“If you’re trying to make me a vegetarian, it’s working.”
He laughed again, kicking aside weeds as he dropped to his haunches to brush unburned twigs into the fire pit. “Nah, just showing you real life. You’re different from most people, Hope. You weren’t born to this life, yet you’re happier here than the locals. You’re strong, quick thinking, and not afraid to get your hands dirty.”
I flushed with pride.
I hadn’t worked my butt off for Jacob to be proud of me. I’d done it because it’d made me proud of myself. But I also couldn’t deny I liked him looking at me this way—full of awe and friendship and…affection.
But then the look was gone as he cleared his throat and moved toward his discarded backpack, his hands blackened with soot. “It does make me wonder, though.”
“Wonder what?” My boots crunched as I followed.
“Wonder if Cherry River had been a farm that raised stock for slaughter, would you have accepted this world so easily.”
I froze. “I-I never thought about that.”
He pulled out a large nylon tent and shook it open. “Don’t you find it funny that all we farm is grass and keep rescues?”
“No. Because like I said, I didn’t think about it.”
“There’s plenty of money in grass, don’t get me wrong. We ship up and down the country. But there’s money in meat too. But Grandpa John has never been in the business of killing. I think it was my grandmother Patricia who said he could never raise animals if they were destined for a plate.”
Taking off my own bag, I went to help Jacob spread out the tent on a flattened section of earth beneath a tree with bushy branches. “I like the sound of this Patricia.”
“Yeah, me too.” His eyes grew soft. “She died. Like everyone does.” His gaze flashed dark as he forced himself to stay present and not slip into grim memories. “Did you know your grandparents…before they died in that car crash?”
“How did you know they died?”
He snorted. “Google.”
“Ah.” I rolled my eyes. “So you’ll also know Dad sold me as a concubine to a big-shot director for a role?”
“There was a lot of bullshit about you online, that’s true.”
“Meh, I don’t care.” Answering his previous question, I said softly, “I didn’t meet my grandparents before they died. It’s just been Dad and me for a very long time.”
“Do you miss your mother?”
Even though I’d grown used to Jacob asking me questions about myself over the past few weeks and the intense way he pocketed my answers—as if he kept all trivia about me for safe-keeping—I flinched at that one.
My fingers found their way to wrap around my locket where the remaining piece of her lace lived.
His gaze followed, but he stayed silent.
“I think I miss the idea of her more than I miss her.” I glanced away, hating myself, but for the first time, I was ready to be honest. Brutally honest. “Dad loved her. I know that. But I don’t know if she loved him the same way. My memories are starting to fade, leaving only the loudest moments, and unfortunately, those moments were of her screaming at Dad about petty things.” I glanced at the dirt under my nails from harrowing yesterday. “I-I don’t like that I look like her. I don’t want to be that cruel to anyone or that unhappy with life.”
Jacob stopped moving, giving me his full concentration. “You’re not cruel.”
“I know.” I nodded. “But sometimes, I have to work extra hard not to be ungrateful like she was. She had everything in the world. Everything society said she should want anyway—rich and famous with a cute daughter and a handsome husband—but it wasn’t enough. That greed to find something that would make her happy is what killed her in the end.”
Jacob released the tent and came slowly toward me.
I sucked in a breath as he cupped my hand locked around my locket. His grip was dry and warm and protective. His eyes danced over mine. His height shadowed me from the dappling light around us.
For the longest moment, he stared. Stared deep, deep into me, giving me no place to hide. I felt judged and studied and known. And when his fingers tugged the chain around my neck, I moved like liquid into him.
There were no bones left in my body, only malleable willingness to go wherever he wanted because he didn’t see a girl born to acting royalty, or a starlet who had money and a career just waiting to unfold at her feet. He saw me grubby and slightly sweaty in the middle of a forest and knew I wasn’t lying.
Knew I wasn’t lying when I said this—this place, this magical place—made me content.
And that made me happy because it meant I wasn’t like my mother at all. Not even a little bit. Because every day the sun woke me up, I was grateful. Every night I went to bed, I was thankful.