try to make sense of the chicken scratch—Harmony had never been the one with the good penmanship.
Simplicity cleared her throat and read it aloud. “I’m moving on, so this storage unit had to go.”
“That’s it?” Paisley screeched. “We don’t hear from her in years, and that’s all she writes?”
“What does she mean? What storage unit?” Reed asked, pulling an old pair of jeans from the box. “I think these were yours, Pais.”
Paisley smiled as she snatched them out of her sister’s hands. She shimmied out of the pants she was wearing and slipped the jeans from the box on with ease. “Hello, high school jeans! They still fit.”
“Of course they do. But they’re a little tighter on the rear.” Reed laughed as Paisley did a funky little walk that quickly resulted in a tear right under her butt cheek.
“Oops.”
The sisters erupted into shared laughter as they pulled out items that held special meaning to each of them. A shirt their mom had worn, an old ring that a middle school boyfriend had given Reed (which now only fit on her pinky), a framed glued-together puzzle of a horse running across the beach that Simplicity had insisted they all work on together one summer, and a family photo of their mom, their dad, and all four sisters.
They all paused as they stared at the photo in reverence. They hadn’t heard from their dad since their childhood. Hard to believe he had deserted them based on the love and smiles in the photo.
The last box held a denim jacket—faded and worn and full of patches.
Reed slipped on the musty-smelling garment. “Remember when I bought this and Harmony insisted on having a matching one? Mom ran right out to pick one up for her. I was so mad, but Harmony was so excited. I did everything I could to make her not want to wear it anymore, but the more I tried, the more she wanted to.”
“Sounds like Harmony to me.”
They each stared at the jacket. Paisley remembered how ticked off Reed had been, and how envious Paisley had been about the way Harmony idolized Reed.
Reed reached a hand inside the jacket and pulled out a large envelope.
“What’s that?” Paisley moved over to inspect.
The manila envelope had Harmony’s full legal name, a Florida address, and the red-inked word, “Confidential,” stamped all over it.
Reed began to slide open the top of the envelope. Simplicity reached out and covered Reed’s hand.
“Stop. That’s Harmony’s.”
“She put it in the box she sent us, Sim. I think it’s fine.”
Simplicity shook her head. “No. You said yourself—Harmony had the same jacket. She probably mixed them up.”
Paisley’s heart burned with the subtext of what Simplicity had just said. Harmony may have put this envelope that looked important in the jacket that held family memories. She had intended to keep the jacket.
So she hadn’t let go of them entirely, after all.
Paisley sucked in a breath to keep from emoting.
“We can’t exactly send it back to her. She didn’t bother with a return address. And these boxes were sent from Maine, so there’s no indication that she’s still in Florida,” Reed reasoned. She yanked away from Simplicity and pulled the papers from the envelope.
“See? They’re just birth certificates. Probably all of ours…”
Reed’s voice faded as she began to peruse the certificate.
Paisley leaned over, taking in the unfamiliar first name with the last name that matched theirs and a birthdate of six months ago.
“Give me those!” Simplicity caught Reed off-guard and managed to snatch the papers from her hands. “This is none of our business.”
Tears streamed freely over Simplicity’s face, but Paisley couldn’t get any words past the cotton balls she had apparently swallowed.
“I’m going to keep these someplace safe for when Harmony needs them. She’ll be looking for them.” She burst into sobs, clutching the papers to her chest.
“Sim…”
“I’m okay. I just… I can’t imagine what she’s going through on her own.” She hiccupped around her sobs. “And why she hates us enough to stay away.”
Reed’s face grew whiter by the second.
“I think there’s more to Harmony’s story than we can imagine.”
Chapter Fourteen
Paisley couldn’t blame the old lady for asking her if she was okay and guiding her to a seat in the diner. She had been about to pay for the coffee and cinnamon roll she had ordered for a late afternoon meal replacement, but her wallet wasn’t in her purse.
Tiana, the owner of the diner, smiled and told her it was on the house. Paisley thanked her and promised to bring money in as soon as she located her wallet.
The week—or her life, for that matter—couldn’t get any worse.
“You look like you need someone to talk to, dearie.”
The elderly woman—Miss Molly, town matriarch—leaned toward her and rested her paper-skinned hands on top of Paisley’s. Paisley stared into the woman’s kind eye, trying to smile at the eye patch the woman wore on the other eye. The patch was black with yellow smiley faces all over it, but every fourth one or so had a tongue sticking out.
“Do I?” Paisley chuckled. Anyone who knew her would know she was losing it. She wasn’t the sort of woman to chuckle.
“You probably don’t want to talk, and I can respect that. But come on down to my place down the street and put your worries in my worry jar. That’ll fix ya. It fixed your sisters up quite nicely.”
Paisley smiled, but the facial expression felt forced. Cracked. Broken.
If she inscribed all of her worries onto little squares of paper, the universe would explode when Miss Molly performed her “release them into the universe” ceremony.
As a means of dismissal, she told Miss Molly she would do her best to swing by, but Miss Molly didn’t look convinced. Nonetheless, it made a good transition for leaving.
Paisley needed a distraction, and the hipster’s version of The Universe had handed her the perfect one. Maybe she wasn’t ready to admit to anyone that she actually wanted to see Asher when she was at her lowest, but since she was pretty sure she left her wallet there when she was cooking, she sort of had to go there.
She applied lipstick—guaranteed to improve her mood—and straightened the collar on her blouse. She popped in a mint to cover her coffee breath (not that she expected to get close enough to Asher for him to smell her breath…) and walked to the front door.
Asher opened the door before she could even knock. His smile had a direct link to the accelerator of her heart. Her palms dampened—and so did other parts of her as he looked her up and down.
“I heard you pull up,” he offered as an explanation of his prompt attention to the door.
She swallowed.
“Did you come to make me dinner again? Because I had hoped that next time you cooked for me, you’d be wearing the apron. Only the apron.”
Her knees threatened to
give out on her. She couldn’t remember another time in her life when she had been so easily turned on by a man. Usually her encounters were scratching-an-itch/relieving-stress types of transactions.
This was more.
She needed to avoid him. Or jump him. One or the other.
“I’m not really the wearing-aprons type. I had to buy that for my little demonstration.”
“You should at least wear it one more time to get your money’s worth out of it.”
His eyes twinkled and her heart pounded.
Paisley cleared her throat.
“I think I left my wallet here. Did you see it? Thin, brown with pink stitching?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Want to come in and take a look?”
She accepted his invitation, careful to avoid brushing against him as she entered his home, but unable to avoid the zing of energy that passed between them, jumping through the empty space to send shivers up her spine.
“Pretty sure I would have left it over here on the counter.”
She poked around, but didn’t find it.
She turned around to watch him dig through the couch. She considered stopping him—she had only sat there toward the end of her time there and would have set it down long before then—but the view of him leaning over was too good to pass up. What. An. Ass. On. Him.
Her cheeks burned when he twisted around and caught her staring.
“Is this it?” He held out her wallet.
“Oh, thank you so much. I was mortified at the diner when I tried to pay for my coffee and cinnamon roll and realized it was missing.”
He brought it over to her, and somehow she managed to have a thought beyond the memory of what he looked like naked, which was something she desperately wanted to relive.
No. She didn’t want that. Her erratic emotions were screwing with her head.
To be honest, she preferred the lustful thoughts over the other thoughts.
She always left her wallet in her purse, and she remembered having her purse with her that evening. She couldn’t think of a reason why she would have taken it out.
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