Page 14 of Call It Love (Sterling Mill #5)

Anna

A beam of warmth settled across my face, a gentle but insistent nudge to wake up. For years, I’d gotten up before the sun. It was just easier that way. Predictable. Quiet. Safe. I’d learned to enjoy getting ahead of the day before it unraveled. Before he did.

There were worse ways to start the day than an alarm going off before five in the morning. Before words became weapons and looks became sneers of disapproval. Often, I could dodge the storm if I kept myself invisible.

Old habits didn’t break easily. But slowly, day by day, being here had taught me to move at a different pace.

No one hovered. No one barked orders. I still woke up early, but by choice now.

I knew nothing would fall apart if I stayed in bed just a little longer.

My energy levels were thanking me for it. So was my spirit.

I pulled the sheets over my head, wanting to hold on to the stillness for a few more minutes.

It had been weeks since I’d started working at Silver Creek Farm, yet some days still felt like a dream.

I’d take a long day working on this farm any day over my previous life, which looked like a life of ease from the outside.

I still wasn’t sure what my long-term plans were, but at least now, thanks to Chase, I had time and space to figure it out.

Jack lay at my feet as usual, curled up on top of a quilt I’d found in the linen closet.

The once colorful scraps of fabric were faded from years of use, but I loved the soft hominess it offered.

A handmade woven rug covered the worn heart pine floors on one side of the bed, and gauzy white curtains explained why the sunlight always found its way in.

The space was warm and welcoming. A little outdated, maybe, but familiar and comforting in a way that mattered more than any newer styles could.

It was nothing like the pristine bedroom I’d had in Nashville, with its cool gray tones and blackout curtains that shut out the world, much less the sun.

Not a single personal item decorated the space.

I’d once tried to place a colorful quilt on our bed, only for Mason to toss it to the floor and demand that the housekeeper put it in the trash.

People assumed life in that mansion was grand, full of elegance and ease. If only they knew how cold and lifeless it was behind the designer furniture and carefully staged artwork. It was all a show.

Jack sensed I was awake and crept closer, nuzzling my hand as if to reassure me all of that was in the past. His nose twitched as he sniffed me through the sheets, his snorting and huffing pulling a much-needed laugh from me.

When a paw batted me on the cheek, I tossed the covers aside and hugged him around the neck.

“Guess we better get our day started, huh?”

I filled a cup of coffee, and while a bagel toasted, I pulled out my journal.

I found a new recipe which the guys loved.

I rearranged my bedroom to try something different

I discovered a new path for long walks

Finding things to write was coming easily, even if they were still simple.

No surprise, really. The weight that once pressed down on me felt lighter here.

It was something I intended to keep up with.

It was still too easy to slip back into old ways of thinking, especially on days like yesterday, when I went to town to buy groceries for the bunkhouse meals.

No one said anything directly, but I still felt their stares.

I told myself it didn’t matter, but their quiet judgment of who they thought I was still had a way of creeping under my skin and stirring up old doubts.

I was determined not to let it win, however. Long walks with Jack in the afternoons after I cleaned up from the bunkhouse meal were my escape. The fresh air and open space settled something inside of me. It was peace. Freedom. A luxury I hadn’t appreciated until it was gone.

The sharp pop of the toaster pulled me back to the present. I buttered my bagel and stirred my coffee, using the small routines to push away any lingering unease about yesterday’s memory. By the time I was dressed, I felt grounded and ready to start the day.

I always started my mornings at the main house, tackling a load of laundry, dusting and vacuuming, as well as making sure the flowers in the living room were still fresh.

I felt a quiet sense of satisfaction in the routine and the sense of keeping things in order.

It didn’t take a genius to see it for what it was—a way of reclaiming control after years of having none.

When I started here, I ordered pillows and other home decor for my cabin, hoping to make it feel more like home, like me.

But I’d gone a little overboard and ordered too much for the small space.

Rather than returning them, I used them to add a few small touches to Chase’s home as a quiet thank you for all he’d done for me.

I reminded myself often that this wasn’t my home.

Nevertheless, it felt like it needed a little pop of color here and there.

Maybe it was silly, and I didn’t know if he’d even noticed.

But I’d gone too long in a world that felt nothing but gray, and I was desperate for a change.

For something bright and cheerful. For something that was mine to choose, even if the space itself would never be.

As I approached the porch, I saw a small basket set outside. Inside was a pie, but it was the note that caught my attention.

The flowers are gorgeous. You know how to brighten a girl’s day!

There was no name. Just a casual but confident message that implied familiarity with its swirly, feminine handwriting.

A sharp and unexpected surge of jealousy hit me.

It wasn’t any of my business. I had no claim to Chase or his life.

But he’d never indicated that he was seeing anyone.

And in the time I’d been here, I’d never noticed a sign of any visitors, much less a woman.

Unless, of course, she disappeared before I arrived.

Or he slipped away in the evenings to meet someone after I went back to my cabin.

I frowned, picking up the basket and carrying it as if it held something contagious. The sweet scent of blueberries drifted up, but I couldn’t help but note with some satisfaction that the edges of the crust were a little too brown. For a brief second, I thought about throwing it away.

Jack nudged my legs and peered up at me with his big brown eyes, silently judging me as if he knew I was being petty.

Ridiculous. I was being ridiculous.

With an irritated shake of my head, I forced myself to turn away and busied myself with my chores. But no matter how forcefully I wiped down tabletops, no matter how aggressively I jerked the vacuum around, the note lingered in my mind, an unwelcome reminder of everything I’d lost.

A short time later, I was in the bunkhouse’s kitchen. The building wasn’t often used for housing anymore, but the large kitchen and long table made it the perfect place to prepare a hearty lunch for the crew.

Everyone put in long hours working in the fields, loading trucks, hauling trees and shrubs, or any number of other jobs.

Slowly, I was learning their names and getting to know them.

Bodie, a giant teddy bear of a man, had quickly become a favorite.

Chase’s other right-hand man, Marcus, I was less certain about.

There was something about him that was hard to read, but after years of living with Mason, I’d learned to trust my instinct and didn’t engage with him as much.

I learned a lot by listening and found most of it fascinating. Despite spending hours here at the farm when I was a teen, I never appreciated the amount of work it took to make it run. I was glad Chase had reliable people to help him.

Bodie oversaw the fields, keeping tabs on soil health, irrigation, and pest control.

He ensured newly transplanted trees and shrubs were spaced correctly and coordinated seasonal maintenance necessary for their proper growth.

Marcus ran operations at the Christmas tree farm farther up the mountain, making sure each tree was properly sheared in the early spring and summer to maintain the classic triangular shape that buyers expected.

It was also a full-time job keeping the grass trimmed beneath the trees to ensure the lower branches had room to grow evenly.

That left Chase to handle the greenhouses and oversee the entire operation, both wholesale and retail.

He managed plant propagation, coordinated shipments, and maintained relationships with buyers ranging from local nurseries to large landscaping contractors.

On top of that, he handled payroll, inventory, and more paperwork than I think even he cared to admit.

It was clear he had his hands in every corner of the business, and it was just as clear that the crew respected him.

The rest of the team filled in wherever they were needed, rotating between fieldwork, transplanting, loading trucks, and prepping customer orders.

I learned that about half of them worked full time on the farm, while the rest were seasonal hires brought on during the busiest months in spring and summer.

Honestly, I didn’t know how Chase had any time to sleep with everything he had to manage.

But no one had to look twice to know he loved it here, that he lived and breathed for this farm that had been passed down to him.

The one he kept running to pass down to his children someday.

A quiet ache pressed inside my chest at the thought, but I shook it off before it could settle.

Chase’s team could be loud and rough around the edges, but they loved to joke, worked incredibly hard, and treated me like the best thing since sliced bread.

Or at least since Marta. I’d learned early on that their appetites seemed to have no end.

No wonder it was too much for Em and Mama Rae to keep up with.