Page 23 of One Touch

“Sorry I’m late!” Annie burst through the door, several bottles of wine tucked under her arms and her wild copper hair lifting in the breeze. She blew it out of her face and grinned widely. “I brought booze to make up for it!”

I laughed as Annie was welcomed in with smiles and raised plastic cups. She made her way around the small shop, saying hello and depositing bottles of wine around the room like a flittering little woodland sprite.

When she got to me, she plopped down on the chair beside me with a grunt. “Ooof. This day.”

“Long one?” I asked, handing her the bottle opener to my right.

“Slow, which is so much worse.” Annie was a local artist—pottery, painting, glass blowing, mosaics. She was deeply talented but sometimes lamented that it was difficult to stand out and sell pricey custom art in a tourist town littered with stores selling steeply discounted trinkets. Still, she refused to discount her art, and I applauded her for standing her ground.

“I had plenty of time to flip through social media.” She bumped her shoulder with mine. “Look at you going viral.”

Heat crept up my cheeks. In the time since I’d randomly started documenting the farmhouse renovation, the followers to my page just kept flooding in. Every post or reel I put up got hundreds, eventhousands, of views, likes, and comments. I was even getting sponsorship requests almost daily. It was hard to wrap my head around.

“It’s strange, but fun and exciting. I love documenting the whole thing, but I think mostly people just like the fact that I objectify Beckett.”

Annie laughed. “Oh, and you don’t enjoy it?”

“I like to push his buttons, and posting half-naked pictures of him does the trick. Besides, he hasn’t objected to the people who are now vying for the Brutish Builder to do a little custom handiwork.”

“Bet you wouldn’t mind a littlecustom handiwork.” She wiggled her eyebrows and stifled a grin as she sipped her wine.

My face twisted. “Ew. Annie, no. Besides, he’s my ex’sbrother. And an asshole, remember?” I lifted a finger to emphasize my point.

“Whatever, Declan was a spineless dog. He missed out on what an absolute treasure you are. Doesn’t mean Beckett is that dumb.”

I shook my head. The whole conversation was absolutely absurd. “Can you imagine—showing up at a Miller family party as Beckett’s date?” I scoffed and ignored the warm tingle that the image drummed up.

“Serves the bastard right for what he did to you.”

I swallowed a large gulp of water, emptying my cup. “This conversation is over. The only thing between Beckett and me is a house renovation and mutual, petty annoyance.”

Annie clicked her tongue. “If you say so ...”

“Hey, gals.” MJ King leaned over from the conversation she was having with her older sister, Sylvie.

I offered the youngest King girl a small, polite smile. She was a nurse at Haven Pines, where my dad lived due to his worsening illness. Shame flooded me, as I couldn’t remember the last time I’d visited him. I was sure she had noticed, but seeing Dad was just ... hard.

While the King women and their relatives were mostly tolerable, there was no denying that the Kingmenwere not. Broody, heartless businessmen. More than once they’d tried to sweep in on our farm like vultures during the lean years. Duke would never have it. Neither would the rest of us, but if Sullivan Farms ever landed in the hands of a King, it would truly break my oldest brother.

Generations of Sullivans and Kings goading and one-upping each other meant even the women weren’t ever truly friends. Despite being tucked inside the walls of Bluebird Books, tensions sometimes simmered.

Poor, sweet MJ often acted as the go-between.

“Is JP okay?” Fine, I felt alittlebad about the whole mystery cricket thing.

MJ laughed. “He’s fine. But I doubt he’ll be camping anytime soon. Even real cricket sounds are freaking him out right now.”

I gave her a smile that was a bit more like a grimace. “I swear ... I was an unwilling accomplice.”

Sylvie lifted a shoulder in dismissal as she overheard our conversation. She was the coldest of the King women, often scurrying off to the back kitchen at the Sugar Bowl, where she worked, whenever we came in for baked goods or coffee. Why she worked there despite the owner Huck making it a point to not take sides in the town feud was beyond me.

We all knew how the back-and-forth of pranks between the Sullivans and Kings played out. It was only a matter of time before the Kings found a way to get us back. Mostly it was playful and harmless. Sometimes a prank would bruise an ego, and it would come to blows outside the Grudge. The small scar above Lee’s left eye was a testament to that––it had also prompted a strict no-hits-to-the-face policy.

We all knew the stories—the Kings had wronged the Sullivans all those years ago, but Amos King made it monumentally worse.

Annie whispered and pulled me out of my wandering thoughts.

“Hey, speaking of Lee ... he was asking what book we were talking about tonight, so if he mentions it, just sayInterview with the Vampire.”

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