Page 1 of Fall For You

CHAPTER

ONE

Carter

They saythat here in Central Texas, we only get two seasons: Summer and February. And while there may be a kernel of truth to that, it’s not entirely accurate. It’s February now, for example, and the weather is so balmy and warm that it might as well be summer.

Not that I’m complaining. This year’s relatively mild winter means a longer growing season, which is good news for my family’s farm and ranching business. I’m sure my big brother Camp is itching to move his seedlings out of the greenhouses and into the ground as soon as possible.

It’s good news for all of Heartwood, when you think about it. The primary business around here is tourism, after all, and there’s no denying that sunshiny days and warm, balmy nights bring more people into town than flash floods and ice storms.

And, of course, it’s good news for my own endeavor, Donahue’s Farm to Table. We’ve been open for a handful of years now, and I’ve been working hard to get the restaurant established, but it’s been slow going. I’ve invested a significant amount of capital into staging a special Valentine’s Day eventthis month—a prix-fixe tasting menu that showcases some of our local meats, cheese, produce, wines, beer, etc. It’s a bit of a gamble and I really need it to be a success.

At the moment, I’m seated at a two-top in the dining room, catching up on my work and listening with half an ear to the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes. I’m vaguely aware of servers threading their way around the tables, carrying trays of beautifully plated, delicious-smelling food. This is my happy place—even if crunching the numbers for the dinner isn’t exactly adding to that happiness. I make a mental note to add the coffee I’m currently drinking—a “Winter Blend” coffee from a local roastery—to the Valentine’s Day menu. It’s a dark roast with hints of cocoa and orange spice notes that’s perfect for the season, even in spite of the weather, and which will work perfectly with several of the desserts I have planned.

“Heads up, Carter,” my sous chef calls. Glancing over at him, I see he’s slid a stack of to-go boxes onto the pass.

“Thanks, man.” I close my laptop and stow it in my bag and then get to my feet.

“No problem,” Luis replies, but he doesn’t go back to work and he’s eyeing me strangely as I approach the expo station. “This is for Ms. Vi, right?” he asks as I start transferring the containers he’s prepared into the insulated bag I keep stowed there for just this purpose.

“Yeah,” I answer, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Of course.” Violet Barnes is one of our elders. She’s a long-time resident of Heartwood, and a really good friend. But, unfortunately, she took a bad fall last week and ended up concussed. I’ve been taking meals to her every day since she’s been home from the hospital. Which Luis already knows.

“And you’re taking it over to her house now—yourself?”

I feel my eyebrows climb even higher up my forehead. “Same as I’ve done every day,” I say as I drop a couple of napkin-condiment-utensil packets into the bag—just to save Ms. Vi’s nurses a little work. “Any reason why today would be different?”

“Well… I dunno. I just thought maybe her niece would be stopping by to pick it up,” Luis replies, not meeting my gaze.

That gives me pause. “Why the heck would you think that?” Ms. Vi’s niece—her grand-niece, actually—hasn’t been home in almost twelve years—not that I’m keeping track, or anything. “Last I heard, Jo was still out in California.” Again: not keeping track. That’s just common knowledge.

“Not according to Marta.” Luis nods towards the kitchen. “I overheard her and Alicia talking about it. Apparently, Nina called Marta late last night to say that Jo just rolled into town.”

“And how did Nina find out?”

“Beats me. I guess you’d have to ask Marta ’bout that. But Nina’s a home-care nurse, isn’t she? So maybe she was the nurse on duty at Ms. Vi’s last night. ’Least, that’d be my guess.”

“Makes as much sense as anything,” I say as I zip the bag shut. “And I appreciate the heads up, but I don’t imagine Jo being home is gonna change much of anything.” I glance at the clock on the wall. Breakfast is nearly over. My staff is already prepping for lunch. Even allowing for potential complications, I have plenty of time. “I should be back before we get too busy. If anything comes up before then, you know how to reach me.”

“A’ight.” Luis nods, then mutters something that might be, “It’s your funeral,” under his breath.

That’s not an unreasonable sentiment, given how everything went down between me and Jo last time. And since everyone in Heartwood had front row seats for the fireworks, I’m sure it’s not the last time I’ll hear it, either. Jocelyn Barnes, my former fake bride, is trouble. Always was, probably always will be. Which, truth be told, was one of the reasons I fell for her in the first place. But that’s all in the past—and if I have anything to say about it, that’s exactly where it’ll stay.

Jocelyn

I wishI could think of something profound to say right now. Maybe something along the lines of, “You can’t go home again.” Or “When the good Lord closes one door, you can be sure he’ll open a window somewhere else.” Or even, “When one door closes, open it the fuck up again; that’s how doors work!” I’m feeling some sort of way about being back in Heartwood, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what exactly that way is.

It's not like I’d wiped its dust from my feet and vowed tonevercome back here. But, on the other hand, I guess maybe I’d always hoped I wouldn’t have to. I have too much history here. I made mistakes, didn’t bother to correct them and now it’s too late. But that’s old news, I suppose.

Anyway, I suppose I thought that if I could get myself established and earn enough money, I could somehow convince my aunt to move out to the coast with me. Which, now that I’m back, I’ve already realized was just plain delusional on my part.

Vi’s a stubborn, old bird; she likes it here and she doesn’t intend to move anywhere else—not even for me. But that just adds to the guilt I’m already feeling because I feel like I should have been here when she needed me and I wasn’t.

And, unfortunately for my conscience, here’s something else I’ve figured out within minutes of my return (although, to be honest, I think I always knew it) whether Vi needs me or not, I’m not back for good. I can’t hack it here. There’s no way I’m staying.

I guess I might feel differently if Heartwood had always been my home, but I didn’t so much as step foot in the placeuntil the year I turned twelve. That’s when my parents divorced and commenced waging the reverse custody battle from hell. By which I mean neither of them wished to be saddled with me, but they were equally unwilling to pay the other to do it.

Based on what I overheard my social worker telling one of her colleagues, it was likely I’d be spending the rest of my childhood in state care. But then someone got the bright idea to check and see what other relatives I might have out there. Turns out, there was only one.

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