Page 11

Chapter 11

Fleur

T he fruit salad sloshes with a wet slap up and over the festive bowl I purchased specifically for this barbeque. The road leading to Adam’s family home weaves through meadows and cotton fields, the red dirt bordered by wildflowers and patches of unruly grass.

Fine layers of dust settle on my jeep the farther I drive and I’m starting to wonder if we’re even in the same town anymore. Rustic wooden fences mark the boundaries of farmland, the occasional tractor in the field harvesting a hay crop or tending to livestock. The scent of fresh country air carries into my car through the cracked windows—and I thought I lived far out.

Adam lives in town, and I can’t imagine moving from out here in the peace and quiet to be near Main Street. But he says he’s close to people for business, which makes sense.

A few more miles on the dirt road, and I drive up on a massive field with rows and rows of cars. All of them are meticulously parked. People emerge from their cars, all carrying dishes or coolers. Smiles pull across their faces as if they have been waiting all year for this event.

I park in a neatly lined row of other cars and gather my items. Since all the other people are wearing shorts and T-shirts, I’m starting to wonder if this summer dress was a good idea. When a breeze kicks up and blows the back to wave like a flag, I’m sure I made the wrong decision.

Following the sea of people, I grin at a few familiar faces I’ve seen around town. As I approach the driveway across the street from where I’ve parked, the potent fragrance from three large magnolia trees lingers in the air. And when I move with the crowd up the gravel drive, I’m blown away.

Adam mentioned his family owned an old plantation home, but this is?—

Weathered white columns, bearing years of patina, line the expansive porch. The exterior of the home is painted a bright yellow that reflects the warmth of the Southern sun. Large windows, adorned with delicate shutters, flank either side of the front door. Red brick lines the walkway up to the stained oak double doors that are wide open and inviting guests in.

Well-maintained gardens surround the home with several different pathways canopied with ancient oaks and towering pines. When ushered through the front doors, the polished hardwood floors creak delicately, and I snort, thinking about how mine sound like a squirrel stubbed his toe.

But … wow. This home is breathtaking.

Both sets of French doors are open, leading from the rear porch to the lush gardens. In the center of the yard, a large white tent stands, with several bounce houses for the kids set up on one side. Cornhole games are arranged along a narrow strip of grass between the towering hedges and the tent while lively guests challenge each other to games.

I’m slightly overwhelmed by all the people. Adam wasn’t lying when he said it was practically a community event.

I follow the tantalizing aroma of smoldering hickory and mesquite BBQ down to the rows of tables covered in fine linens supporting all the dishes the guests brought. Tables and chairs, also lined with crisp linens, have mason jar centerpieces holding mini-American flags propped up in them. Red, white, and blue table confetti is sprinkled over each of the twenty-five-plus tables. The amount of work that must go into this …

Warm hands wrap around me, and a quick kiss is placed on my cheek. Adam turns me around, taking in my outfit, and his smile widens.

“Blue. I like it. You look beautiful.”

I roll my lips in, trying to hide my reaction to his compliment. “Thank you. Where should I put this?”

My bowl is sticky from the bumpy ride and sloshing of fruit, but I lift it in offering anyway.

“Here, let’s find a spot for it.”

We walk past sizzling stacks of ribs, succulent brisket, and perfectly charred vegetables. Pasta salads, tossed salads, potato salads, and coleslaws take up two entire tables, and I place my fruit salad in between the ten others.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

Adam leads me to the bar, which is in a whole other part of the gardens I didn’t even see. Three bartenders are filling drinks for the guests and a large chalkboard sign has a photo of a special Independence Sparkler drink made specifically for this event.

How can I pass that up?

“What can I get y’all?” the bartender asks.

“I’ll try the Independence Sparkler,” I say.

“And I’ll have another beer. Same as before. Thanks, Erin.”

Erin, a petite woman with short hair, smiles and moves to start working on our drinks.

“What do you think? Fireworks start after dusk, and I have a prime location for them.” Adam elbows me.

I smirk. “You take all the girls in the back of your truck to watch the fireworks?”

“Nah, just the ones I like.” He beams at me, and I lean into him as I gaze around the party.

“Here you are.” Erin places the Independence Sparkler on the bar.

The drink is a rich indigo blue, with a layer of white cream on top. The smell coming from it reminds me of coconut. On top of the cream is a puree of strawberry, and I’m slightly in awe of this patriotic drink.

“Hey, sweetheart.” A familiar older voice croons. Mrs. Northgate and her husband approach where we’re standing at the bar.

“Hi, Mrs. Northgate. It’s so good to see you both outside of work.”

“Oh, I know. It’s usually hard for us to leave, especially during a business season like this. But we don’t have any new check-ins tonight, so we can be out for a bit.”

I nod, taking a sip of my drink. Blueberry bursts in my mouth, followed by a creamy coconut and the sweet tang of strawberry. I don’t taste much alcohol, but having this many people here with gobs of fireworks coming later—it’s probably not a bad thing.

Adam hasn’t said a word, and his eyes are focused on his sneakers.

“Adam.” Mrs. Northgate acknowledges. A fallen smile twitches across her lips and the lines in her face are etched in pain. “We’ll see you at work tomorrow, Fleur. Good to see you here, dear.” She extends her hand, rubs my shoulder, and gives it a loving squeeze.

I dip my head as they walk away, enjoying another sip of my cocktail—or at this point, it might just be a mocktail.

“Adam, what’s the deal with?—”

“Adam!” A woman jumps up and waves. Her dark hair is long, with subtle threads of silver. Although her eyes are light, her features are familiar and sharp. There’s no question—this woman is Adam’s mother.

“Mom. Great party as always.” She comes up to him and pulls him in for a hug. She lets her gaze move down over his red T-shirt and khaki shorts.

“Festive,” she deadpans, and I let out a chuckle. Her cream-colored dress is stunning, definitely something a hostess would wear. “And you must be Fleur. I have to admit I’ve heard more about you from my son than the town gossip, and that’s saying something.”

She offers Adam a wink and he rolls his eyes.

“Your father is around somewhere. Probably getting ready for the fireworks. And I think your brother is combing around here as well. Probably trying to avoid helping out. It’s so nice to meet you, Fleur. I hope we get to sit down to chat later.”

“You too, Mrs. Parker.”

“Oh, please, it’s Fran.” She scurries off on tiptoes to avoid her heels sinking into the grass, and I smile as she prances along the food tables, socializing and hosting.

I turn to face Adam. “She’s sweet.”

“Yeah, she’s my biggest supporter. My dad, on the other hand …”

He takes a swig of his beer, a far-off look in his eye.

“So what’s your favorite part about growing up here? On an old plantation, I mean?”

“Hosting all the parties.” He chuckles. “It was nice. In school, all our friends wanted to come out to our place to ride four-wheelers, swim, or play a game of football. As we got older, my siblings and I would have bonfires and parties. It was an easy spot to hang.”

He leads me as we walk about the gardens. More blooming magnolias scent the path and crepe myrtles burst into colorful hues of lavender and pinks. We aren’t the only ones enjoying the lush gardens. Many of the guests are mulling about and sipping their cocktails before settling down for dinner.

“Adam.” A deep, baritone voice from behind us causes me to stop in front of some beautiful white azaleas. Adam sighs to my right and pivots.

“Dad. Get all the fireworks squared away?”

“I did. And who is this?” His dad’s tone is clipped and borderline rude, but I smile and extend my hand.

“I’m Fleur. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.”

He shakes my hand once, then lets it fall. “You’re the new girl in town? Bought the old farmhouse.”

I think those were questions, but he says them so matter of fact, I’m unsure.

I nod. “Yes. I hired Adam to help me, and he’s been great. It’s getting close to finished.” I might be paying for it for the next four years, but at least it’s almost complete.

He grunts, and I narrow my eyes at him. This man is the total opposite of his wife in every way. Personality and appearance. Although I catch his brown eyes, and it’s in those I see Adam. See where he resembles his father.

“I’ll see you around.” He nods to Adam, then addresses me. “Nice to meet you, Fleur.” He steps around us and continues on, hulking form taking up the entire garden pathway.

Adam lets out another sigh. As if he’s glad the encounter is over with and they can go back to ignoring each other. “How about some food?”

My plate is piled high with catfish, pulled pork and every type of salad there is on these tables. I also grabbed three fruit kabobs full of red, white, and blue patterned fruit, which I admired, and then subsequently was annoyed I didn’t think about doing something like that. My sloppy fruit bowl will have to do. Honestly, I think I’m the only one who touched it.

The food is delicious. We sit with a few guys Adam knows from different contracting jobs, and I meet their wives, who all seem excited about the renovation of the farmhouse and have asked if they can stop by for a tour.

Midway through our meal, a tingling sensation on the nape of my neck causes me to shiver and I glance up to see … him .

Talking to Mr. Northgate, the man chuckles, and I shiver, really hoping it was the cross breeze through the tent. But his eyes jump around the tent until they land on me like he was alerted, too.

Great. Caught staring.

The man’s glance moves to Adam and then back to me before he finishes his conversation and starts to move in this direction.

Goodness. Why is he even here? I run reconnaissance through the tent and surrounding areas—I wonder how many of Darrin’s men are here. How many are part of the town? He’s halfway to the table before I decide I need more fruit, and I jolt up, effectively knocking my knees against the table and sending Adam’s beer tumbling to the ground.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a new one.” I reach for the bottle and Adam’s fingers meet mine.

He notices my shaking hands and his brows furrow at my face. “Fleur, what’s wrong?”

“Adam.”

My eyes flutter closed at his firm tone. A mix of sensual grit and terrifying dread.

Adam jumps to stand, meeting the man chest to chest. His dark wash jeans hug him tightly, and his navy-blue shirt is the most color I’ve seen on him.

“Going to introduce me to your … friend?” He sneers at the last word and my knees shake. This is ridiculous.

Adam’s mouth suddenly doesn’t work because he swallows several times, eyes almost pleading with the man.

“I’m Fleur.” I cross my arms in front of my chest to avoid extending a hand in greeting.

The man’s mouth twitches, and he looks at Adam, who says, “Fleur, this is Liam. My brother.”

Wait …

His brother? I stare, slack-jawed at this large burly man, but then I see it. His mother’s hazel eyes and his father’s blond hair with an imposing form. They are brothers.

I blink. Then blink again. Adam tilts his head back like he has found something on the top of the tent’s ceiling.

“You have barbeque on your face,” Liam says to me, and my eyes widen. I duck my head down, embarrassingly wiping at my mouth with my hand. When I glance back up, Liam has sauntered off to the food table, and I turn, gaping at Adam.

“ That is your brother? I thought he was?—”

“Please don’t. It’s complicated.”

I slowly nod, my gaze flitting back to Liam, who catches me looking. He raises the spoon of something and makes an exaggerated point to dump three spoonfuls on his plate. I squint at the bowl and realize it’s my fruit salad.