by Cindi Madsen
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Two-date Rule, by Tawna Fenske.
Accidentally Family, by Sasha Summers
Cowboy for Hire, by Victoria James
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Cindi Madsen. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Road
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Stacy Abrams
Cover design by Hang Le
Cover art by
LightFieldStudios/iStock
AJ_Watt/iStock
GlobalP/GettyImages
Pollyana Ventura/GettyImages
ozgurcankaya/iStock
Interior design by Toni Kerr
Print ISBN 978-1-64063-904-1
ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-905-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition June 2020
Also by Cindi Madsen
for adult readers
the Getting Hitched in Dixie series
Just One of the Groomsmen
the Hope Springs series
Second Chance Ranch
Crazy for the Competition
The Bad Boy’s Baby
the Accidentally in Love series
Falling for Her Fiancé
Act Like You Love Me
Resisting the Hero
An Officer and a Rebel
Cinderella Screwed Me Over
Just Jilted
12 Steps to Mr. Right
Nailed It
for new adult readers
Getting Lucky Number Seven
Anatomy of a Player
Crazy Pucking Love
Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny
Until You’re Mine
Until We’re More
for teen readers
All the Broken Pieces
Losing Romeo
The Cipher series
Demons of the Sun
Operation Prom Date
To my sisters, Randa and April.
Sisters are our first and forever friends,
and I’m so glad that you two are mine.
Chapter One
The ironic thing about whenever Violet Abrams entered Uncertainty, Alabama, was how uncertain she felt about being there. It hardly helped matters that back home, in what used to be her favorite chapel, a grand ceremony was taking place without her.
Yep, the irony was strong today.
Maybe she was using ironic the wrong way—words had never been her strong point. She captured images that could say a thousand words without uttering a single one.
Or she used to, anyway.
Before a jerkface who’d promised always and forever had made a mockery of her best-laid plans. Obviously he hadn’t meant it in the classic every single occasion, without exception, without ending definitions.
Which brought her to the annoying word never. As in how she’d sworn that she’d never, ever live in Uncertainty, Alabama, again. Not unless someone dragged her kicking and screaming.
And yet, there was the sign that welcomed her to town.
Memories from the last time she’d been in Alabama drifted to the surface, prompting her to eye the rearview mirror.
Violet jerked her chin level and gripped the steering wheel that much harder. She was trying to let the past go. Finding silver linings and redirecting her negative notions and emotions. “While my closest girlfriends are in Spanx, binding dresses, and pinchy high heels, I’m rocking the hell out of these comfy yoga pants.”
The clerk at the 7-Eleven she’d stopped at earlier to refuel and re-caffeinate had definitely noticed. He’d checked her out quite thoroughly, and considering she had on yesterday’s smudged makeup, she was slightly flattered.
Even if he had focused a bit too much on her butt.
Funny enough, the woman in the chip aisle had also examined Violet’s backside. And she’d wondered if she was accidentally putting out the wrong vibe, thanks to recently swearing off men.
It wasn’t until Violet had removed the nozzle from the gas tank and caught her reflection in her car’s side mirror that everything clicked into place. Turned out her lilac yoga pants were light enough to display the bright pink hearts and scribbled ciao for now on her panties.
Suffice it to say, Victoria’s Secret was out.
While it’d been super embarrassing, at least she’d worn her pretty underwear and not the granny kind.
Look at me, being all optimistic.
The brakes squealed as she pulled her car to a stop in front of Maisy’s Bakery, and the binder Violet despised but couldn’t quite bring herself to toss slid out from underneath the passenger seat.
So much work. So many beautiful images that’d once brought her joy. All contained in a bulging, glittery purple binder that made her want to cry. “I’m working on positive thinking right now, thank you very much. And you’re not helping, Mr. Binder, so just go to your…room.”
Violet stretched over the console and shoved the cursed object back under the seat, along with the discarded soda bottle and empty candy wrappers from her four-hour road trip from Pensacola, Florida.
Ooh, what if I call this a sabbatical?
No, a journey of self-discovery. Like Eat, Pray, Love.
Or Wild, but with less walking and outdoor shit.
The last page of her inspiring memoir formed shape in her mind: And in the end, I discovered eating pastries in the middle of an air-conditioned room and boinking burly mountain men who showered on a regular basis was the true way to happiness.
Ah, I feel enlightened already. Since she was an all-or-nothing girl, Violet brought her hands up in prayer position and added a “Namaste.”
It worked like a charm, too. Her uncertainty, along with the other crap twisting at her insides, eased as she took in the gilded letters that spelled out Maisy’s Bakery across the window.
Excitement fired through her, and she pu
lled on the sides of her messy bun until the elastic band hit the crown of her head. To ensure her butt got less attention this go-round, Violet snatched her hoodie off the box in the front seat.
Multicolored frames stuck up from the box, providing a striped peek of the pictures inside. Just enough to determine which wedding they’d been taken at. The jeweled magenta headband meant Leah, the first from their crew to tie the knot. The other picture was upside down, the mauve dresses Amanda had chosen for her bridesmaids on display, along with the strappy silver heels that’d cut off circulation to their toes.
Seven used to be Violet’s lucky number. But Maisy’s wedding marked her seventh time acting as a bridesmaid, and after how disastrously that turned out, Violet had given up all things wedding-related.
Problem was, it was hard not to think of weddings when a) your biggest jobs involved them and b) your favorite pictures were from your closest friends’ weddings.
Think about Maisy and cupcakes and baby cheeks. She wouldn’t even have to work on stifling her warring emotions once she got ahold of those three things.
Violet climbed out of her car and hit the auto lock button, even though Uncertainty was one of those idyllic places where the only crime was not waving.
All her belongings were inside, though, including the expensive Canon 5D Mark IV camera that’d once felt like another limb.
I’ll get there again. Maisy and I have a plan, and everything will be better if I can just make it through the last few hours of the day.
The door to the bakery chimed as she stepped inside, and Maisy was waving to a customer as she said, “Bye. Have a sweet day!”
“Violet!” Maisy shouted, loud enough that the customer jumped. Her half sister rounded the counter at a sprint, and Violet took a few large strides herself.
A moment before they met in the middle, she hesitated, a pinch dubious about going all in, since they’d never done the squealing/huge-hug combo before.
But Maisy closed the last foot of space and gave her a hug worthy of a python, squeezing Violet’s breath out over her shoulder, and it’d never felt so reassuring to be breathless.
Due to their complicated family dynamics, they hadn’t been close growing up, and the embraces they’d previously shared were quick and robotic. Their conversations had been about the same up until the past few months.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Maisy said. “Obviously the bakery is in severe need of a sprucing—not that you have to get started right away. I’ve just been waiting all day, and you’re actually here, and in case you can’t tell, I’m super excited.”
“I think the term is ‘high on sugar.’”
Maisy laughed and leaned in, as if she were about to divulge trade secrets. “I also invested in an espresso machine. After too many nights with too little sleep, it went from a want to a need.”
The chime over the door sounded, and Maisy glanced at the family of five walking in.
“Don’t mind me,” Violet said, stretching her neck from side to side to work out the kinks the long drive had left her with. “I’ll have a look around and start making plans. We’ll catch up once you close shop for the day.”
Maisy bobbed her head and hustled over to assist the family studying the glass display of treats. Her chatter filled the air, and Violet wondered just how many espressos and cupcakes Maisy had downed today. And if she would hook her up with enough sugar and caffeine to counteract the bittersweet thickness coating her throat.
Being here was…surreal.
Speaking of surreal, let’s focus on art! Violet propped her fists on her hips and studied the dingy walls of the bakery. They definitely needed freshening, and she was confident she could do better than bleak white walls and sparse, dusty decorations.
The wall underneath the front counter could use a duskier color that’d turn the glass display into more of a focal point. The wood floors were beautiful, and with a bit of buffing and perhaps a coat of varnish, they’d be perfection.
There’s a lot of potential. As she watched Maisy place her sugary works of art in a pale-pink box while beaming at her customers, it was so obvious her sister was doing what she loved. Out of nowhere, a wave of affection slammed into Violet so strongly her knees wobbled.
It was so good to see Maisy in person again.
She’d thought the phone calls would fade, especially once Isla had been born—a whole month early. New babies were time-consuming, so Violet completely understood.
But if anything, she and Maisy talked even more.
And when Violet had broken down, spilled her guts, and added how much today was going to suck, Maisy insisted she come and stay with her for a while. At least until she got her feet back under her.
“I don’t want to impose,” Violet had said. Maisy had clucked her tongue and told her that with her husband deployed, she was desperate for company. Plus, she happened to have an extra room, no charge.
Not wanting to feel like a freeloader, she’d insisted they strike a deal: Violet would renovate the bakery while she was in town.
Which, if she had it her way, would only be a month. Two, tops.
“Have a sweet day,” Maisy said, bidding farewell to the final customer. She flipped the sign on the door to closed and walked to where Violet stood, still staring at the wall.
Blank canvases used to give her happy tingly vibes. Sadly, the spark didn’t magically ignite and spread.
“So?” Maisy asked. “What do you think?”
“The place has great bones, as they say. And the flooring is amazing.” Violet stomped on it, as if that were a proper test. “Fresh paint, color accents, and well-placed artwork, and it’ll reflect how people feel when they bite into one of your delicious desserts.”
Maisy’s smile was a lot like her mother’s, but unlike the “smiles” Cheryl Hurst gave Violet, Maisy’s was genuine. “I’m so glad you’re here to help. When I first bought the place, I had to focus on updating the appliances. After that, I hardly had money for ingredients. Now I finally have the means to revamp the rest, but, thanks to my adorable baby, not the time. Plus, I’m no good at decor.”
“Yeah, I remember your childhood bedroom. It was like a color-blind person had decorated it.”
Maisy shoved Violet’s shoulder. “Hey. It wasn’t that bad.”
Violet huffed a laugh. “As someone who’s been trained in complementary colors, I can confidently say it was. You also had a poster of that caveman-esque dude with the big head, large nose, and oddly tiny mouth above your bed.”
The gasp Maisy made echoed off the wall. “It was a One Tree Hill poster, and you must not’ve watched the show if you don’t understand the allure of Nathan Scott.”
“I have, and Lucas Scott was the better-looking brother by far.”
“Seriously? He has a squishy face. And he never fully opens his eyes.”
Violet started to argue but then slowly let her mouth close. “Fair point on that last part, but he had great hair. Besides, guys with the pale skin and dark hair combo aren’t my type.”
Maisy swept a chestnut strand that’d fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “You’d rule a guy out just because of that?”
While Violet had never accepted the Hurst last name, she didn’t have a choice about sharing the same dark reddish-brown shade as her father, half sister, and half brother. Whenever she visited, it was the trait that left the locals saying “Oh, you’ve got so much Hurst in you.”
As if that wasn’t a disturbing way to put it.
During her teenage years, she’d highlighted her hair uber-blond to avoid blending in to the family she’d never belonged to.
Sure, staying away from anyone semi-resembling her father was a flawed theory at best—one that hadn’t done a great job saving her from pain—but she clung to it anyway. Too many other things had changed in the last several months, and
she craved the familiar. “I have a very precise system. Basically, I look at a guy, and if he’s a hot douchebag who strings me along for years and years, I decide he’s the one.”
Thanks to being based in reality, the joke didn’t quite land.
Before Maisy could send any pity her way, Violet swiped a hand through the air. She’d gotten good at pretending losing an entire decade of plans didn’t get to her. “Anyway, that was my old system, before swearing off men in general. Who needs ’em?”
“I do.” Maisy sighed, a dreamy lilt to her words when she added, “I just wish mine wasn’t so far away.”
Violet winced, and not only because the words pricked the spot over her heart. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I know how much you miss him, and Travis is one of the good ones.”
This time, it was Maisy who waved a hand through the air. “Not a big deal. I get what you mean.” She draped her arm around Violet’s shoulders and rested her head against hers. “I do hope that someday, when you meet the right person, you’ll change your mind.”
A nice sentiment, but when it came to the “right” person, Violet had decided it wasn’t in the cards for her, and most days, she was fine with that.
It wasn’t like getting married was her main goal in life. And in spite of what her ex or anyone else who’d been around her this past decade might think, her near-obsession with planning her own nuptials truly hadn’t been about the wedding.
Back when the photography muse was being kind, weddings had been her favorite jobs. They runneth over with emotion, and Violet had mastered the art of capturing unscripted moments: the father of the bride choking up as he no longer became the main man in his daughter’s life; grandparents reminiscing on the day they’d wed as they shared a dance; kids sneaking cake in their fancy clothes; and the bridesmaids laughing together, working to ensure the bride had the perfect day.
Then there were the vows.
That was her very favorite part of weddings and what always made her cry. Declaring to everyone that you were choosing this person to spend your entire life with. Pledging to continue doing the little things that’d make them feel cherished.
Always and forever… The prick over her heart turned to a stab, one that reopened old wounds.