Page 7 of Sunny Skies Ahead
Ihadleft Watford. And ruined my life in the process.
Cassie didn’t know all of it, not in the way Abbie did. There was a part of me that didn’t want Cassie to know just how bad things had gotten.
If I was honest with myself, it was easier to be angry. I could hide behind the anger. It was the embarrassment of knowing that Cassie had seen who my ex-husband was long before I did. Cassie had tried to warn me how men could be; that marriage wasn’t something to rush into.
I’d gotten married anyway, convinced that my older sister and my best friend were wrong to have misgivings about him.
Anger, I’d learned, was far easier to deal with than self-hatred. Which is probably why I didn’t hesitate to launch into berating Cassie for choices she could make as a grown woman. It was also why Cassie and I’s relationship was fraying. She was angry at me for not listening to her, and I was angry because if I had listened to her, maybe, just maybe, what happened next wouldn’t have occurred.
“The answer is you could come home. You could, but you’re choosing not to. I wish you would just be honest instead of throwing around excuses.”
Another lengthy pause. I set my jaw forward and turned off the stovetop, moving the saucepan to the middle burner.
“Why are you harping on this?” Cassie said. “This new job is at a huge firm. It’s important for my career, and I just started it last week, Imogen. I understand how important this is to you, and I’m so happy for Abbie and Connor. I’m glad the two of them found their way back to each other. While I can’t be there in person, I’ll make every effort to show my support in other ways.”
More corporate lawyer speak. That was all I got from my sister these days; roundabout answers that led nowhere, pretty words that added up to nothing.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, more harshly than I meant to. The timer went off for the garlic bread in the oven. “We’ll catch up another time. I hope you have a good week.”
“Imogen—”
I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the countertop. I didn’t have time to deal with Cassie’s crap today. I’d taken a risk by calling her, but I’d hoped a direct conversation might change her mind.
Cassie had been someone I looked up to my entire childhood. Her work ethic was something I wanted to emulate. My parents rejoiced when she was admitted to law school after college. And when she moved away, I’d naively thought things would be the same between us.
They had never been the same. The more time passed, the further the distance between us grew. When I told her I was marrying Jacob, she’d told me not to, and laid out all the reasons I should tell him to kick rocks.
Cassie’s lack of effort to come home for Connor and Abbie’s wedding didn’t surprise me. I’d expected that answer when I’d picked up the phone. But her ‘no’ still cut deeply, mainly because she hadn’t been home in years. Nothing was ever important enough for her to come back here.
Not even me.
Cassie had always set her dreams on Seattle. She’d always wanted to move out of Watford. I shouldn’t be mad at my sisterfor achieving her dreams. Especially not when she wasn’t the person I was truly mad at.
Everyone around me kept moving forward while I was stagnating. I had the homestead, but it wasn’t the same anymore. I did the same things day in and day out. While such a rhythm used to be calming, these days, it wasn’t.
“Trouble in paradise?”
I spun around to find Kameron Miller standing in my kitchen with a paper bag in his hand. The skirt of my sundress swung with the motion, and Kameron’s eyes tracked the movement before averting his eyes.
Kameron had gotten his haircut recently. The low fade of black hair contrasted with his beard, which was longer than usual, but still neatly trimmed. He had cuffed the sleeves of his crisp, linen button-up shirt at the elbows, boot cut jeans that clung to his body in all of the right places. He was always so put together, steady and unflappable, in the way he dressed, and the way he carried himself.
I sometimes suspected someone sent this man here to tempt me. Kameron was dark-haired, but not the stereotypical, over-the-top, brooding type. He radiated authenticity and generosity. He was honest and kind, and that was a dangerous combination for me.
I turned away, turning off the oven timer and grabbing a potholder to remove the pan of garlic bread. If there was one thing my grandmother had taught me about feeding a crowd, it was that spaghetti and meatballs were the easiest, cheapest way to do so. The latter was less of a concern witheveryone pitching in, but I wasn’t the person who wanted to spend the day slaving away in the kitchen.
“I wouldn’t call dealing with my emotionally detached older sister paradise.”
Kameron hummed in acknowledgment.
“I don’t have any siblings, so I can’t relate on the sister front, but I do have experience dealing with emotionally detached people.”
I shrugged, placing the hot pan on the side of the oven not currently covered by a saucepan holding marinara or spaghetti. The meatballs had finished cooking just before I put the garlic bread in and they were now resting on the counter beside the stove.
“What can I do to help?” Kameron asked.
I lowered the heat on the saucepan even more and grabbed the pot of spaghetti, preparing to strain it.
“Could you grab plates, please? They’re—”
