Page 46 of No Time for Traditions

The group of friends laughed and talked a bit more and refused drinks from all the men who wanted to treat a table of well-dressed ladies. Around nine-thirty, Brittany called it a night and wished everyone a Happy New Year. She hugged all the girls and promised to send a text when she made it home.

Brittany bundled up and left the Tavern in a much better mood than when she’d arrived. Hanging out with her friends in no way solved all her problems; however, what Kinsley said had given her a lot to think about and made her confident everything would turn out just fine.

When she got back to her apartment, she went straight to her nightstand and opened the bottom drawer. At the end of every year, she wrote down a list of goals she wished to accomplish during the next year. Before starting a new list, she flipped back until she found the entry from this time last year.

Many of the goals, she’d accomplished. Some were small, and some were bigger. She’d completed the goal of advancing in her career. Just not how she had hoped. When Brittany wrote that, she’d not necessarily meant at the press, but as a writer. Brittany thumped the pen on her notebook. She needed to be more specific this year.

Brittany flipped back to the blank page and started her new list. She included small feats like mastering a hard Pilates move and going to bed at a better time. And she made sure to specify that she wanted to make strides as a writer instead of in the publishing industry at large. At last, she listed two dilemmas that had plagued her for a while. One since she’d left Alabama, and the other for months—if not years—before.

For the one she’d wrestled with for some time, Brittany wrote:Find out where I belong. She meant it both metaphorically and geographically. Each year, it had gotten harder and harder to balance her preferences for New York and Alabama.

The final goal she listed was one she wasn’t even sure she wanted. But that was the goal in and of itself. To find an answer for her problem. For that goal, she wrote only one word.

Greg.

Chapter 17

Greg had a lot to be thankful for. The Barnes brothers had not only given him a great deal on some prime property, but they’d also sung his praises throughout Hillside. Several people had called today alone about surveys, claiming Marty Barnes had called him the best surveyor he’d ever worked with. And coming from a seasoned forester, that meant a lot.

Too bad Marty couldn’t convince his daughter to give him a chance.

Of course, love and surveying were two entirely different matters. Greg never doubted his skills as a surveyor, nor had anyone questioned his abilities. Well... except for maybe Puttman. But he kept calling Greg for more work, so that had to mean something.

The drive-through at Smokey’s BBQ was packed, so Greg parked his truck in front to pick up his to-go order. Even though it was Saturday, he’d spent the morning running property lines for a downtown expansion Jake was overseeing. Since he was close to the office, Greg decided to catch up on office work during lunch.

He walked in, paid for his food, and left. As he reached for his truck door, someone called his name.

Greg turned his head. It was Scott Barnes.

“Hey, Scott.” Greg shook his hand.

“Hey, I wanted to say thank you for all you did to help my dad. He was really stressed about all of Grandpa’s assets.”

Greg shook his head. “No problem. Just doing my job.”

“I know, but you spent a lot of time out there, and to hear Daddy talk, you gave them a good deal.”

“Well, they gave me a good deal, too.”

“Still, I appreciate your help. And I know they were happy to sell to you.” Scott smiled.

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

Greg looked down and kicked his boot against the sidewalk. He couldn’t help but think about Brittany. That was all he’d done since she left. No—that was all he’d done since she’d first opened the door wearing those goofy Santa socks. He cleared his throat and looked up at Scott.

“Well, I’d better get to the pharmacy.” Scott nodded and walked in the opposite direction.

Greg opened his truck door, then froze. He couldn’t take it any longer. He set his food in the truck and ran after Scott.

“Hey, Scott?”

Scott turned to him. “Yeah?”

Greg cupped the bill of his cap with his hand and sighed. “Have you heard from Brittany since she left?”

“Yeah.”

The casual tone of Scott’s voice let Greg know he didn’t have a clue how they’d left things.

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