Queen of the Wood ✅

4 - Old Crushes Renewed

The next morning, I woke up a bit groggy with a headache from crying myself to sleep. I managed to get a bit of rest, but my dreams were yet again plagued by Maeve and that damn night.

Going downstairs, I quickly made up a pot of coffee, surprised Dad wasn't up yet. He had closed down the clinic to focus on Grams' funeral, so was probably taking the opportunity to sleep in. I'm sure the man didn't get much chance for that. He ran one of two doctor offices in town and often did house calls for his older patients outside of work hours.

He used to work in the City, but after Mom and I left, he opened the clinic here to better care for Grams as she got older. I suppose people in town pitied him after Mom and I had abandoned him, which is why he had so much business. Every time I spoke to him, his work schedule was always full.

That or people were really good at compartmentalizing when it came to health care.

Once the coffee was ready, I poured myself a mug and stepped out onto the covered porch encompassing two sides of the house. There was a slight chill to the spring air—enough that goosebumps quickly erupted across my skin but not enough that I wanted to go in and throw on something over my leggings and T-shirt.

I missed this. Nothing but rolling hills and cows in the distance. We had a lot of land—more than most folks around—though I wasn't sure why, considering no one in my family had ever been a farmer. Or well, that wasn't true. Back in the day, I think my great or great-great grandparents had cattle and other animals. But no one recently, at least. Despite the large barn in our backyard, we never had animals, though I begged for a horse my entire childhood.

Our land butted up against the Carlisles, who did have cattle and horses, though they owned a big insurance company that employed half the town.

My heart gave a slight flutter at the thought of the Carlisles. Something so surprising that I jumped, the contents of my mug sloshing around. I hadn't thought of Brett Carlisle in a while, though he had never been far from my thoughts in high school.

My mind conjured up a picture—golden brown, slightly curly hair that flopped onto his forehead, a faded blue DHS football shirt that strained against a chest made hard by sports and working with cattle, and a smile and dimples that could melt just about any hot-blooded teen girl into a puddle on the floor.

I had had a crush on Brett Carlisle since the third grade when he helped me pick up my books outside the school library. Granted, they had been knocked there only seconds before by one of his friends. Though he was decidedly popular (and I was decidedly not), Brett had always been friendly to me. Talked to me whenever we sat near each other in class or nodded hello in the hallways. Obviously, I never told him or anyone other than Maeve about my crush, as that was sure to be social suicide. Someone like me didn't date people like Brett Carlisle.

"I swear to God, if you don't tell him this year, I will..."

"Lady Bug?"

I turned, seeing Dad walk out on the porch, already dressed and ready for the day. His clothes were less wrinkled, and he looked every bit the respectable town doctor.

"Mornin'," I said softly, mustering up a small smile.

"Ya want any breakfast? I can make ya up somethin'."

I considered it. Despite being a stay-at-home mom for most of my life, Mom could never do breakfast like Dad. Probably because he had learned from Grams. Also, since our move to Florida, Mom had cut out anything she deemed unhealthy. Which was pretty much anything Grams had ever cooked.

I hadn't had a good Southern breakfast in a long time. But at the same time, my stomach was churning so much that I didn't think I'd keep it down. It would ultimately end up being a waste of perfectly good food.