Page 8 of Yours Truly

Juni makes a point to gently slam her mug into the counter, and while it could’ve broken, it didn’t. And I like the sentiment. A smirk curls my lips. “Right? My thoughts exactly.”

“What did Deuce say?” she asks, pulling the kettle from the stove. Steam wafts from her mug as she pours, curling the loose tendrils around her face that didn’t stay in the braid. “That’s bullshit, Ivy. I’m sorry. And you know that’s him being a total douche and it has nothing to do with what he thinks of you.”

Her words echo through my brain. Nothing to do with what he thinks of you. I sip my coffee and lower it to the counter. With my hands now on my hips, I glare at her. “I hadn’t even thought of it being related to me.” An image of that huge cock swings through my mind. Err, flashes through my mind. “He’s the problem,” I say, “not me.”

“Totally,” she confirms, dunking her bag of Earl Grey. “It’s not you, and that’s all I meant. He’s clearly going through something–”

I raise my hand to stop her from letting him off the hook. Hell, even if he’s not here, he doesn’t deserve it. “When I stopped by his place last night, he was “going through” a cowgirl with pink boots and a bottle of Jack,” I deadpan. “And Deuce seemed…” I shrug, recalling his reactions from the day. “Sad, maybe? Disappointed?”

Juni nods thoughtfully. “They’ve been friends a long time. I know Deuce wants to help Trace get his stuff sorted out.” She shakes her head ruefully. “I bet he’s disappointed.”

She sips her tea and I sip my coffee. The faucet drips. Outside, a bird sings. On the back patio, the wind chime sways slowly. “So you went to his place?” Juni edges after we enjoy a slice of Bluebell mornings.

“I went and told him he better show up today or else Deuce will fire him because of his contract.”

Juni’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know Ink Time had official contracts.”

I pluck a blackberry from the bowl of fruit on the counter. “I made it up.”

My sister’s smirk is contagious. “You’ve outsmarted him before day one.”

“I always do.” I shift on my feet, reaching for the coffee around my sister. As I refill my mug, ready to head back to my room and get some stretching done, I say, “Hey, by the way, Dash Foster and Sterling Ford were outside this morning arguing over an empty tray of jam jars.”

I watch my sister closely, but her eyes drop to her apparently very interesting mug of tea. “Oh, yeah, they’re just returning jars. They’re on the monthly delivery.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to study the features on her face that she’s hiding. We don’t hide anything from each other, but in the recent months, Juni has been… different.

At first I thought it was because Dahlia moved out, got married and is on her second pregnancy. That all the change disrupted her the way it would a mother having a child go to college or something. I thought that’s all it was. When I talked to Ev and Dolly about it, they agreed.

But now I wonder if it’s something else.

“Do they… live together?” I ask, realizing as much as I see both Dash and Sterling, I don’t know too much about them except Dash is Bluebell’s favorite police officer and Sterling both owns and drives for Bluebell Waste.

Her eyes lift and finally come to mine. “They do. They’re roommates.”

I nod, trying to reclassify what I saw outside with this new information. “So… two middle-aged men live together and they eat 12 jars of jam a month?”

She shrugs. “Toast is their favorite meal.”

I don’t argue that toast isn’t anyone’s favorite meal. Instead, I don’t push, because pushing Juni makes her shut down. It always has. “Anyway,” she says, sweeping her fingers through my hair. “I hope today is a great first day with your mentor. Text me and let me know if he shows up.”

“Oh, he’ll show up,” I snark, but deep in my bones, curiosity and nerves swarm. Will he show up? Will I have gone to his place and harassed him all for nothing? Does the apprenticeship only mean something to me? I smile at Juni as I move past her, out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“But I’ll text you either way.”

She calls after me. “Good! I’ll leave your lunch on the counter. Heading out to the garden!”

My bedroom door closes, and I’m left with one glaring thought: what if he still doesn’t show?

FOUR

Ivy doesn’t give a crap about who I am.

Trace

“Here?” Corinne questions, pointing at the stop sign through the windshield. “Turn right here?”

Is it possible for someone’s voice to make you nauseous? I mean, seriously. Something about the elevated pitch of her voice, and the way here sounds like “here-uh” has my stomach collapsing in on itself.

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