Page 11 of Truly (Peachwood Falls #2)

L aina

I dance across the kitchen as the oven buzzes. The house is filled with the scent of garlic and pasta sauce—with a kiss of burnt cake because I am not a baker. But even a cake shaved into an inch of its life to rid it of the crispy pieces can’t break my spirits.

Not today. Not when I’ve had one of my life's most relaxing, amazingly boring, wonderfully mind-numbing days.

I slip on a mitt and remove the garlic bread from the oven.

The early evening sun warms the room without the stove's heat. Tall blades of grass sway in the breeze on the other side of the fence that separates Luke’s yard from the pasture. Tall flowers provide pops of color along the fencerow, making the view resemble a painting.

In all my travels worldwide, including my own homes that I chose and designed, I’ve never been to a place quite like this.

There’s nothing fancy here. Some of it isn’t even modern.

The cabinets are from the eighties at best, and every tap in the house leaks.

But instead of taking away from the property, it all somehow adds to it.

It works together to create a place where nothing really matters except being . Breathing. Living.

And dammit if it’s not glorious.

I check on the sauce I poured from a jar, hoping the spices I added to it actually enhance the flavor and don’t take away from it. I glance at the cake—o r ruin it.

“ Hey .”

I shriek and jump back, hitting the stove with my hip. Luke grabs me before my arm lands in the simmering sauce, and we have a real mess to clean up.

“Dammit,” I say, smacking Luke on the chest. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

“I can tell.” He grins. “What were you thinking about? Didn’t you hear me pull up or come in?”

I drag my hand down his chest, relishing the contact as long as possible. “I was focusing.”

“On what?”

“On making you dinner.”

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“You haven’t seen me in a long time. I can do lots of things that you don’t know about.”

Our gazes collide as soon as the words come out of my mouth. The corner of Luke’s mouth tugs toward the ceiling.

“I may have you prove that,” he says before walking away.

I heave a breath. “Don’t look at the cake. It’s not a good example of my talents.”

He examines my handiwork with a smirk. “I’d fucking hope not. What happened to this thing?”

“Has anyone ever told you it’s not smart to get lippy with the cook? I could poison you, and you’d never know it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You like living on the wild side, huh?”

Luke just laughs.

I turn off the stove and give the pasta a final swish. “How was work? And why don’t you smell like shit?”

“I came in and went straight to the shower.”

“No, you did not. I would’ve heard you.”

“Well, I heard your acapella rendition of ‘Roadhouse Blues.’” He shrugs. “If I was going to make something up, that’s not the song I would’ve led with as my first guess.”

Shit. Maybe he was here, and I didn’t hear him.

“What did you do today?” he asks, taking two glasses from the cupboard. “Anything fun? Do I have any privacy left?”

“Not a thing.” I giggle. “I went through every drawer, closet, and corner of this place. I know everything about you.”

“Good.”

I take out two plates. “Good?”

“Yeah. Now you can reply in kind over dinner.”

His smile warms my heart.

We move silently around the kitchen, handing each other plates and silverware without missing a beat. We then fill our plates, grab our drinks, and sit at the table by the door.

“There were three deer outside today,” I say, pointing at the fencerow. “They stood there forever like they weren’t scared at all.”

“I don’t let anyone hunt out here, so we see a lot of them.”

I grin. “I love that you protect the wildlife. That’s such a green flag.”

He laughs. “A green flag, huh?”

“Yeah. If you have an online dating profile, you should put that in your bio.” I drag my finger through the air. “I protect baby deer.” I shrug. “It would get you lots of swipes.”

He tears his garlic bread and stuffs half a piece in his mouth. I wait for him to comment on my observation, but he doesn’t. Worse, I think he knows that I want him to admit whether he does or does not use dating websites and is intentionally screwing with me.

Bastard .

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll ask. Do you use dating sites?”

His laughter is rich and warm. I could listen to it forever.

“What does it matter to you?” he asks.

“I’m just curious.”

“Are you going to make a profile and stalk me there, too?”

I gasp. “I don’t stalk you online. I just watch some of your videos.”

He hums.

I hum right back.

“No, I don’t use dating sites,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I tried them once, and I saw enough weird shit the first weekend that I deleted it. People are fucked up.”

“You should see some of the letters and gifts people send me. I had a guy send me ten used condoms once in the mail.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “That’s gross.”

“I know. Another guy sent me a tooth. I’ve had fingernail clippings, voodoo dolls, and someone sent me a live baby scorpion.”

He sets the other half of his bread down. “You don’t open that shit, do you?”

“No. It all goes to a post office box, and someone on my team opens it all. We’re really careful about it.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it.

“I got my luggage and phone today,” I say.

“How’d that go down?”

“Gavin met Stephanie on a random street in Brickfield. She basically threw it in his trunk and jetted away. Then Gavin brought it to me after stopping at the gas station, The Wet Whistle, and Chase’s to make sure he wasn’t being followed.”

He nods like he’s not surprised, which surprises me. But I don’t say anything. I don’t want him to think I’m overthinking things.

I scoop up a forkful of spaghetti. “I had the best day being here all alone. I can’t think of the last time I was truly alone.”

“Really?”

“I’ve been alone at home before, but that’s semantics. Cameras monitor all the exits, and men patrol the grounds at all hours. Since people can look up my addresses online, they do. Those situations can get hairy.”

The lines around Luke’s eyes wrinkle.

“What about you?” I ask. “How was your day? What happened in the horseshoeing business?”

Luke takes a drink of tea. But before he can answer, his phone rings.

“Fuck. I should’ve turned this off before we sat down,” he says, looking at the screen. “It’s Mom. I’ll call her back.”

“No, answer it.”

He looks up, surprised.

“Answer it,” I say, nodding my insistence. “Always talk to your mom if she wants to talk to you.”

A slow smile slips across his lips as he turns on the speakerphone. “Hi, Momma.”

“Where have you been?” Maggie Marshall asks her son. “I waited for you all day to come and get some beans and cornbread.”

He winks at me. “Mrs. Marshall, I don’t like your tone.”

“ Lucas Marshall , I’ll kick your behind if you call me that again.”

Luke laughs. “Settle down. I’m only kidding.”

I sit back and listen to them chatter back and forth.

The Marshalls have always shared a close bond.

Maggie and Lonnie, Luke’s parents, always ensured a strong connection between their children—and it stuck.

I always loved going to their house. As soon as you walk in, you’re surrounded by an indescribable goodness .

They fill your stomach with food, your heart with laughter, and your soul with love.

You can’t walk away from the Marshalls and not leave feeling better than you did when you arrived.

Strangely enough, that was one of the things I missed about home when I moved to Nashville.

Not my own childhood home or walking into my mother’s kitchen.

It was walking into the Marshall world where people connected.

People cared. It’s where people simply love on you because they know you well and love you unconditionally.

“Next week, I promise you I’ll be at church,” Luke says, rolling his eyes at me.

I smile at him.

“You better be,” Maggie says. “You’ve missed three weeks in a row. One more week, and it’ll constitute a habit. It’s been a long while since I showed up at your house and honked my horn until you came out for church, but I’ll do it again.”

“What has gotten into you?” Luke asks, laughing. “Did you get into the communion wine again?”

I snort, holding a hand over my mouth so Maggie doesn’t hear me.

“ Lucas .” She sighs heavily. “I need to go. You’re turning me gray.”

“Why do I get blamed for everything? It’s always me . Never Chase, the one who gets in tall buckets and plays with electricity all day. It’s never Gavin, the bartender. You never blame Mallet, and he gets paid to punch people. And God knows it’s not Kate.”

“Be good. I love you, Luke.”

“Love you, Momma.”

“Say your prayers.”

“I will. Good night.”

“Good night, baby boy.”

I wait until Luke ends the call to speak.

“Aw, Luke. That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He takes a bite of his spaghetti. “What part? The one where she said I’m turning her gray or the part where she called me her baby boy?” He shakes his head. “She’s confused, I think. She doesn’t make sense.”

“Oh, I think she makes perfect sense. You’re the baby boy, so you’re the one turning her gray.”

“Technically, Gavin is the youngest boy in the family.” His brows rise. “See? She makes zero sense.”

I laugh. “I wish my mother was like Maggie. I can’t even remember the last time my mom called me.”

His chewing slows. “Really?”

“Really. Once Dad and I started … not seeing eye to eye on everything, she checked out of my life.” I poke at a chunk of meat in the sauce on my plate.

“We were never super close anyway, but we’re even less close now.

I don’t know whether Dad made her choose sides or if she just isn’t interested in me anymore.

Whatever it is, before last weekend, I had only seen my mother a handful of times over the past year. ”