by Cindi Madsen
Violet almost defended him, the way she’d mentally done whenever their time between the sheets fell on the lackluster side. He was busy. Stressed. It was her fault for not reminding him the position he preferred didn’t work for her. For her mind drifting to her to-do list and if she should paint the walls a different color and which photo shoot had she scheduled for the next day?
It hit her how many excuses she’d made on his behalf over the years. Not only for the someday wedding thing but in several aspects of their relationship. “In the beginning he made an effort, but this past year, he more went through the mediocre motions. Ford, on the other hand…” Violet fanned her face. “Oh my.”
Maisy gave a diminutive clap before she threw her arms around Violet’s neck. “I’m so happy for you. And I’m not tempted at all to point out that he has dark hair and fair skin.”
The eye roll Maisy couldn’t possibly see was no match for the wattage on Violet’s smile anyway. “I’m tryin’ not to get ahead of myself.”
Huh. If she wasn’t mistaken, there’d been a bit of southern twang in that statement. Being in Uncertainty was rubbing off on her.
A handful of years ago, that’d send her running, but now…? Violet squeezed her sister. It didn’t seem so bad.
When they broke apart, Violet noticed the massive number of cupcakes on the counter. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. Remember how the Craft Cats’ quilting bazaar is tonight? The one that funds the historical society, so that whenever a building requires renovating or repairs, they have the money.”
Violet searched her gray matter but came up blank. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t remember.” Either she hadn’t been paying attention or her brain had shoved it aside for new information.
“No big deal,” Maisy said. “You did warn me that while you were painting and decorating, your ADHD kicks in hard. I guess I figured you were exaggerating.”
“I wish,” Violet said. Irritation came along with her struggle to focus—not just for whoever she’d accidentally ignored but for herself. She constantly lost her keys, purse, sunglasses, et cetera. Her muscles tensed, steeling herself for Maisy’s exasperation.
“Seriously, Vi, don’t worry about it. I kind of wish I could forget about the bazaar—I can’t seem to catch up. I was behind yesterday but thought I’d have extra time during my usual lull. I forgot that it was bingo day and the seniors stayed until close, and then it was time to get Isla, and”—Maisy pressed her fingers to her temples and rubbed circles there—“between all the diaper changes and pumping and feeding sessions, I seem to have misplaced my brain, along with my ability to multitask.”
“Hey,” Violet said, adopting a pragmatic pose. “You’re still a new mom, and not getting enough sleep would wear on anyone. You’re brilliant and beautiful and kind and…”
Violet hesitated, not because she didn’t mean the words that’d snagged on the tip of her tongue but because emotion clotted her throat.
“I love you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you these past several months. I’m so lucky to have you for a sister.”
Tears gathered in Maisy’s eyes. “I love you, too. This morning I panicked at how close you are to being done with the remodel. I don’t want you to leave.”
“Well, I still plan on painting your tables and chairs to match the accents on the walls. And I’m barely getting my photography feet underneath me, so I haven’t so much as contemplated my next step. But I’ll be staying put for at least another two or three weeks.”
“Or—hear me out—you could stay forever. Plenty of people around the county could use an award-winning photographer.”
Violet wasn’t quite sure what to say, since she hadn’t considered the possibility of staying in Uncertainly indefinitely.
“Isla adores you,” Maisy continued. “She could use a fun auntie as her grandma puts her through those stuffy lessons I had to endure—it’s the Hurst way, goin’ back generations. And Travis keeps talking about how happy I sound, and it’s because of you.”
Warmth flooded Violet, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Maisy wasn’t done.
“I’m willing to exchange baked goods and room and board for biannual pictures of my family, which, trust me, is an unbelievable deal. If you’re having out-of-body sex with Ford, that’s a bonus.”
“Oh, so now you’re offering me a bonus in the form of sex?” Violet added a dramatic gasp. “What would human resources say?”
Humor and exasperation battled it out in Maisy’s features, her lips remaining pursed through both.
“I’m not even sure what Ford would say about that,” Violet said.
“Sex on the regular with a beautiful woman with curves I can’t help but envy…? I guarantee he’d be beyond fine with it.”
Violet leaned her hip against the counter, careful not to disrupt the cooling cupcakes. The idea that Maisy envied anything of hers while she’d often wished for her sister’s metabolism and cute nose struck her as funny. Guess everyone wanted whatever they didn’t have. “From the sound of it, you’ve given this a lot of thought. You’re not going to unveil a presentation with bullet points, are you?”
The endearment Maisy packed into her words as she said, “I’ll create one if that’s what it takes” caused Violet to blink back tears of her own, so much warmth radiating through her, she fretted she might start another fire.
This one she’d let consume her, though.
All her life, she’d sought this type of unconditional love from men. First her father, then her boyfriends, and particularly with Benjamin—probably because he’d come the closest. Maybe even because she thought he was the closest a person as scattered as herself could get.
With Maisy, Violet wouldn’t ever have to worry their relationship was one-sided, which made it that much easier to say, “No need. I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Sixteen
So far, the table where kids could decorate their own cupcakes had been a smashing success. A messy one, and now several children were sugared up and running around like overgrown hummingbirds, but a win—and a nice moneymaker—nonetheless.
“I still can’t believe you got Lottie to agree to this,” Maisy said, slinging an arm around Violet’s shoulders. “It was such a relief not to have to decorate them all.”
After watching Maisy stress all morning, Violet had suggested that instead of a cakewalk, they should let people frost and decorate themselves. Maisy replied that it was a genius plan, one that would make her life easier, but that Lottie would never go for it.
So Violet had trudged over to the craft store to convince the woman.
“That’s what sisters are for. Scaring old ladies into agreeing with them.”
“It’s like you took on the witch from Hansel and Gretel and won. Seriously, you need to teach me your secrets.”
Funny enough, Violet had learned quite a bit about Lottie. For one, she’d never cared much for Mayor Hurst’s policies or his “holier-than-thou attitude.” This came out after Violet informed her that while the mayor was her father, she was an Abrams. It was the first time she’d felt like not being an official Hurst in Uncertainty had helped instead of weighed her down.
Nevertheless, when she’d told Lottie “We’ve decided to forgo the cakewalk in favor of having kids decorate their own cupcakes,” fire had flared in the depths of the woman’s eyes.
Old Violet might’ve backed down. The new version was working on Ford’s who-cares-what-others-think method.
“We already have the cakewalk circle of chairs set up. Tell Maisy to have the prizes there by five. Doors open at six.”
“Here’s the thing…” Violet worked to remain firm as her insides trembled. “I’m not asking. Having the kids decorate will keep them occupied, and they’ll still walk away with a treat. I’ll drag a table in myself if I have to. Maisy is a new mom, and she’s ru
nning a business by herself. I’m not going to add more stress to her plate, and neither will you.”
The way Lottie’s jaw hit the floor made Violet think no one had ever challenged her before. At long last, the woman had nodded and snatched the cup of coffee and bag with the bear claw from Violet’s grasp.
Now, out of the corner of her eye, Violet caught sight of Ford. When she’d texted earlier to ask if she’d see him at the bazaar, he’d claimed it wasn’t really his scene, so she hadn’t expected him to show. Thanks to the arduous day, it seemed like eons instead of hours since she’d seen him last.
He looked damn good, too, all big and burly, and that freaking swagger…
Desire heated her veins, catapulting her pulse to a primitive rhythm, and she barely refrained from sprinting over, throwing her arms around him, and claiming him as hers in front of everyone.
It’s only been one night.
One amazing night. Plus the other times they’d hung out, but she wasn’t sure those counted, since they’d been more friendly with flirting than flirting with intent.
What if he wants to keep us on the down low? Her stomach wrenched at the idea, the assertiveness she’d gleaned earlier today wavering.
His eyes locked onto hers, and time lost all meaning…
A slow smile spread across his face, and he changed directions on a dime, heading her way. Butterflies overtook Violet’s internal organs, their flailing wings stirring up hope and returning her courage.
“Well, what do we have here?” Ford asked once he reached the table.
“We’ve been busy decorating.” Violet gestured to the cupcakes in front of her. “Want one?”
“Does anyone ever actually say no to that?”
“Can’t say I’ve run across anyone yet.”
His gaze remained on hers as he leaned closer. “Gimme some sugar.”
Violet met him halfway, but instead of kissing him, she picked up a chocolate cupcake and jammed it into his mouth. Too late, she realized it was similar to a cake cutting at a wedding.
While her brain fretted over that, Ford grabbed a vanilla cupcake and shoved it in the vicinity of her mouth.
They swiped at each other, squealing and giggling and painting buttercream and chocolate frosting over each other’s faces.
After an opposite tug-of-war, Ford hauled her upper body over a relatively empty part of the table and planted his lips on hers.
What started as a game morphed into the tastiest greeting in history. The exquisite stroke of his tongue had her curling a hand in his T-shirt and relinquishing control. A protest drifted up as his mouth released hers.
Then Ford cupped her chin, twisted her head to the side, and gave her cheek a languid lick. Violet attempted a swallow and failed.
“Y’all are gonna need to get a room,” Maisy said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m missing my husband even more after that display, but this table hosts mostly children.”
Violet managed to straighten despite her quaking legs. She’d been so caught up in the kiss, she’d forgotten people might be watching. More than that, with her lips still tingling from the kiss, she found she didn’t care. “Sorry,” she said to Maisy. “Kinda.”
Her sister made a shooing motion. “You’ve helped me enough today. Go enjoy the bazaar.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Violet rushed around the table, and once she and Ford reached the pathway where people were strolling around, he grabbed her hand and laced his fingers with hers.
As Violet walked past the rows of quilts on display, she slowed. They hung from a clothesline, numbered squares of paper pinned to the fabric. Each one boasted bright colors, intricate designs, and beautiful patterns. Hours of work that led to artwork blankets that could keep you warm, not only because of the fabric and batting but because you could see the amount of love that’d gone into every stitch.
For years, she’d thought of Uncertainty as the small town where everyone was all up in one another’s business, but tonight she felt the strong sense of community. Most of Uncertainty’s residents had shown up to support and raise money for the historical society so they could preserve their forefathers’ legacy.
The fact that surrounding towns pitched in caused Violet to see the place in a whole new light.
Ford tugged her to the left, toward a kids’ plastic swimming pool filled with toy fish. “Time to show off my impressive fishin’ skills.”
“I’m pretty sure this is a kids’ game,” she said, and he placed a finger on her lips and shushed her.
“Don’t scare ’em away.” For some reason, he’d taken on an Australian accent. “Crikey, you’d think this was your first time.”
“It is my first time fishing.”
“Fishin’,” Ford corrected with a smirk that had her rolling her eyes and giggling.
Ford greeted a woman with salt-and-pepper hair that had been twisted up in an intricate bun. He placed a couple dollar bills on the table. “Tell her how it’s done, Misaki.”
“Oh, I only agreed to run this booth so I could watch the excited faces of the kids. I don’t do the fishing,” she said with a laugh as she handed over the fishing pole. “I am much better at crochet.”
“See those stuffed animals?” Ford asked. Crocheted bunnies, pigs, dogs, cats, and other animals of every size and color covered two of the three tables surrounding her. “Misaki makes them herself.”
“It is called amigurumi. A Japanese art my grandmother taught me when I was a young girl.”
“They’re so cute,” Violet said, picking up the purple pig that caught her eye. “If I tried to make something like this, I’d end up with a ball of tangled yarn.”
Misaki laughed, the sound happy and full. “I will teach you someday if you want to learn.”
Violet’s heart turned sappy on her. This woman had met her two seconds ago, and she was offering crochet lessons? How sweet was that?
Add the crowd of people milling about, laughing and enjoying the event, and Maisy’s suggestion to stay in Uncertainty permanently held more and more of an appeal.
“…medication, right?” Ford asked, and Violet jerked her attention to the conversation going on in front of her.
“I promise. I bought one of those pill boxes with the days of the week, just like you told me to,” Misaki said, and Violet filled in the blank—Ford had asked if the woman was taking her meds. Just in time, too, because Misaki looked at her. “One day this past winter, I couldn’t remember if I had taken my medicine or not, so I took my pill. Only I had taken it, and doubling up made me so dizzy I passed out. My daughter found me and called 911.”
Okay, so she was slightly off but close. “Let me guess. Ford showed up.”
Misaki nodded. “Yes, thank goodness. He took good care of me. Now he always asks if I’m being careful with my medication.”
Ford rubbed at his neck, bashful on the one point he could be arrogant about. “Yeah, so anyway…” He lifted the fishing pole. “Shall we get started?”
The magnet hit the water with a kerplunk, and Ford dragged it around in search of a fish. A blue-and-green fin snagged the end, and Ford jerked the pole. “Whoa, it’s a big one.” He hooked his hand on Violet’s hip and navigated her in front of him. “I’m gonna need help reeling it in.”
Indulging him in the game—mostly because it meant having his strong arms caging her in—Violet took the offered fishing pole. As he instructed her to go slow and steady so she wouldn’t lose the fish, he wrapped his hands around hers, as if she needed the support.
Considering the way her heart skipped a few beats, it might be hampering her skills, but it’d be a chilly day in hell before she asked him to let go.
Out came the fish, droplets of water flicking them as Ford grabbed the string and swung him closer.
Misaki clapped, as if they’d accomplished a great feat. Then she took the pole a
nd toy fish and pointed at the carnival prizes. “You can choose any one of these.”
A boy with ebony curls and tawny skin toddled by, and Ford greeted his parents—Darius the firefighter and a woman with ivory skin and fiery red hair—and asked if Trevon wanted to pick a prize.
Ford placed his hand on her shoulder. “Remember Violet? Maisy’s sister?”
Darius stretched out his hand, and as Violet took hold, she said, “Ford’s being nice, leaving out the part about the fire at the bakery.”
Darius chuckled and introduced his wife, Willow, and his son. Then Ford lifted Trevon so he could choose a prize. The toddler settled on a toy truck, and Ford set him down and ruffled his hair.
Before she could remind herself not to get carried away, the strings that made up Violet’s heart gave a sharp tug. How was she supposed to avoid falling for a guy who had a giant heart that he inexplicably tried to keep hidden?
Not that he was very successful—the secret was definitely out.
After waving goodbye to Darius and his darling family, Ford leaned in and whispered something to Misaki. Her face lit up as she took the twenty-dollar bill from Ford and tucked it in her cash box.
Ford placed his hand on the small of Violet’s back. “The toys are for the kids, but Misaki is also selling her… Oh, I’m gonna butcher it, but here it goes anyway. Her amigomi.”
“Amigurumi,” Misaki kindly corrected with a titter.
“Yeah, that.” Ford’s thumb slipped under the hem of Violet’s shirt, a quick brush that left her dizzy. “So, go ahead and pick one.”
As a teenager, she’d daydreamed a date that went this way—and standing next to Ford, his thumb hypnotizing her more with each swipe, she felt like that overly romantic girl she used to be once again.
Violet scanned the crocheted animals, pausing on the purple pig she’d picked up earlier. But then the white-and-black-speckled dog caught her gaze, and everything in her shouted that one. “Can I please have the dalmatian?”
Misaki handed it over, and Violet hugged it to her chest. “I love him already. I’m gonna name him…McGuire.”