Page 24 of Single-Minded
I’d been feeling squirmy since we’d all sat down. Though the Henrys were one big, happy family, there were five distinct subgroups made of a couple and a kid, or in Seth and Everly’s case, a baby bump in her belly.
I found it fascinating to witness the dynamics in all five couples. They seemed to have actual partnerships.
We’d never done those in the Holiday family. My dad had been controlling, domineering, and abusive, physically to my mom and emotionally to my sister and me. My sister had married a clone of our father when she was twenty. Her marriage wasn’t a happy one, but she stayed with the jerk for the sake of her kids. She and I weren’t very close, in part because she lived in Denver and in part because she didn’t like me asking why she didn’t take the boys and leave, the way our mother finally had.
I was absolutely fine with being single and had never aspired to get married. Today, though, I couldn’t help noticing I was the oddball, the extra. Maybe it was because Dragonfly Lake was my home now. I wasn’t a visitor anymore. I lived here just like all these people, yet not like these people because I existed on my own in an oversized house. A house that was going to be amazing, I reminded myself, and big enough that I could invite the whole Henry clan over at once. I might be alone, but I didn’t have to be lonely.
As the five sisters-in-law discussed diaper sizes, I scanned the square, checking out the crowd of people and—okay, if I was honest with myself—maybe looking for West. Just to get a look from afar.
When I tuned in to the Henry conversation again, I realized the men were taunting Seth about how he’d handle Everly being in labor. I laughed as they turned to giving Holden a hard time about his wreck after Chloe’s water broke, which had resulted in me giving them a ride to the Nashville hospital. That had been a true test of my driving skills—particularly in avoiding being pulled over for speeding—and I’d gotten them there in the nick of time.
These families were all about babies right now—having them, expecting them, probably making more. I was definitely living a different kind of life.
“I’m going to explore the booths,” I told Chloe, then disappeared quietly, leaving them all to their family-centric discussions.
Earlier I’d noticed there was a boat company manning a booth, giving out info on their line of boats. Dragonfly Lake was a tourist town in the summer. Apparently festivals like this one and their Christmas parade drew people from all over the state and beyond. It was a captive audience for people who probably loved the outdoors, so it made sense to pitch boats.
It made just as much sense that I was considering buying a boat. I never in a thousand years would’ve dreamed I’d want one, but then again, I’d never considered I might be living on a lakeshore in a small town, in a career besides finance either. All I’d been able to see before was my all-consuming job and my drive to succeed at it.
I still wasn’t sure I wanted a boat, but if it could become a hobby or a way to relax, I was all ears. Gardening was a fail, and yoga wasn’t going well so far.
The two older guys at the boat booth were happy to have someone approach them willingly, it seemed. I told them I was new to town but had a dock and a boathouse. They stood up straighter as they sailed right into their pontoon pitch.
I took their brochures, my mind swimming with possibilities as I thanked them and headed for the food truck I’d spotted earlier that sold deep-fried cookie dough.
As I waited for my basket of sweetness, I took in the chaos of the festival, thinking this was my town now. I wasn’t a visitor. What a self-inflicted curveball. Not necessarily in a bad way, just unexpected. I was still playing mental catch-up from all the changes.
I observed the nearby booths, most of them crowded with people. There were booths selling every imaginable use of honeysuckle—jam, infused water, body lotions and soaps, supplements, candy, tea, which I made a note to look into offering in my shop for noncoffee drinkers, and more. Several tents housed carnival games and kids’ activities, and there was a section called the Market, which included the weekly farmers market stands as well as others selling handmade goods.
One of the corner tents had a long line of people coming from it. I craned my neck to read the sign and grinned—llama photo ops. Ben Holloway, the town vet and owner of the llama who frequently escaped and hoofed it to the bakery for her favorite cookies, had to be behind that.
“Only in Dragonfly Lake,” I said to myself, deciding then and there that I needed a pic with the rebellious llama. It’d be a statement to myself that I belonged here now. I was a local.
As I took in the row of kids’ activities, my gaze stopped abruptly. West stood in profile, his arms crossed, a grin on his face as he watched two of his girls sitting in elevated chairs, having their faces painted. One of the twins stood in front of him, watching her sisters intently.
At that moment, as if he felt my attention on him, he turned my way. Even though he was several booths away, our eyes met, and a rush of lightness swooped through my chest. The cookie-dough vendor called my name then, drawing my attention away. I stepped up to the window, took my dessert and some napkins, and made my way toward West and his daughters, telling myself I needed help eating the fried balls of dough with the chocolate frosting drizzle.
I was on a mission to be healthier, after all.
Laughing to myself, I fully acknowledged that was only a fraction of my reason for heading toward my handsome contractor.
West
When Presley broke eye contact and stepped up to the food truck’s window, I turned my attention back to my kids.
Nova was admiring the llama on her cheek in a hand mirror as Scarlet’s artist put the finishing touches on her llama. Sienna was staunchly against having anything painted on her face, holding her position even as she stood at my side and watched the whole process.
Nova hopped down, and I tipped her artist. As both girls watched the final additions to Scarlet’s face, I glanced toward the food truck where I’d seen Presley.
Eventually it registered that Presley was on her way toward us, her eyes intent on me, a smile on her beautiful face. Today she was dressed in a loose, halter-style tank with the thinnest string holding it up, tying at the back of her neck, leaving no room for a bra, making me do a double-take at her tits. She must have a strapless one on, I decided after more analysis than was polite, then found I was torn between being glad she wasn’t allowing that kind of view for just anyone and disappointed she wasn’t for my sake. Her shorts were short, baring her perfect legs that I’d imagined wrapped around me more than once in the past week.
I cleared my throat and looked back at Scarlet as she inspected her face painting in the mirror and squealed with satisfaction. She squirmed down from the high chair and tried once again to convince her twin to get a matching llama on her cheek, but Sienna shook her head resolutely.
“Hello,” Presley said, suddenly at my side.
“Hey, look who it is, girls,” I said as if I was surprised to see her. In truth, I’d kept an eye out for a glimpse of her since we’d arrived. “Remember Miss Presley?”
“Miss Presley, we got face paint,” Scarlet said.
