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“This is a really bad idea,” I mumble.?

“No, this is a great idea!” Rae, my future sister-in-law counters, her grin stretching wide, her usual grumpier demeanor replaced with something closer to mischievous delight.

I eye the brownie she’s holding out like it’s some kind of science experiment, hesitating before I pluck it from her hand. I sniff it, inspecting it like it might bite back but all I smell is warm, fudgy, chocolatey goodness.

“I don’t know about this, Rae…”

Rae bobs her head enthusiastically, her chestnut brown hair swinging back and forth in dramatic agreement. “Do it,” she hisses, like some kind of devil on my shoulder.

The weed brownie is clearly working its magic on her because her usual sarcasm has left the building and shifted into something bordering on chaotic naughtiness. She pushes the silver tray toward Lydia next, who wrinkles her nose and shakes her head without even looking up from her phone.

“Absolutely not.”

Rae rolls her eyes and pivots to Molly Marshall, my childhood best friend and my twin brother Colt’s new wife.

Molly raises both hands as if Rae’s just drawn a weapon. “I’m a cop. I’m literally about to go on duty. There is no way in hell you’re getting me to eat one of those.”

“You guys suck,” Rae declares with dramatic flair, turning back to me again like I’m her last hope. “Looks like it’s just you and me, sis.”

I take another sniff. It smells normal enough.

Looks normal enough too. And really, I’ve never been the type to shy away from a little risk.

Besides, it’s legal here in North Carolina.

How bad could a single weed brownie actually be?

These were the kinds of things I probably should’ve experimented with in college, but I’d been too busy studying to ever find out.

Cautiously, I take a bite. Lydia sighs sharply without looking up at us, and Molly rolls her eyes, already rising from the couch and heading toward the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Rae looks like she’s going to explode from excitement.

She’s biting down on her bottom lip like she’s trying to hold back a giggle, and her green eyes are wide.

It’s girls’ night, her idea, while Colt and Cash are off handling things at the family bar and brewery in Charlotte.

We’ve gathered at Molly and Colt’s house down by the creek that our small town was named after, and after my morning at Mrs. Mayberry’s, I needed this distraction.

Rae’s crazy idea of brownies and movies felt like the perfect escape from the chaos of my life and the disappointment over the possibility of losing the house I always thought I’d buy some day.

I chew slowly, waiting for something to happen but nothing does. It tastes fine. It’s a bit earthier and drier than the brownies I usually make, but not bad.

“How long does it take to kick in?” I ask.

Rae smirks and tips the edge of the brownie higher into my mouth, encouraging me to take another bite.

She’s the absolute worst influence, and somehow, I adore her for it because she’s made our little girl gang even better.

That and she makes my big brother Cash the happiest I’ve ever seen him which is a lot for a guy who never thought he’d settle down.

“It varies,” she says casually. “But eat the whole thing. I didn’t make them that strong. One’s enough to have you feeling good, though.”

And feeling good sounds exactly like what I need. That’s why I’m sitting here in the first place, going along with this whole wild idea, to forget, even for a little while.

Forget about how my life feels like it doesn’t have any direction right now.

Forget about the Mayberry property that’s slipping through my fingers unless I can pull off a miracle and find someone that I can tolerate to marry me as part of a contract.

I thought I’d be married by now, maybe even have two kids and a pretty, white picket fence. I thought I’d at least be doing something that I love more than chasing after my brother’s already established dreams in the family businesses. But that dream’s officially gone up in smoke.

And in a cruel twist of fate, last week, I turned down a shocking proposal from the guy that I’ve only been dating for six months.

Now, not only do I have zero prospects, but there’s also a real chance someone who is happily married might swoop in and steal what I’ve always considered is my property.

The Mayberry Manor next door was my escape as a little girl, where I’d sneak off to admire Mrs. Mayberry’s garden—a patchwork of flowers so vibrant it looked like it belonged in a fairy tale with vines crawling up the side of her home.

Her house, with its colonial style and pink trim, was the home I used to dream about.

I’d imagine living there, a family of my own filling the walls with laughter.

Out front, there’s the old oak tree with the white-painted swing Mr. Mayberry hung up himself so that his wife could enjoy the spring breeze and the view of the mountains.

I spent hours on that swing, pushing higher and higher, while Mrs. Mayberry brought me tea in a dainty China cup, like I was someone important.

She was the mother I never had. She’d sit with me, brushing my wild, dark auburn hair, asking about my plans for the future.

My answers were usually scattered and changed daily, daydreams more than anything, but she listened, really listened to me, which was more than anyone else at that time did.

It was my escape from my older brothers who’d tease me relentlessly about princesses and dolls.

Mrs. Mayberry never had children, and I always thought she’d leave the house to me.

It was a silly, unspoken promise I’d clung to and shouldn’t have.

But now, with her aging, ready to retire in a smaller community in Whitewood Creek and the house in limbo, I’m starting to realize how fragile those dreams really are.

I finish the brownie as Lydia continues typing furiously on her phone, her brows pinched in irritation.

Rae claps her hands, looking far too pleased with herself, while Molly leans against the kitchen counter in her Whitewood Creek police department uniform, watching us like a disappointed older sister despite being my age.

“Well, I’m off on patrol,” Molly says finally, grabbing her keys.

“I’ll be home in four hours. Light shift.

Please, for the love of God, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.

If I get a call on the scanner because of you all, girls’ night is over until Cash and Rae build their home and can host it there. ”

“Bye, Molly!” I call out brightly, waving as she heads out.

When the door closes behind her, I turn to Rae. “So… am I supposed to feel something now, or…?”

Rae doesn’t answer right away. She heads to the kitchen, grabs a bottle of water, and settles back in front of the TV, scrolling through channels at lightning speed until she finally responds. “Give it a few minutes. Let’s watch something while we wait.”

I sit cross-legged on the floor, the tray of brownies still within reach, and try not to overthink it.

The room feels calm and the air stale. I glance at Lydia who’s still typing on her phone with laser focus.

Rae, meanwhile, is locked in, fully absorbed in her search for the perfect movie.

And me? I’m just sitting here, waiting for something to kick in and wondering why the idea of brownies and a movie is the best plan I’ve had all week.

Maybe the weed will give me an idea on how I can turn this day around for the better.

“Who are you texting so angrily?” I ask Lydia, trying to see what’s on her screen.

She doesn’t even look up. “No body worth mentioning.”

My brows jump. That’s unlike Lydia. Usually she’s sunshine, levelheaded and the first to give a person a chance. Whoever it is must really be pissing her off.

I shift my attention back to Rae, who’s practically bouncing off the walls now.

Her energy feels like it’s about to combust, a stark contrast to Lydia right now who’s usually sunshine and rainbows.

But the brownies aren’t mellowing Rae out.

In fact, they seem to have the opposite effect.

Then again, maybe this is just her post-engagement high.

Ever since my brother Cash proposed a month ago, she’s been weirdly…

cheerful. I guess that’s what happens when you meet the one and fall in love.

I sigh and glance down at the plate of brownies again. One more won’t hurt, right? Before Rae can catch me, I swipe another and shove the whole thing into my mouth in one go. It’s fudgy, extra gooey, and undeniably rich. This one definitely has more of the special butter she mentioned.

“I didn’t know weed brownies were supposed to taste this good,” I mumble, licking a bit of chocolate off my finger.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they?” Rae grins without turning to look at me, clearly proud of herself. “I told you they wouldn’t be too strong. I haven’t had them since college, but this felt like a special occasion and since Cash isn’t in town, he can’t tell me to slow down.”

“What’s the special occasion?” I ask.

She rocks side to side. “Uh, you, of course. Stepping into your power.”

I snort. “You mean because I turned down Declan’s proposal?”

She nods. “Yes, you realizing you deserve better than what he was offering and, your birthday, of course. Thirty is a big deal.”

“Yeah... it is,” I whisper as I lean back against the couch.

Rae shrugs. “You’ll be fine with the brownie, just try to relax and enjoy it.”

She turns her attention back to the TV and starts scrolling for a movie. It doesn’t take long for her to settle on something horrifying. Blood splatters across the screen within seconds and when the main character breaks out a chain saw and a hammer, I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Horror, Rae? Really?”

“Obviously,” she replies with an impish grin. “It’s the best genre.”

I roll my eyes, but her excitement is kind of contagious.

Watching her now, sitting cross-legged on the floor, totally absorbed in the chaos on screen, it’s hard not to smile.

She and Cash seemed like such an odd pair at first, but now?

It makes sense. They balance each other out. Opposites attract trope and all that.

I let out another wistful sigh. “I still don’t feel anything.” I glance at the clock and wonder if time is going backwards.

Rae looks over her shoulder. “Some people aren’t affected by the brownies. Maybe you’ve got a crazy high tolerance.”

Maybe, but I’m starting to think these brownies are duds.

I push up onto the couch and sit before stretching out while thinking about how much I’ve done today.

It’s been nonstop since sunrise, helping Cash with the new chicks we just got on the farm and then stopping by the new brewery and restaurant we opened to sling drinks and cook meals for the locals.

Spring is my favorite season. It’s chick season and me and Colt’s birthdays.

But even with all the work that our family is drowning in and all the available distractions, I can’t stop my thoughts from circling back to the Mayberry property right next door and my dream to have my own thing. My own place to settle down roots.

My brothers are all on board with me buying it.

The trouble is the damn marriage clause.

And there’s no way I’m telling them about it because I know exactly what would happen.

Colt and Molly would step in, swoop it out from under me, and claim they’re “ helping .” And I know they’d mean well, they always do, but no thanks.

I want this to be mine—something I’ve built and own by myself. Finally.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a shower,” I say, grabbing the bag I brought from the floor next to the couch because I’m still sweaty and smelly from the work I did today and could use the distraction from my spiraling thoughts.

“Go for it,” Rae mumbles from the floor and Lydia doesn’t even acknowledge me while she continues to text angrily.

I head to the bathroom, my curiosity piqued by Colt’s latest project he and Cash have been working on at his home. He mentioned upgrading their bathroom including installing some fancy rain shower head, and when I step inside the space, I’m not disappointed. The place looks like a freaking spa.

Gold fixtures, sleek tile, and a showerhead that sprays from every angle. It even has a steam feature. It’s got Colt’s design work and Cash’s construction skills written all over it and I can’t wait to enjoy it.

I turn on the water, letting it warm up as I strip off my clothes.

Stepping into the rain shower feels like heaven.

The warm water cascades over my skin, washing away the grit from the day.

I grab a bottle of Molly’s soap, wildflower-scented, and lather it in my hands.

The smell is intoxicating, fresh and floral.

As I work the suds over my body, I can’t help but notice how strong the scent is. Everything feels… heightened. My senses are on overdrive and my head feels softer.

By the time I rinse the soap off, a strange sensation creeps over me.

It starts in my chest, like a flutter, and spreads outward.

My body feels lighter, almost detached, and my head starts to spin while my legs shake.

The heat from the shower suddenly feels oppressive, the steam too thick.

I press one hand against the cool tile for support, but my legs feel disconnected now.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “You’re fine. Just breathe. This is probably the brownie kicking in.”

But my breathing feels off. Each labored breath is too shallow, too quick. I try to steady myself, but my fingers can barely grip the shower door. The last thing I see is the gold handle slipping out of reach before I crash onto the shower floor loudly.