Hopeless (Chestnut Springs, #5)(58)

I push out the door, and as soon as I hit the street, my smile falls away.

The sun is bright. The pavement is hot. And for some stupid reason, I thought wearing a pantsuit I bought at the thrift store would make me appesar more hireable.

Sometimes I’m adorably naive, even to myself.

“Ugh!” The noise comes out angry and sharp as I tug at the top buttons of my blouse. I buttoned it to my throat—as though that would make me look less like a harlot—to cover the hickey from the man who was already up and gone to work on the ranch this morning.

Someone walking by literally flinches as I undo three fucking buttons so I can breathe, get a little airflow.

I’m tired and frustrated and on the verge of tears.

Had I been tired the night before?

Yes.

Had the most electric kiss of my life been the magic ticket to put me to sleep?

Hell no.

I’m more tired than I already was, and I need a coffee. I shove into Le Pamplemousse, the quaint Parisian café. Ellen, who owns it, is always kind to me. I’m sure she’d hire me, except she doesn’t need anyone. She works the place exclusively with her husband. I think it’s adorable they can work together all day and not want to kill one another.

I feel flustered as I enter the bustling space. My skin heats to volcano levels as I get in line and sense eyes on me, but I keep my chin up, staring ahead, pretending to be oblivious.

“ … dad is back in town.” When I hear the whisper from a table beside me, I absorb a full-body flinch.

My dad is in town? Not that it matters. He’s never paid much attention to me, other than blaming me for shit that wasn’t my fault as a child. In adulthood, though? Hasn’t had much use for me. The only useful thing he does is keep my brothers in check.

Someone cuts in front of me. As if I’m not in line at all. As if I don’t even exist. I shift my focus away, as though the art available for purchase on the wall has suddenly piqued my interest. If I were someone else, I’d tap this guy on the shoulder and give them a piece of my—

“My dude.” My head snaps toward the voice I recognize. Willa, Cade Eaton’s fiancée, is standing beside me. She has her baby slung on her hip, wild red mane flowing around her stunning face, and indignation rolling off of her in waves. “I know you did not just cut my sister-in-law off and pretend like you didn’t see her.”

Her voice. It’s loud. And everyone hears it. I swear a pin could drop in the place. I want to fold in on myself, like a tidy little piece of origami. Transform into something else entirely. Something that no one can see or recognize. Maybe even with wings so I could fly away.

“Seriously?” The guy gives Willa an annoyed look. “She’s a Jan—”

“She’s an Eaton. But further to that, she’s a human. A woman. And you, my friend, are an asshole.”

The man’s brows shoot up on his forehead. First Mary and now him. It never fails to impress me that in a small town big enough for me to not know everyone’s name, they all know mine.

The man still doesn’t move. To be fair, I think she’s shocked him into stillness.

Willa’s arm shoots out, pointing behind me. “Back of the bus, dickhead. Who’s your mama? I’d like to call her and ask how she raised you so I can file it away under what not to do.”

I glance down at the floor, hoping a hole might open beneath me. A rocky maw that swallows me whole. I’ve been kissed by Beau and now rescued by Willa, and this is all so fucking embarrassing that now might be the time to go.

But Willa just links her baby-less arm through mine and walks me ahead, cutting the dickhead off the way he did me. Then she turns and grins at me conspiratorially, looking a little unhinged and a lot pleased with herself. “Good morning, Bailey.”

At first, I stare at her blankly, and then I blurt, “You’re nuts.”

“I know.” She grins wider. “Cade says it’s one of my best qualities. Well”—her head tilts in consideration—“and my tits.”

I can’t help it. All my tension bubbles over and I laugh.

“There we go. That’s what we like to hear, isn’t it, Emma?”

The little girl with a mop of dark hair claps her hands with excitement and it’s impossible not to smile.

“She’s adorable.”

“Yeah, thanks. I agree.” The expression on Willa’s face as she stares at her baby is pure wonder. Pure love. It pinches a spot in my chest.

The line moves, and so does Willa, arm still linked with mine as we step forward. “So, did Beau manage to fix your stuffed horse?”

I flush, thinking about the sweet gift he gave me last night. Or regifted? Upcycled? I don’t know what to call it. But he sewed it meticulously. When I crawled back into bed with Peaches, I squeezed her to my chest and took a huge inhale. She didn’t smell musty or like the garbage she no doubt spent some time next to in that black bag.

She smelled like Beau’s citronella soap. I’m almost positive he washed and dried her after restuffing and mending her.

She smelled like home.

I clear my throat, realizing I checked out for a minute. “Yeah, he did. She’s pretty much good as new. Just a cool badass scar and a wild story to tell.”

The smile that touches Willa’s lips now is soft, not the maniacal grin from before.