Page 51 of Always Meant for You
Leaving New York wasn’t a choice. It was a collapse. Chelsea’s disappointment and Lucce’s final glare had been bad enough. But they didn’t come close to the moment I hugged Lily goodbye. I could still hear her voice, trembling when I told her I didn’t know when I’d be back. I could still see her face—wide-eyed and guarded—the look of someone who’d been promised too many things that never came true.
And the bus ride?
Twenty-six hours of trying not to fall apart. I stayed awake the whole time, jittery from vending machine Diet Cokes, flipping through torn magazines at rest stops, pretending each page could distract me from everything I’d lost. I kept my phone off. I didn’t log into any of my Bella Mae social media accounts.I can’t. It hurts thinking about it. What’s left is loose change in my wallet and a credit card balance I can’t bring myself to check.
I thought I’d bottomed out somewhere in Indiana, stuck beside a guy clipping his toenails into a Pringles can.
Turns out, there’s a whole new level of fresh hell waiting for me here.
I close my eyes, trying to find steady ground and failing.
Work for Cal?
That can’t be right.
What would I do for Cal?
I study my father’s stoic expression.
“I must’ve misunderstood. Do you want me to work for Cal?” My voice stays light, but it takes effort. “We didn’t talk much on the phone,” I continue. “I came home to figure out what’s next for me and my career.”
He doesn’t blink. “Do you want to stay here?”
I dial up the charm. “Yes, sir. I do.”
He looks at the ground and kicks a stone. “Then you work. It’s a farm.”
I inhale a whiff of goat manure. Oh, yeah, I know this is a farm.
I shift the casserole dish in my arms. “I can work for you. Help around the house. Cleaning. Dusting. A little laundry.”
He shakes his head. “No. You’ll work for Cal.”
Either I’m losing my grip on reality, or everyone here’s gone completely off the rails.
Maybe it’s the country air. Maybe I’m delirious from the casserole fumes. Which—God help me—smells oddly comforting. Or maybe I’ve cracked from the country silence. I haven’t heard a city siren or car alarm in hours.
My stomach grumbles.
When was my last real meal?
The whole world feels blurry. I’m seconds away from either passing out or screaming into the sky.
I focus on my father.
“Dad, I don’t understand. Why would you want me to work on the Horner farm? How do you even have any say? Did Cal put you up to this?”
I meet Cal’s gaze. He’s trying to hide it, but I can tell from the set of his jaw, he’s as caught off guard.
“Can one of you help me out?” I press, halfway to losing my mind.
Cal adjusts the crate in his arms. “I’m heading home, Mr. Muldowney. I’ll let you two talk.”
But he doesn’t return to his truck.
He heads toward Jamie’s cottage.
My jaw nearly hits the ground. “Where is he going, Dad?”
