Page 7 of Cascade

I look back and forth between Indigo and the newcomer and bite my lip. Sara gestures between us. “Opal, Diana. Diana, Opal. Opal’s the midwife who caught Gavin the night she moved to town. Diana runs Tributary Farms and thinks she’s the first person to ever get married. Now go on about this mid-week monkey business.”

I remind them I had an emergency call from work—and decline to elaborate, because no new mother needs to hear that—and explain that I decided to visit the area’s lone bar afterward. “And,” I say, shrugging. “There was a guy there. So I told him to take me home. And…he did.”

“You are the worst storyteller I’ve ever met,” Indigo says, yanking the plate of biscotti away from me as I reach for one. “Baked goods are for friends who give details.” She bites one end of her snack and hands it to Sara, who nibbles from the other end.

“Well…” I’ve never really had female friends. I spent much of my childhood mostly focused on staying alive and out of notice of authority figures. I’ve never even really had time for much conversation. This is all very new to me.

But Indigo and Sara have just been sonicesince I joined the midwife practice the day Indigo went into labor. It felt like fate, jumping right into the deep end like that with the family that’s helping me feel so welcome in my new town. I feel really safe when I’m with them.

I swallow and close my eyes. “There might have been some spanking and biting,” I say.

“This is better,” Indigo says, sliding the plate back across the table. “Did he make your bell ring?”

“Oh my god, so many times,” I say, and it’s a relief to say it out loud, because I’ve never come like that ever in my life. I lost track the second time we went at it, with me on top and him having such easy and constant access to my clit. “Honestly, by the end he’d become a master of making me come just by touching my nipples.” I nibble the biscotti and stare at the table. I don’t know what the hell Indigo put in this, but it pairs perfectly with the tea. I can’t meet their eyes.

Sara pounds a fist on the table and Diana whoops. “This is great! You needed that, I can tell.”

“You can?”

Diana guffaws. “Who the helldoesn’tneed to come so many times you lose track? Who’s the guy? Someone local?”

“His name was Archer,” I say, and I don’t get to add his last name because Indigo and Sara start cackling and smacking each other and Diana.

“Mother fucker,” Diana yells and punches the fruit bowl. “Not another word. Jesus. I mean, I’m glad all my brothers are generous lovers, I guess, but come on.” She points a biscotti at Indigo. “You have got to stop forcing me into these situations.”

Indigo is unfazed that Diana is yelling. She talks with her mouth full, saying, “Serves you right for getting married without me, you jerk.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Archer

PREDICTABLY, I’M A bit sore when I wake up mid-morning to the sound of someone pounding on my front door. “ARCHER CRAWFORD! Let’s go!”

It sounds like Ed Hastings. He’s been a client since I passed the CPA exam, and I do not charge him enough. At first he was coming to me with an actual ledger book all filled out in pencil. Took me years to at least get him to type his details into a word processing program.

“Hmm,” I groan. Today is the day I promised Ed I’d have his quarterly taxes ready to go. Bankers’ hours just really don’t work out for me—I was going to have the paperwork to Ed before the post office closed, but I generally do my best work between 10 and midnight.Just ask Opal,I think, laughing at myself as I stretch.

“Yep, I’m coming down,” I holler to Ed. I quickly clean up a bit in the bathroom and find a hoodie to go with my gray sweats. If Ed’s going to wake me up, he’s going to have to deal with casual Friday.

“My god, son,” he scoffs. “You mean to say you’re going in to work dressed like that?”

“And just why do I need a necktie to run your numbers through all the new tax laws?”I clap him on the back and tip a chin toward town. I know he’s not really appalled at my outfit. Nobody in this town expects much from me. Except that I get their taxes done affordably and on time. Which I always do.

Ed falls into step beside me, grumbling about the good old days.

I sigh. Of course I don’t usually go to work dressed quite this shabby. “Ed, you didn’t have to wake me up, dude. I’ve got your stuff almost all ready to go.”

“Yes andI’vegot a newspaper to put to bed today,” he grumbles right back. We use the rest of the walk to town arguing about digital layouts versus actually cutting and pasting paper and setting type with slugs and ink.

I unlock my office and gesture toward the client seat. I flip on my monitor while Ed clears a spot for his elbows among the deep forest of random paperwork piled everywhere. When I pull up Ed’s file, I frown. Something isn’t right here. “Are you sure you gave me all your expenses and income statements, Ed?”

He nods and leans forward, breathing heavily through his nose. He points a thick finger at the monitor, at the red number he apparently owes the government this quarter. “That can’t be right, Arch,” he says, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” I pull up all the files Ed sent and try to tune him out while I check everything over. Eventually he mutters something about today’s headlines and I grunt as he leaves. He’s probably off to write a scathing editorial about my sloppy habits.

As soon as he’s gone, I crank up Luke Combs and start picking through the numbers. I love a challenge like this. Finding the missing piece that links all these numbers together, makes sense of the codes and tax cuts, fines and new levies.

I’m not aware of the passing hours until my brother Hunter waves a hand in front of my face, causing me to jump. “I need to insist, again, that you lock your door if you’re going to play music so loudly,” Hunter says. “Someone could come in and harm you or steal your files.”

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