Page 5 of Nashville Lights

Stepping back into the Boones’ huge kitchen feels like time-traveling. I’m suddenly fifteen again. The wooden floorboards creak in the same places they used to, the smell of fresh-baked cornbread and hot coffee fills the air, and there’s that familiar, homey chaos of a family living out loud.

I lean against the counter, feeling the texture of the worn wood beneath my palm, and for the first time in months, I let myself finally relax. If I close my eyes, I could be back in the middle of one of those golden childhood summers with all nine of us Boone and Tucker kids tumbling in and out of the back door for lemonade and fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, a whirlwind of knobby knees and skinned elbows.

We spent those summers running through the fields, leaving laughter tangled in the cornstalks, and conquering the creek like small, soggy overlords, crowning ourselves with wreathes of leaves and making pets out of frogs who didn’t hop away quick enough. When the evenings came around, lazy and low, our skin tingling from the sun’s kisses, we’d all pile onto the porch with its big table laid out with mountains of home-cooked food, finally sitting still long enough to eat some of Betty-Ann and Aunt Lou’s fried chicken, potato salad and apple pie. Then we’d stay up late telling ghost stories until us Tuckers were occasionally ushered back to our beds next door—except for all the nights I’d stay in Dakota’s room because we couldn’t bear to be separated. Or the many, many nights we all camped out on the front lawn or swung hammocks from the rafters (depending on whether we were pirates or cowboys that day).

As I look around the kitchen, Luke and Leo are just coming in the back door, kicking off their work boots,looking wholesome and wide-shouldered, their shirts and windblown hair both dotted with errant pieces of hay.

“Well, if it isn’t Roxie Tucker,” Luke drawls, his familiar grin lighting up his face. “Come over here and hug your second favorite Boone.”

Leo nudges Luke out of the way and gets to me first. “That would be me,” Leo laughs and I can’t help laughing along with him. The two of them are tall, strapping, good-looking country boys and I have no doubt they have half of Sugar Falls county drooling over them both.

After the hugs have been attended to, the two of them pick right back up into the playful debate they were having over who’s the better grill master. The twins share one of the cottages on the farm, which is within easy walking distance of the main house. Despite their debate about grilling, I have no doubt they reliably turn up to Betty-Ann’s table every mealtime.

“Everyone knows my ribs are the talk of Sugar Falls,” Luke boasts.

Leo shakes his head. “Keep dreaming, brother. Last time you tried to grill, the fire department had to get involved.”

I see Tobias coming through the hallway door. “Hey, Rox.” I get yet another heartfelt bearhug.

I hold his burly shoulders and look up at him. With his light brown hair and bright hazel eyes, he and Dakota could easily have passed for another set of twins. He used to be a skinny little freckle-faced kid, but Tobias has gotten tall andfilled out a lot over the past few years. “Wow, look at you,” I beam. “When did you get sohot?”

Tobias grins. “I’ve always been hot. And when didyouget so seriously gorgeous? Holy fuck, girlfriend.”

“Tobias Boone,” Betty-Ann scolds him softly, but there’s more love than heat in it.

Tobias is the second youngest Boone sibling, just a year older than Dakota and me.

Even when we were very young children, Tobias always preferred playing with us girls, rather than his older brothers. Dakota and I were tomboys but we still occasionally dressed up in tutus and pink costumes whenever the game of make-believe we were playing called for it. And Tobias was right there with us.

We all knew and accepted from the word go that Tobias was gay and it never felt like a thing that had to be worried about or questioned. It made me love the Boone family even more, that they fully embraced this part of Tobias with their characteristic whole-hearted love and good humor. Even in a small Tennessee community like Sugar Falls, especially all those years ago, the Boones celebrated Tobias, occasionally teasing him in the same, good-natured way they teased each other, and Tobias was encouraged to fully bloom into his true self.

Now, I keep in touch with Tobias almost as much as I do with Dakota. When I’m on the road or feeling overwhelmed by life, our group chats are often the one thing that keep me sane.

Betty-Ann was always thrilled by Tobias’s flair in the kitchen. Slightly dismayed that none of her other children had any interest in cooking, baking or spending much time indoors at all except to eat and sometimes sleep, Tobias was always creating culinary masterpieces. But he would never follow the recipes. He always embellished and made them his own. So instead of homemade biscuits, we’d have “mixed berry cornmeal biscuit shortcakes with macerated fresh berries served with homemade vanilla and lemon zest whipped cream,” or something equally over the top.

We always knew that one day he’d become a chef or start his own restaurant, so I’m excited to hear more about his and Dakota’s plans for their “farm-luxe chic” restaurant and B&B.

I notice then there’s a little girl sitting quietly at the table, coloring. She watches me with huge blue eyes as Tobias releases me from his hug.

“This must be Daisy,” I say gently.

Tobias goes over and picks the little girl up. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Daisy,” he says, “this is Roxie. She used to practically live with us every summer when we were all about the same age as you are now. Roxie, meet Daisy.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Daisy.”

Daisy leans closer to Tobias and whispers, “She’s pretty.”

Tobias grins. “Yes, she is. And she’s nice too. Do you want to show Roxie what you’re coloring?”

The little girl nods and I sit down next to her as Tobias places her carefully back in her chair.

“This is so beautiful, Daisy,” I say. She’s coloring a picture of a butterfly. “Is pink your favorite color?” It’s a safe guess, since the entire butterfly is pink.

She looks up at me with those wide blue eyes and barely nods.

“Mine too,” I tell her.

She notices the necklace I’m wearing. A gold butterfly, as it turns out.

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