Page 5 of When Love Found Us
I shake my head. “Something tells me this is more than just about the shop.”
He nods.
“Of course it is. What else do you need?”
“Me?” He shakes his head. “Nothing. I saw how even when you pretend not to give two fucks you care about them—your brothers. It’s family. You didn’t have a great childhood, but maybe you can have a good relationship now that you’re adults.”
I laugh. I seriously laugh at his logic. He’s not the only one obsessed with my relationship with my siblings. Everyone who knows me swears things can get better. Doubtful.
“Give it a try, kid,” he insists. “You prove me wrong, and I’ll actually pay you what you earn for two years.”
“If I do this,” I say slowly, “I do it my way.”
Sanford nods. “Of course.”
“I pick the location. I design the space. No bullshit.”
“No bullshit,” he agrees.
I lean back, exhaling sharply. “Fine.”
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Good. Because I already made some calls.”
I groan, dragging a hand over my face. “Fuck, Sanford.”
He just laughs. “Gotta stay ahead of you, kid. Otherwise, you’d find a way to talk yourself out of it.”
He’s not wrong.
I shake my head and try not to laugh at him. He better start saving money because in two years he’s going to be paying a lot of money and I . . . well, I hope I don’t lose a lot of clients because I’ll be staying in one place.
ChapterTwo
Henrietta (Blythe)
You knowwhat I love about small towns? How the warmth settles into your bones, sticking around like it has every right to—even if you don’t quite belong. Though I adore the picturesque streets or the familiar smiles, that’s not it either. Though those help. It’s the way time stretches a little longer like the world has taken a breath and softened around the edges.
It’s how people pause to talk, share stories, and actually listen. The way they treat strangers—not as temporary visitors, but like long-lost cousins finally returning home.
When I first left my old life behind, I went to South Carolina. My driver wasn’t interested in going all the way to Maryland without charging me a small fortune, so I ended up in a random motel off the interstate. I only stayed there for a week. It was too close, too risky—I didn’t want him to find me.
After that, I drifted north, ending up in Cedar Hollow, West Virginia, where I nearly bumped into one of his associates. One almost encounter was enough to send me fleeing again.
It’s been nearly two months of looking over my shoulder and desperately searching for a place to settle. A place safe enough not just for me, but for . . .
I touch my belly, anxiety stirring inside. A few weeks ago, I found out I’m pregnant. Definitely not something I expected, and one more reason to stay hidden. If Winston ever discovers that I not only dared to leave him but took away his child, he’ll probably kill me.
Now, I’m on my third fake ID, and my savings are dwindling faster than I expected. The jobs I manage to find are decent, but they don’t offer benefits. I need medical insurance. And a salary that will let me afford a small apartment because a child needs more than a room at a modest motel.
I rub the ache from my lower back as I step off the bus, my legs stiff from the endless ride. A soft breeze brushes past, carrying the gentle scent of pine and sun-warmed earth. Grabbing my duffel bag, I pull it tight against my shoulder, feeling the reassuring presence of the few possessions I own—clothes, my battered journal, and a couple of dog-eared books. I’ll probably leave those behind in exchange for pregnancy guides.
Once upon a time, my bedroom was larger than most studio apartments, complete with its own fridge stocked with overpriced water and imported chocolates. Back then, even my snack choices were meticulously curated for appearances. Now, I’m lucky if the motel I crash at has a working air conditioner.
And you know what? I don’t mind. Not really. Sure, the beds are lumpy, and the neon signs buzz annoyingly all night, but there’s something oddly freeing about it. Out here, I’m invisible. Lonely, sure, but at least I can finally breathe. I’m no longer someone else’s pawn or the punching bag of a sociopath.
There’s no more attachment to Winston Reginald Worthington IV. Even his name feels like a slap. I don’t know how I ever said it with a straight face, let alone introduced myself as Mrs. Winston Reginald Worthington IV. Rarely allowed to use my own name—Henrietta. He always made it seem like an afterthought, a mere footnote to his existence.
I twist the fraying strap of my duffel bag around my finger, pulling until it stings—a nervous habit I can’t seem to shake. I know they’re looking for me. My family. Winston’s family. They don’t give up easily. Marrying me off was never about love. It was about mergers, fortunes, and legacies. Things I couldn’t care less about. My father explained it once, going on about securing our empire’s future, but I had already learned how to tune him out. He lost the right to my obedience a long time ago.
