“This is what you’re supposed to want,” I remind myself as I place down the quirky vase with my favorite succulent—echeveria—on the windowsill.
I fiddle with the group of succulents already resting there and gaze out the window. The street I spent most of my childhood biking down looks the exact same. The mailboxes are lined up in a neat row. Mrs. Hall’s garden is in full bloom. Even the patch of sidewalk where my brother Bodhi and I pressed our palms in wet concrete is still there. My twelve-year-old handprint immortalized like a bee in amber.
“Bea?” my eldest brother Beau hollers from the foot of the stairs.
I sigh and square my shoulders. It was my decision to move back home after graduating from art school. I stretched it out as long as I could, finally earning my degree in early January.
Nevertheless, I offered. Living in our tiny corner of Tennessee is what I always said I wanted. In fact, if Beau and Bodhi hadn’t supported my decision to attend art school in Nashville, I’d probably be right here, in this very room, gazing at the same street. Exactly as I am right now.
I move to the doorway. “Up here, unpacking!”
Beau’s heavy footfalls sound on the stairs and I loiter in the doorway, waiting for my brother’s strong, formidable frame to come into view.
He grins when he sees me. It’s the same easygoing smile of my childhood but now, Beau’s eyes are different. They’re shaded in a disconnect, a distance I don’t fully understand. Bodhi says war and time away from home does that to a man. Since Beau served two tours in Afghanistan as well as several embassy duties, I guess Bodhi’s right.
“You settling in okay?” Beau asks, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Just unpacking my plants.”
The corner of my brother’s mouth lifts. “You sure about this, Bea? You could have tried for a job in Boston or L.A. You didn’t have to—”
“I want to be with Gran,” I cut him off. I mean it too. After our parents were killed in a freak helicopter accident when I was nine, Gran took all five of us Turner kids in, and raised us as her own.
Now, she’s nearing ninety and starting to slow down. After a close call that involved hairspray and the fire department, a near flood in the basement, and a fall that should have resulted in a broken hip, it’s clear Gran can’t be on her own.
With the twins, Brody and Blake, in California, and Bodhi making a real name for himself in Miami, it’s my turn to be here. Beau has held things together since his honorable discharge from military service. Now, he’s embraced his dream career, playing goalie in the NHL for the Tennessee Thunderbolts. My brothers have sacrificed years, career opportunities, and social lives to raise me along with Gran. It’s time for me to step up and start taking care of my family, even if a small part of my heart yearns for something beyond the state lines.
“It’s good to have you back, kid,” Beau says.
“Nashville isn’t that far away,” I remind him.
Beau shrugs. “It feels different, knowing you’re here. I can’t tell you the peace of mind I have knowing you’ll be looking after Gran.”
“Are you all packed and ready to move to your bachelor pad?” I joke, knowing that Beau is desperate to have his own space. Between his massive career change and the PTSD that followed him home, he needs it. Gran’s hovering over him has only exacerbated his anxiety.
The pinch between Beau’s eyebrows deepens, another shadow passing through his gaze. I tilt my head, realizing how much my brother needed me to come home to watch over Gran.
For the first time since committing to this move, I feel better about it. Watching Beau struggle, to adjust to his new normal, to embrace his dream—playing in the NHL—come true, makes my heart hurt. Beau’s always put our family, me, first. And now, it’s my turn to be here for him.
After too much silence passes, I clear my throat and Beau’s eyes jump to mine. He offers a sheepish grin and ducks his head.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
“Good.” I pat his arm as I move to walk past him.
“I lined up a job for you.”
I stop short as a streak of shame, a swell of pain, washes over me. Does he think my art career won’t pan out? Does he think I can’t hack it in my chosen path—pottery?
“Just for the time being,” he quickly tacks on. “While you settle in with Gran…” He clears his throat. “While you plan for your pottery business, I figured this could tide you over. It’s good to have a backup plan anyway.”
“What is it?”
“Cupcakes,” he says brightly, and I turn to face him. He smiles and my hurt evaporates. While Beau has always supported my decisions, his enthusiasm in my pottery aspirations is lukewarm. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in me, he always says, it’s that he’s a realist about what a pottery career entails. Deep down, I worry he thinks I’ll fall short.
Since our parents passed, Beau has always looked out for me. It may not be in the way I want, but I don’t doubt his intentions. He always has my best interests at heart.
“Cupcakes?”
“Selling cupcakes,” he clarifies. “There’s a pop-up shop at the arena—”
“The Honeycomb?” I interject, lifting an eyebrow. The name is hokey as hell.
Beau grins and for a beat, he looks like the brother I remember. The version of himself before Afghanistan and war. Before he and Celine broke up and shattered each other’s hearts and trust.
“That’s the one. But”—he leans forward conspiratorially and drops his voice—“there’s talk that the team may be moving.”
“Moving? Where to?”
Beau nods. “Relocating into the city center.”
“Like…by the football stadium?” Everyone with a pulse knows the NFL team, Knoxville Coyotes, are the pride and joy of Southern football.
“Yeah.” Beau looks excited. “Can you believe that? Hockey is gaining popularity here.”
“Can they do that? Just move a team closer to the city?”
He lifts one shoulder. “One of the team owners, Torsten Hansen, and his wife Rielle, have deep pockets. They own oil fields in Norway.”
“Wow.” Imagine having that kind of wealth? I shake my head; the idea is laughable. If Beau hadn’t enlisted, I wouldn’t have had the funds for art school.
“Yeah. That kind of wealth makes the impossible seem possible.”
“I guess. So, cupcakes?”
“Yeah. Primrose Sweets. It’s an NHL institution.”
“How so?”
Beau wraps an arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the stairs. “The owner, Noelle DiSanto, is married to Scott Reland, owner of the Boston Hawks. And she’s the daughter of the New York Sharks team owner, Rick DiSanto.”
“Jeez,” I sigh out. “This is like…incestuous.”
Beau laughs and the sound makes me smile. It’s loud and uninhibited. The way it used to be. He pulls me close and kisses my temple before releasing me so we can descend the stairs. “Run with that idea. Now that you’re back, don’t get tangled up with a hockey player, Bea.”
I give him a look over my shoulder.
“Or football player,” he tacks on.
Then, I laugh. I laugh so hard that my auburn curls shake, and I pause on the stairs to clench the railing. “Beau!”
“What?” My brother gives me a stern look.
I shake my head and make it to the bottom step. “As if an athlete—a professional athlete—would ever want anything to do with me!” I move my hands up and down my frame as if that should settle it.
Beau’s gaze hardens.
“Beau, I’ve got wild red, messy curls, and am usually covered in clay and dust. I haven’t worn makeup since Celine nearly took my eyeball out with a mascara wand for the eighth-grade homecoming dance.”
My brother’s expression tightens at Celine’s name, and I silently swear at myself. Beau doesn’t know that his long-time ex-girlfriend-turned-Hollywood-movie-star and I still speak. I tried to tell him a handful of times, but he shot me down.
As the only female presence, save for Gran, in my life, Celine was a connection I couldn’t sever. I needed her too much, relied on her too greatly. And, even now, after my brother broke her heart, she’s never not showed up for me.
“You’re beautiful, Bea.” His voice is solemn, strong.
“I’m quirky,” I correct him.
He pulls me in for another hug. “Lots of guys like quirky. Even the professional athlete kind.” He releases me and fixes me with another look. “You need to be at the arena tomorrow at 10 AM. You’re meeting with Noelle.”
My mouth drops open as my hands fly to my unruly mane of hair. “The cupcake goddess/heiress?”
Beau chuckles. “I hear she’s down-to-earth.”
“You’re feeding me to the vipers.” I shake my head. “The cupcake goddess and a stadium overflowing with hockey players.”
“Hey! I’m a hockey player.”
“Yeah, but you don’t overlook me.”
“Trust me, Bea. No one can overlook you.”
My eyebrow arches, sarcastic as hell. “Do you remember high school?”
Beau’s expression softens. “You’ve changed since high school. You’re all grown up now.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “We all have.”
Beau nods.
My family has been through hell and back. We’ve all changed.
“Bea! You hungry?” Gran calls.
Beau and I exchange a smile.
Well, maybe not Gran. She’s still tough as nails and sweet as lemons. But God, I love her. I love my brothers too.
My family is the reason why I’m back, curtailing my thoughts about New York and LA and art. Instead, I’ll settle back into my life in this quiet corner of Tennessee the way I was always meant to.
The way I used to want to when I was in high school, with a steady boyfriend and childhood friends. Before I moved to Nashville and my world opened to endless possibilities, this used to be more than enough. Now, I need to convince myself that it can be again. It will be.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Beatrice,” a beautiful woman with blonde ringlets and bright blue eyes greets me the following morning. How does she tame her curls?
Is it awkward if I ask? Probably, yes.
I shuffle back a step at her beauty, which is blinding. But her smile is warm and her cupcakes look like magic, so I force my hand to dart out and take hers as gracefully as I can manage. “You too. It’s just Bea.”
“Bea,” she repeats, her smile widening. “I like it. This is my better half, Scott,” she introduces me to the handsome man walking up beside us.
The corners of Scott’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, and he looks much friendlier than the formidable hockey owner I was prepared for. “Great to meet you, Bea.”
“You too. Thanks for considering me for this position.”
“Are you kidding?” Noelle gestures toward the pop-up stand and I fall into step beside her. “You’re overqualified. Beau said you’ve got some other projects in the works, and I heard about your Gran.” Her expression turns sympathetic, but her eyes are devoid of pity, which I appreciate. “So, consider this as temporary or permanent as you like, but if you do decide to go in another direction, I need at least two weeks’ notice.”
“Of course,” I agree, confused. I thought I was interviewing for this position. What kind of strings did my brother pull to get me this gig? I’m hardly qualified; I’m one of the most socially awkward, stumbling, and stunted twenty-three-year-olds on the planet. “What did Beau say about me?”
Alarm must redden my cheeks because Scott chuckles.
“That you want to open your own business. Pottery?” Noelle asks.
I nod, feeling a rush of gratitude toward Beau. Maybe he respects my decision after all?
“If you need any business advice,” Scott cuts in, “she’s the one to ask.”
Now, Noelle’s eyes hold a different type of sympathy, one rounded out in understanding. “Especially when your family’s not one-hundred percent behind you.”
Ah, maybe Beau isn’t as supportive as I hoped.
I dip my head. “Thank you, Noelle. Scott.” I gesture toward the pop-up stand. “I appreciate the opportunity. Please, tell me everything I need to know.”