Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

My sister calls. I ignore it. Rhett calls, and I ignore him too. Even Annabel sends me a text, asking if I’m okay, but I don’t respond. I tell myself it’s because I need to focus on Emma. Then I’ll deal with my fucking family.

But deep down I know I’m just hanging on to my rage for dear life.

I get in bed and wait for sleep to come. It doesn’t. I lie there, the silence so loud it screams.

I’m right back where I started.

Alone.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Emma

The next day is bright and warm. Springtime in the North Carolina mountains, where seventy-degree days follow freak snowstorms, and no one bats an eye.

I’m surprised when Lindsey says she’ll stay another night.

“But don’t you have to work?” I ask, trying valiantly to choke down some cereal. It’s the only thing I have in the house for breakfast, and it’s stale.

But even if it were Samuel’s lemon scones, I don’t think I’d be able to eat. I’m nauseous to the point that I wonder if I’ll be able to make the drive up to Blue Mountain without puking.

“I took a few days off to celebrate my promotion.” She tips back her mug. “Needed to charge my batteries before I dive back in, you know?”

I feel a prick of envy, and not the good kind, either. My sister is taking time off to celebrate moving up in her world, while here I am, free-falling through mine. It’s only a matter of time before I hit rock bottom.

Still, I try my best to put on a brave face.

“Good for you,” I say thickly. “I’ll try to get off as early as I can. I’ll bring home some dinner.”

“I got dinner. I’ll make us something good, okay?” She reaches across the sofa and gives my arm a squeeze. “You got this, Em. It only gets better from here.”

I get in the car and blink back tears. I’m nervous about telling the staff I’m quitting. I’m really nervous about running into Hank.

Most of all, I’m nervous about seeing Samuel.

But crying isn’t going to fix my problems. So on the drive up to the farm, I manage not to puke and come up with a plan instead. I make a mental list of people I can call: former managers and restaurant group heads. My friends at the big box wine store in West Jefferson—maybe I can land there while I figure out my next move. Fellow sommeliers at the top restaurant and wine spots downtown.

Do I want to stay in Asheville, though? I’ve lived in the mountains for more than a decade. I’ve lived in the Carolinas my whole life. I love it here.

But maybe it’s time for a change. Nashville has a booming hospitality scene. There’s always Charleston too. Would it be wrong if I gave Elijah Jackson a call? I could ask Beau if he’d be cool with it.

The freefall happens inside my chest too, when I think about that being the last conversation I have with Beau.

How many more times will I get to drive through the resort’s front gate?

The snow’s melted, except for a few spots in the shade beneath trees and the hollows of hills. Everything is suddenly vibrant green, the sky wide open and clear, a shade of blue so intense it makes your heart turn over to look at it.

The farm glitters beneath the springtime sun. I crack my windows, the smells of grass and earth filling my lungs. Horses in the field to my right toss their manes. Chef Katie’s line cooks are in the enormous garden to my left, baskets on their hips as they gather whatever produce wasn’t squashed by the late spring snow. I wonder what alterations Chef has had to make to tonight’s menu. Did the asparagus make it? If not, what is she subbing in the agnolotti? That Tuscan kale, maybe?

Oooooh, if that’s the case, then that spicy Napa Valley Cabernet Franc would be perfect with it.

I’m gripped by sharp-edged longing. I love my job here.

I love it here, period. So much.

But I can’t stay. If it was meant to be, it would’ve worked out, right?

I want to turn around when the barn comes into view. I may love my job, but I do not love the idea of facing the mess I’ve made. Still, I park in the lot behind the restaurant and march through the door, determined to show up anyway. If I only have two weeks left, I’m going to try to enjoy them. A tall order, considering I’ll have to see the man I love but can’t have every damn day.

Still, I have to try.

Guests are eager to escape their rooms after being cooped up, so we’re slammed right from the get-go. It’s a nice distraction, but my heart is lodged somewhere in my throat as I wait to run into Samuel or Hank or any Beauregard, really.