Chapter Seventeen

While Violet had loved feeling like a teenager at the fishing booth, she wasn’t so much for it right now.

Slowly, she pivoted and summoned up a smile. “Cheryl. Hello.”

“I was wondering when I’d run into you.”

Me, too. Except replace it with wondering how to avoid running into you. “Here I am.”

Cheryl’s glacial blue eyes homed in on how close Violet and Ford were standing. As usual, her auburn hair was styled in a less-poofy version of the news anchor bob. Pearl earrings and a matching necklace accented her dress suit, and every inch of her dripped style and class.

In other words, the opposite of Violet.

Awkwardness crowded the air, and then Cheryl aimed a tight smile at Ford. “Would you excuse us for a moment?”

Obviously not an actual request, but instead of immediately agreeing with Cheryl Hurst like most people did, Ford looked at Violet.

“It’s okay,” she said, hesitantly loosening her grip on him. “I’ll find you afterward.”

“Pro tip: check the food area.”

A simple tilt of the head implied Cheryl wanted to take their conversation to one of the empty, darker corners of the community center.

It took Violet back even further, to her elementary years, when she dragged her feet as her mom forced her into the car before school.

Steeling herself for their interaction, Violet lifted her chin and followed. Cheryl nodded to people as they passed, radiating amiability, and Violet wanted to believe she’d get the same treatment. During those few weeks she’d spent in Uncertainty every summer, evasion had been both of their coping mechanisms, for the most part.

Once they were away from prying eyes and ears, Cheryl said, “I hear you’ve run into a rough spot with your career.”

Violet attempted to swallow. “I’m getting back on my feet.”

“Happy to hear it.” Cheryl lifted her purse and withdrew a checkbook and a pen. “How much would it take to finish the job?”

Offense socked Violet in the gut as she gaped at the woman. Surely she’d misunderstood. Getting financial support from the Hursts had always been a struggle. Dad claimed it started too many fights with Cheryl, and the only time Mom had swallowed her pride and demanded help was for college tuition.

Considering the scholarships Violet had earned, she’d covered everything besides books and housing. “Excuse me?”

“You and I have never had a heart to heart, so I’m sure you think I don’t like you. The truth is, I don’t dislike you.”

Okay, that was sort of like telling someone you were fine with them continuing to breathe, as long as they didn’t do it around you.

“There’s forgiving and there’s forgetting,” Cheryl continued, “and anytime you’re in Uncertainty, it makes it extra hard to forget. When it was for a week or two at a time, I dealt with it, but people are starting to talk about you more and more.

“It’s ‘have you seen what Violet’s done with the bakery?’ ‘Did you hear that Mayor Hurst’s daughter has been helping Addison Murphy with her wedding?’”

Cheryl uncapped the pen and swung it around. “And on and on it goes… As if that wasn’t difficult enough to ignore, now you’re cozying up with a McGuire.” Her nose wrinkled as she spat his surname.

Deep breaths, Violet told herself, struggling not to lose her temper for the second time tonight. “Ford’s a good man. I’m so sick of how many people in town don’t see that.”

“Given his family, he’s come a long way. But the McGuires don’t settle down—not for long, anyway.” Cheryl fiddled with the pearls around her neck. “Between Ford’s father and his brothers, they have four divorces and several children with various women. They’re always looking for the greener grass.” A muscle twitched in her jaw. “Unfortunately, I know all too well how that feels.”

For the first time ever, Violet saw a crack in Cheryl’s perfect facade. Hurt shone through, creasing a forehead she’d previously believed was uncreasable, thanks to Botox.

As hard as Violet attempted to bat away the doubts tickling her mind, they increased, breeding like bunnies that spread unease far and wide.

“Whatever you think you have, it won’t last.” Chery’s voice cracked, and she lifted her chin, much the same way Violet had done to prepare for this very conversation. “There will always be someone younger and prettier. Someone who doesn’t nag or expect anything of him.”

A lump took up residence in Violet’s throat, and her nose and eyes burned with the urge to cry. She wanted to insist Cheryl was wrong. That she had no idea what she was talking about. It’d be easier to write this off as her being severe and selfish—and dead wrong—if anguish didn’t hang so heavy in her features.

“As strained as our relationship has been,” Cheryl said, placing a hand on Violet’s shoulder, “I’d never want you to go through that. Especially after witnessing the fallout from your last relationship.”

You mean when you told me I was being overly dramatic and ruining Maisy’s wedding?

Cheryl hadn’t seemed very concerned at the time. More like the woman thought it karmic balance, as if Violet were somehow responsible for her father’s actions before she even existed.

Another memory possibly tainted by how very raw Violet’s emotions had been after discovering Benjamin with another woman.

“I also feel bad that we didn’t give you more support. Your father and I are gifting Maisy a new sign for the bakery, so look at it as us helping you with your business as well. It’s the least we can do.” Cheryl looked at her, as if she honestly thought Violet would give her the sum it’d take to make her go away.

Violet’s pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the noise from the bazaar. Then she heard a rip, followed by a rectangle of paper—a blank check—being placed in her hands.

Everything inside her wanted to insist Cheryl was wrong about Ford.

With memories of her past relationship flooding in and reminding her how very wrong she’d been before, though, words refused to form.

…

Ford had just taken a giant bite of a hot dog when he spotted Violet. Something was off, the happy, easygoing woman he’d been with fifteen minutes ago gone.

He washed down his food with a swig of fresh-squeezed lemonade and crossed the steady stream of people to reach her. “What’s wrong?”

Violet rubbed a couple fingers across her forehead. “Every time I deal with Cheryl or my dad…” She shook her head as if she were attempting to dislodge the memory—maybe more than one. “You want to get out of here? Maybe go to your place for a while?”

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he wiped his hand on his jeans before digging it out and reading the text from Shep. “Uh, there’s a porcupine in the school, so my night is suddenly booked.”

She shuttered her eyes, despair flickering so quickly he’d barely caught it. “Seriously?” She crossed her arms. “You don’t have to make up some lame excuse. If you’re starting to feel crowded or like we’re spending too much time togeth—”

“Violet, it’s not that.”

The skeptical set of her lips remained.

“I’m not clever enough to come up with an excuse involvin’ a fake porcupine.”

Nope, still not getting through to her. How did one convince a city girl that there were plenty of times when his job or life or whatever you wanted to call it included tasks that sounded completely bananas?

Finally, he realized there was only one surefire way. In addition to proving he wasn’t lying, it’d be a handy way to see if she could handle these types of small-town situations and the fact that they were part of his job.

It took a bit of work to pry her hand free of its rigid position. “Come on, and I’ll show you.”