An unfortunate accident has sent Grace Reeves spiraling out of control. Having lost her voice, as well as her closest friends. , she returns home to recuperate. But as time passes, Grace's family grows concerned with the severity of her depression...
I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder, freeing my hands. With a grin, I ask, "Who is this?"
"A dead man," Aidan replies. There's a loud clang on his end of the line, followed by the buzz from an industrial saw, so I assume he's at work. "I promised Kendall a turkey for Christmas, but I forgot to pick it up. Between the twins, and last-minute gifts, and rubbing Liv's swollen feet, and—"
"Relax," I interrupt, setting two croissants on a plate. "I'll grab one from the store. We should be heading back to New Hope soon. Mallory called Grace to let her know security is stationed at the house."
"I didn't order it from a grocery store." He scoffs, as if the idea is asinine. "I bought one from a farm thirty minutes north of Lancaster."
Because Aidan Reeves consumes meat fresh from the paddock, not the freezer section at the local market.
"Ah, bougie turkey," I state, filling a mug with coffee. "Understood. Just text me the address."
"Thanks, man. I owe you one."
Last night, I spanked your sister, then punched a hole in her cervix—and that's not the first time I've done it. So, we're even.
"No big deal," I say instead, ending the call.
Grace was soaking her sore backside in the clawfoot tub when I left our cabin twenty minutes ago. The main residence has a breakfast spread, but the collection of pastries doesn't meet the nutritional requirements for a professional athlete. I'll settle for a protein bar and a large lunch on the road.
Balancing a tray in my arms, I exit the dining hall. Mrs. Lapp is behind the concierge desk. She gives me a brief smile. Somehow, she knows we moved the bundling board. Her suspicion is evident in her narrowed eyes, and the tightness at the corners of her mouth. Heat rises in my cheek, and I tuck my lips between my teeth, fighting laughter.
On my way to the door, I pass the sitting room—more specifically, the piano. It caught Grace's attention upon our arrival, and I noticed the dismay on her face. I form a plan on my walk back to the cabin.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Grace needs to confront the piano, and whatever it is about the instrument that scares her. Music is her oxygen, her lifeblood. She's been holding her breath all this time, pretending she doesn't need it. She won't feel alive until she sits in front of the keys. If I can just get Grace in the room with the piano...
She could very well destroy it, but I can always write Mrs. Lapp a check.
When I enter the cabin, Grace is pulling a sheer black shirt down over her head. She tucks it into a pair of baggie, acid-washed jeans, then combs her fingers through her damp hair. I set the tray on the bed, popping a raspberry into my mouth.
