Page 5 of Sunny Skies Ahead (Watford Sweethearts #2)

I drained the spaghetti and returned the noodles to the pot, adding a dash of olive oil to keep them from sticking together.

I grabbed some spoons and tongs for the pasta, and pulled the parmesan cheese out of the fridge.

Growing up with siblings, I learned early on to keep the pasta and toppings separate.

Even at this dinner table, with only adults, there were still some picky eaters with strong opinions.

I grabbed some glasses and filled a pitcher of water, walking over to the dining room table to help Kameron finish setting up. A few moments later, the doorbell rang, signaling? the rest of our group’s arrival.

“I’ll get it,” Kameron said, striding towards the front door. He barely made it three steps before Lucas was stomping past him.

“Next time, you’re picking me up,” Lucas said, stalking straight for the fridge. “I am not carpooling with them again. I’m sick of it. Sick of it, do you hear me?”

“Of what?”

“Of love .”

I couldn’t stop the snort that escaped me, and I quickly clasped a hand over my mouth to keep some semblance of composure.

“I hate to say it, but I think we’re the outcasts here,” I said. “With our damaged hearts and all.”

“Damaged hearts club forever,” Lucas said, extending a fist for me to knuckle bump him. I did so, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t sure the damaged hearts club was something to be proud of, but I was grateful to have found such a loyal friend in Lucas.

Sometimes I felt like I should talk to someone about everything that happened.

I’d seen a therapist for a few months after I first moved back to Watford, but eventually stopped going.

In some ways, rehashing the same events over and over made the recovery worse.

Then again, maybe I just hadn’t found the right therapist, or I hadn’t given it enough time.

Although Lucas’s experiences differed from mine, he, like me, was estranged from his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Slighted spouses shared an undeniable sense of camaraderie.

“Sorry for the delay,” Connor said as he, Abbie, and Kameron appeared in the kitchen, shoving his long blond hair back from his face. Abbie’s pink-tinged cheeks told me everything I needed to know. I walked over to embrace my best friend in a hug.

“I don’t want an explanation,” I said quickly as I pulled out of Abbie’s embrace a few moments later. “I don’t want to know. We’re happy you’re here now. Even though you traumatized poor Lucas by screwing before you picked him up.”

I met Kameron’s eyes over Abbie’s shoulder. Kameron smirked, and to my eternal shock, my stomach stirred.

Maybe I wasn’t entirely honest with myself about the way Kameron made me feel. What had started as a fascination with the man seemed to have grown into a small crush. For most people, a crush was nothing notable.

That wasn’t the case with me. Wanting to know Kameron Miller was a new and distracting feeling .

I smoothed down the front of my dress, quickly shoving those thoughts away as I turned to address the small crowd gathered in my dining room.

“I made spaghetti tonight. You all know how I feel about cooking big, intense meals, so no complaining.”

“We would never complain about a home-cooked meal,” Lucas said, swooping into action and bringing the now cooled pot of pasta into the dining room. I smiled fondly, remembering the conversation he and I had several months earlier about how much he’d missed cooking when he was on active duty.

Abbie, Connor, and Kameron followed his lead, each grabbing a separate pan or container to bring into the dining room.

We all sat down to eat, Abbie and Connor sitting next to each other, Kameron at the head of the table to my left, and Lucas to my right.

Everyone began dishing out food onto their plates.

Keeping the sauce and meatballs off the spaghetti had indeed been a good idea, as all five of us ended up with a different amalgamation of toppings on our plates.

“So, about the wedding—”

I groaned as Kameron opened the conversation with something work-related. I could have sworn he blushed a little, and the sight had my heart quickening its pace.

“I think some people are a little burned out on wedding discussions,” Connor said with a pointed look at me.

“I think it’s just me,” I replied, stabbing a meatball with my fork and swirling it around to pick up some extra sauce. “And I hope you both know how much I appreciate you. But let’s not talk about the wedding tonight. Please? ”

The Google Drive folder full of spreadsheets detailing correspondence with various wedding vendors seemed to whisper to me from my closed laptop.

There were many moving parts, and the pressure of making sure my best friend’s wedding was insanely perfect was getting to me.

I needed one night where I could exist with my friends without thinking about it.

Abbie smiled and reached across the table to squeeze my free hand.

“Of course,” she said, and I squeezed her hand back before she pulled away. “Let’s talk about you then. How are things on the homestead?”

Oh, the homestead.

I loved this place dearly. I had since the first time I visited this farmhouse when I was old enough to remember the smell of yeast and rising bread wafting through the open space from the kitchen, how exciting it was to look out the guest bedroom window and see cattle grazing in the pastures beyond, how my grandmother had taught me all the practical skills school and my parents would never teach me.

My parents were gone a lot when I was a kid.

My father was a businessman, always seeking his next idea, and my mother simply wanted to follow him wherever he went.

She hated Watford, and didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary.

That ‘necessary’ time involved dropping her children off with their Nana and heading back to the big city to be with her rich husband.

“Things are going,” I said, somewhat nervous about having this conversation with everyone present.

I took a big sip of water in order to buy myself time to figure out what to say.

“ Since the festival, things have really picked up. I’ve been sending some of my products to a local farmer’s market in a neighboring county with the help of another local farm.

It’s been sapping more of my time and energy than I’d been expecting. ”

I felt bad that I was even complaining about this, because six years ago I’d been desperate to make a living that didn’t involve selling my soul and every hour of my day to a corporate job.

The woman I was six years ago wouldn’t have been able to comprehend the level of success the homestead has achieved now.

But that itch to try something new remained.

I had needed the healing space this farm had provided for me after I left my ex-husband.

I’d needed a place to come and unpack everything, to heal.

I’d needed to work with my hands and dig in the dirt and feel the grass and mud underneath my feet, to nurture plants and livestock, to look around and understand that the world was still a good place, although bad people existed.

“Are you thinking of moving?” Lucas asked in between bites, quirking an eyebrow towards me. I shook my head fiercely.

“Well, I couldn’t sell it soon, with the amount of work that it needs done,” I said with a small laugh.

That was the understatement of the century.

This house not only needed cosmetic updates to bring it out of the eighties and into the 21st century, but there were many structural updates I’d been putting off, like replacing the air conditioning unit and much of the plumbing. Only the kitchen had been modernized .

“Besides, this is the only thing I have left of my grandmother and her influence in my life. I love this house and everything it has been to me over the years. But I am thinking of selling some livestock and minimizing operations back down to where they were before the festival. I think I got caught up in what could be, especially after the festival, when so many people were interested in partnering with me for various business opportunities. I expanded more quickly than I could handle.”

There were also financial considerations with the house; not that I was going to declare that to everyone.

I’d spent a good part of my meager savings on starting my homestead operations. Purchasing my livestock, constructing buildings to house them, buying feed every month, vet visits, general upkeep. . . the list was long and expensive.

My savings were dwindling, and the more time I spent in this house, the more I felt suffocated by that realization. The homestead’s profit margins had widened in the months following the Founder’s Day Festival, but I feared the growth wasn’t sustainable.

The fact remained that if there was an emergency, either in the farmhouse or outside of it, ?I wouldn’t have enough money to fix it. And that was terrifying.

Kameron nodded, and I focused on him as I tried to calm my panicking heart.

“We have our own experience with that. If we weren’t able to hire farmhands to come in and help us take care of most of the daily upkeep tasks, I would have sold part of our herd off a long time ago. ”

“That’s exactly where I’m at,” I said. “With the farmhouse needing repairs, it’s coming to a point where I either need to bring in more help or change the way I’m doing things.”

As if I could afford to hire paid help. A few of the local high school FFA students shadowed me after the festival, wanting to gain more hands-on experience with homesteading and learn more about what it actually takes to make this place run daily.

It was scary to admit that out loud, even though I was among friends.

Such was the nature of having your trust broken at a young age. It made it uncomfortable to be vulnerable with others.