Ella started to point out that Mark’s last name was Phillips and not Stewart, but then decided not to bother. His mother had worked at the family café from the time she was in high school on. Despite getting married later in life, the locals refused to accept her married name and continued to call her Jules Stewart and referred to her sons as “the Stewart boys.”
Aunt Jo shot Ella a look from under her lashes. “Grayson is back in town, too.”
Ella dropped her gaze to where the early-evening sun was slanting across the toes of her shoes, hoping Aunt Jo hadn’t seen how much that surprised her. One of the things she and Gray had had in common was a dislike for their tiny, smothering hometown, so she’d never expected to hear that he was in Dove Pond.
“He bought the old Morris farm off old Route 9,” Aunt Jo continued, “cows, sheep, and all. Jules says he’s doing some cutting-edge agricultural stuff out there, turning that farm into some sort of scientific food haven and growing things without soil. It sounds like a scam to me. He’s gotten all sorts of attention for it, though. The Raleigh news station did a whole segment on him and his farm.”
Ella shrugged. It didn’t matter if Gray was around or not. She needed to speak to his grandmother, not him.
Aunt Jo offered a green bean to Moon Pie. The bulldog sniffed it and then turned away. “Picky eater.” She placed the bean in front of him and then returned her attention to Ella. “It’s a pity you and Gray didn’t work out. I like him.”
Ella finished breaking the beans still in her lap and dropped them into Aunt Jo’s bowl. “You know I don’t like being tied down. It’s too much like work.”
“Real love is work; it just doesn’t feel like it. That’s how you know it’s real.” Aunt Jo pulled some more beans from the paper bag beside her chair and handed them to Ella. “Where will you go after you’re done here? Sarah says you sold your shop and apartment in Paris.”
Ella had no idea, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Aunt Jo. “I might write another cookbook. Or maybe I’ll open a new patisserie somewhere exciting. I’ve never been to Japan.”
Aunt Jo frowned. “What are you looking for, Ella? Adventure? Excitement? Love?”
Ella let her gaze wander from the porch to the fields shimmering in the breeze. The rye grass ran greenish-gold to the purple line of the mountains that encircled their little town. It was beautiful here. And safe, too. But safe wasn’t enough. Frankly, she wasn’t sure what was.
Suddenly restless, she finished the beans and dropped them into Aunt Jo’s bowl. “I should get going. Sarah and Ava will be waiting.” Ella collected her purse, then stood and kissed Aunt Jo’s warm, round cheek. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Aunt Jo gave Ella a quick, fierce hug. “It’s good to have you home.” The older woman released Ella and then shooed her away. “Get on with yourself. Your sisters will be wondering where you are. Tell them I said hi. And don’t forget about Sunday.”
“I won’t.” Ella headed off the porch to her car. Waving goodbye, she was soon on her way to Elm Street, where her sisters waited. It would be good to see them… or it would be, until the hounding began.
First thing in the morning, Ella would head to the Stewart house to talk with Angela, which would hopefully end those annoying dreams and frosting attacks. Ella could only hope she wouldn’t come face-to-face with Gray. Ugh. Why is nothing ever as simple as it should be?
CHAPTER 2 ANGELA
It all started two weeks ago when Angela Colewell Stewart Harrington took a tiny blue pill to help her sleep on a plane. She’d been mind-numbingly exhausted after months of tending to John, her second husband and first love. He’d been ill for more than a year, and when he’d died in his sleep, his hand entwined with hers, she’d been left emotionally whipped. But oh, how she’d loved him.
As tired and desolate as she’d been, the quiet hours she’d spent sitting at John’s side had forced her to do something she usually avoided—face the realities and failures of her own life. For years John had said that she needed to find a way to fix the shambled mess of her relationship with her daughter from her first marriage, Jules. He’d always believed that it was Angela’s duty as a parent to rebuild the bridges that time and old wounds had weakened.
After John’s death—the estate set in order, the Fifth Avenue apartment put on the market, and a list of updates for her beloved Hamptons house delivered to a trusted contractor—an exhausted Angela had set out to do just what John had told her to. She’d purchased a first-class ticket to Asheville, thrown some clothes into a suitcase, and headed to the airport, a small bottle of blue pills tucked into her purse.
She hated flying and it made her anxious, so Dr. Hodges always prescribed her a little something to make traveling easier. But this time, aware of how emotionally thin Angela was after her months-long vigil at John’s side, Dr. Hodges had initially refused to write the prescription. He’d suggested she wait a few more weeks before traveling, saying she would be in a better place after some rest. But Angela had refused, empowered by the thought of doing something that might make her dark-right-now future feel brighter and better. She’d been so adamant about visiting her daughter that the doctor had eventually relented. He’d written the prescription, warning her that the medication would make her sleep all the way to Asheville, and that she was not to drive for twelve hours. That wasn’t an issue for Angela. She no longer had her driver’s license, as she’d allowed it to expire when it became clear that she needed glasses, which was one prescription her vanity refused to allow her to fill.
As soon as she settled into her first-class seat on the plane, she took the pill, pulled down her silk eye mask, and tried to ignore the way the floor moved under her feet as they slowly rolled toward the runway. As usual, the pill’s effects were profound and immediate. She was asleep before takeoff.
Angela remembered nothing of the flight. She had vague memories of being shaken awake by a flight attendant, of numbly moving out of the way for a loudly beeping cart in the terminal, and then of watching the luggage carousel moving around and around and around and around until, oddly enough, her Louis Vuitton suitcase was the only one left.
When she went to collect her suitcase, she realized she was the last person from her flight standing in the area. But… had there been other people on the plane? Or had she imagined them? Was it possible she’d been alone this whole time? The idea was too complex for her to wrap her mind around, so she simply stopped thinking about it.
Staggering under the weight of her huge suitcase and large tote bag, she made her way to where a few taxis waited outside the small airport. It took her several tries and the promise of an insane tip before she found a driver willing to take her to Dove Pond. As soon as she was on her way, she sank into the back seat and closed her eyes, trying to think of the words that would convince Jules once and for all that although her mother had made mistakes, Angela had always, always loved her, and had never meant to hurt her.
This wasn’t going to be an easy task. Over the years, what had begun as a serious rift had grown into a distance that was canyon-wide in proportion. And Jules, bless her heart, had made things even more difficult by refusing to air her grievances, instead engaging with her mother in a blank, polite, and soulless way. Even though it was obvious Jules believed her mother had committed a lifetime’s worth of transgressions, she still did the minimum of what propriety demanded. Jules sent cards and gifts on the appropriate occasions, visited for a week each summer, and had never once interfered with her sons having a relationship with their grandmother. Angela was grateful for all of that.