Page 6

5

Calista

After

I wouldn’t call myself the type to necessarily ‘throw hands’, but I was pretty sure I’d be good at it. The thought of taking a swing at Fane was the only thing keeping my rage in check as I stared at him across my parents’ dining table. I’d never known what it felt like to truly loathe someone—until that moment.

I wanted to take a hardy scoop of the mashed potatoes off my plate and flick it at him.

Fane’s charm was infuriating. There was something particularly brutal hearing him tell my mom she looked beautiful and apologizing for not being here sooner.

“Oh honey, you’ve done enough.” She patted his cheek with the same affection she showed me and Abbey before she headed back into the kitchen.

He had certainly done enough, of that I was sure. But I’d have to find a way of figuring out what exactly that meant to my mom. I was sure we had very different opinions of what ‘enough ’ was.

My parents hadn’t been able to stop gushing over him. My mom hadn’t stopped smiling once, and I was honestly impressed with how she still managed to chew her food. My dad was too busy to eat, considering that his eyes had turned into big hearts.

Turns out, Fane had, in fact, done some Googling. He’d actually done a heavy amount of Googling because, with every question my parents asked him, he had an answer. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that a small part of my soul shriveled even further at being robbed of seeing him fumble his way through that shitstorm.

I wanted to scream until my throat burned raw. Until all the rage and confusion clawing at my insides finally snuffed out. Because I wasn’t supposed to see this man ever again.

In my head, the moment he said no to coming home, our relationship had ended. It was like a switch flipped. That one word shattered something inside me, and I hadn’t stopped feeling the cracks since.

Everything I thought I knew—everything I’d seen in my parents, in how they loved each other, how they loved me and my sister—he’d destroyed it all in seconds.

And now he was here.

With no other options, my brain latched onto the one thing it could handle: anger.

Hot, steaming, fire-engine-fucking-red anger.

“What are you doing for work now you’re back?” My dad asked him around a mouthful of steak, and I zoned in on their conversation for the first time because I was also incredibly curious about the answer to that question.

Two years, and he suddenly decided to show up and disorganize my life? In the very town he refused to grace with his presence? I don’t think so.

“I’m working for my dad.”

My fork clanged to my plate, and all three pairs of eyes were on me.

Fane held my gaze with an unflinching intensity that made my stomach coil. My entire body chilled. Ice formed in places that had just moments before been the consistency of molten lava. “You’re working for your dad?”

“Yes,” he said, and I know that my parents wouldn’t have noticed, but I saw the way his jaw clenched. I saw the way the muscle twitched and how his hand tightened around the fork in his hand.

I remembered the night he told me about him. If there was one thing I knew wouldn’t have changed about the man in front of me, it was the hate he held like an oath for his father.

It hit me then with startling clarity that I actually didn’t know anything. I had no idea who the man across from me now was. Not anymore.

I let my disgust at the idea of it all color my face. Didn’t even attempt to hide it.

“He’s in development,” Fane went on. “Recently, there’s been a few investment opportunities in Darling. I just moved into a project manager role, so I’ve got a team of contractors here to scout the area.”

“Scout the area?” I frowned at him. “Scout it for what?”

“Development.” He didn’t even look at me as he took a bite of his food.

My hand itched to fling up from under the table and flip him off, but as it stood, the tension between us was so taut any unknowing civilian could clothesline themselves on it and do some serious damage.

Subtlety had never been my strong suit, and I knew I was doing a very poor job of it right now because of the two alarmed looks from my parents. I should have received a medal of some kind for the effort it took to smoosh my face into something pleasant.

I fluttered my eyelashes at him so aggressively that I hoped it made him nauseous. He looked up at me from under his full lashes and heavy brows with an expression that made my stomach twist painfully.

I didn’t recognize it. I didn’t recognize him .

“He’s been keeping tabs on a lot of small towns that are a relatively easy drive from major cities that could be done up as weekend getaways for city folks to get their small-town fix. His main focus has been Blazewood, Banks City, and Sterling.”

“Those are all West Coast cities.”

“Yep.”

“But Darling is nowhere near those cities.”

“He’s monitoring hundreds of small towns and their potential for growth.”

“That sounds stupid. You can’t just turn a small town into a city getaway,” I scoffed, pushing my plate away from me now that my appetite had left the building, much like I wish I had.

“They can, and they do.” Fane took another bite of his steak and chewed it slowly. It pissed me off. “It’s already been done to a dozen small towns. The desk work starts in Artington—analyzing the town’s economy, businesses, and potential.” His eyes flicked to mine for a split second then away, like he couldn’t stand to even look at me while he did more damage than he’d already done. “Then we move on-site. Main streets, key real estate, infrastructure. Figure out what can be improved, and see what’s missing. Create investment opportunities, introduce accommodations, spas, seasonal activities. Everything people could want when they’re playing at living the small-town dream.”

Not only was it the most words I’d probably ever heard him say in one sitting, but my brain just wasn’t working. He was churning out these words like they were a script, and for a second, it felt like he hated the way they sounded coming out of his mouth.

“We? Who the fuck is we?” My chest was rising too fast for anything casual, and my finger slid up the bridge of my nose rather aggressively.

“Calista!” my mom shouted at the same time as my dad said, “You’re not too old for a time out in this house, missy!” But I was still looking at Fane.

“‘We’ is the business,” he replied so calmly it actually gave me a heart palpitation.

“ Mackenzie Co. ?”

He just nodded like everything we were talking about exhausted him.

“You can’t just go in and change towns that don’t need changing. Those are people’s homes. People’s livelihoods. People’s history.”

I was seething. He knew what this town meant to me. It wasn’t enough that he didn’t want to live here. He had his heart set on bulldozing the whole thing.

“We don’t ruin anything. A lot of what we do improves the things that already exist. We inject a bit of money into the small-town economy and bring in tourism. Expand the population. It keeps the towns alive.”

“Oh my god,” I breathed. “You actually believe the words that are coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”

He didn’t reply. He just kept eating. It was at that moment I caught sight of my parents. They were staring at us like two people who were absolutely not in love.

So, I did what any sane person would do, I laughed. I did this weird, forced chortle that had my dad half out of his seat prepared to do the Heimlich.

“Well…” I swallowed a lump in my throat that refused to dissipate. “Clearly, the day has gotten to me.” The forced chortle continued, and it didn’t stop until both my parents visibly relaxed.

“Hey, kid.” My dad reached over and squeezed my hand. “I know you love this town. We all love this town. Think about it this way, you’ll be able to be his guide on why he shouldn’t meddle. You’ll have plenty of time once Fane gets settled in at home.”

Home.

My home.

I’d probably be clawing out my eyeballs if it wasn’t for the horrified look on Fane’s face. Because, of course, we would be living together. Why, on God’s green earth, would my long-distance-turned-short-distance boyfriend live anywhere but with me? At home. In my house.

Oh my god. With Jerry!

“And I don’t like you doing all those improvements on your own.”

“Improvements?” Fane asked, his voice half amused and half uncertain if he even wanted to know the answer.

“She’s refused to let me help her fix parts of that house that are falling apart. I hate to say it, but it’s a bit of a shit box.”

“Dad!” This wasn’t the first time he’d called my little cottage a shit box.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. It has character, but I’ve gotta call a spade a spade, and you refused to let me help you fix it up. It wouldn’t be a shit box if I had my way with it for a weekend.”

“I’m handling it. It’s a homeowner’s rite of passage,” I grumbled, knowing the argument was weak, but I wouldn’t put more on his plate. All he needed to do was keep himself healthy.

When Mom got sick, he sort of fell off the wagon. It wasn’t until I could actually smell him from across the house that I realized he hadn’t showered for a whole week.

That’s when I knew how bad things had gotten for him, so anything that wasn’t focused on him just trying to be okay, to live and breathe and operate, became so incredibly unimportant.

Dad focused on Mom, and I focused on Dad. That’s how it had been for the last two years.

“You don’t own that damn house,” Dad grumbled back.

“You—” Fane started to say something that I was certain I didn’t want to hear.

“Well, it’s getting late.” I cut him off with a beaming smile and narrowed eyes that said your opinions, thoughts, and feelings are unwanted here .

“Look at that,” my mom said, peering into the kitchen at the clock that read half past nine. “Honey, you haven’t eaten much. Let me pack it up for you.”

I placed a soft kiss on her cheek before we started to move around the table in a practiced pack-up routine that I’d been doing since I was a kid. I would do the plates, Dad would do the dishes in the middle of the table, Mom would do the cutlery, and Abbey usually did the glasses. Fane took it upon himself to take over that part despite the neon sign on my forehead that expressed how unwanted he was here.

Then we were out front on the gravel drive staring at each other, and I was still pretty confident that I could throw a mean punch.

“I have somewhere to stay,” Fane said. His voice was rough and low, and I hated that it was the equivalent of honey running down the back of my throat.

“Too bad,” I said, loathing what was about to happen but knowing that it needed to. “This is a small town, and that”—I pointed at his truck—“is a very big, very noticeable truck. If it’s not parked at my house, then they”—I pointed at my parents’ house—“will know before we’ve even woken up in the morning.”

I didn’t wait for him. I just turned and walked toward the cars and tried to ignore how much my car looked like roadkill next to his brand-spankin’ new wheels. It didn’t take long for his strides to overtake mine.

“You’re going to have to follow me,” I bit out between clenched teeth.

“I’m sure I can find my way,” he mumbled over his shoulder, grinding out the words with the same restraint I was exercising. Which made no sense to me because of the two of us here, he was the asshat.

“You don’t know the address.” I stopped, looking at the back of his head incredulously.

“I’ll just look for the shit box,” he said before jumping into the cab of his truck and driving off before the echo of his words had even dissipated.

It was settled. I officially hated Fane Mackenzie.