Page 13 of A Place Like You

Gael chuckles, shaking his head. “And miss the chance to overhear all your secrets?” A frown creases in his face. “So, what, are you going back to the FBI? Because if that’s what’s happening, I should go back to work too.”

Callahan scrubs his face with both hands. “That’s not what is happening.”

Gael leans casually against the barn wall, crossing his arms. “Then explain because I’m not going to stay here indefinitely while you two resume your regular lives. I have several restaurants that need me, you know?”

Callahan grimaces, like he’s struggling to find the right words. “It’s not that simple. The town clinic needs a doctor. They might hire Drake under a different name, but he’s not leaving. The security company needs more agents—I’m not returning home.”

Gael’s gaze flits between us. “So I’m just left with the bar and the farm?”

“You’re working at the bar?”Callahan asks, an incredulous laugh escaping him.

Gael bristles. “What’s so funny? I can mix rum and Coke, you know?”

Cal’s head wobbles back and forth, a gentle “no” vibrating in his throat. “You and Bach behind the bar? Now there’s a picture I can’t quite bring into focus.” His eyes twinkle with suppressed mirth. “But to each their own.”

Blinking, I absorb this new information. “I understand why this one will go to the bar.” I point at Gael. “I can’t picture the professor working at the bar, though.”

He nods, his grin widening. “Yeah and get this—the coffee shop just hired Mom.”

A stunned silence fills the air as Gael and I exchange a bemused look. “What is she going to do?” we both blurt out simultaneously. The thought of Donna Thorndale working a day in her life seems utterly unimaginable.

I’m tempted to ask Gael if his mother, Flora, is working as well, but I decide not to bother. It’s no secret that his mother and I have never seen eye to eye.

“She’s got a talent for baking,” Cal answers. “They needed someone to assist the baker. Like you, I’m surprised by this new development. I adore my mother, but I can’t quite picture her working.”

A dry laugh escapes me. “So we’re all getting jobs, huh?”

Cal’s attention turns to Gael. “What about Genevieve and Elle? Any plans for them?”

Gael’s response is a noncommittal shrug, but his gaze narrows in a warning. “Don’t lump them together. Gen would hate that.”

“Fuck, this is just like any other family reunion.”I groan, running a hand over my face in exasperation.

“Except this time, we can’t simply make up a lame excuse and leave,” Callahan remarks, a touch of irony in his voice. “We’re all stuck here for years.”

Gael’s eyes go wide, his face twisting into a scowl. “Years? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What about the company? My restaurants? I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Finnegan—”

“I couldn’t care less about Finnegan’s plans. That’s our company.” Gael’s voice is surprisingly hard. His usually laid-back demeanor has completely disappeared.

I bite back a snicker. “Are you and Magnus still fighting to see who’s going to keep control of the company?”

In an instant, the three of us freeze, the weight of our father’s death crashing down on us. We weren’t there for his funeral, the will reading, or any discussions about what should happen to his estate. The realization hits me hard, and a pang of guilt twists in my gut. Not that it matters much to me personally, but I can’t help but think about the countless people whose livelihoods depend on the Thorndale empire.

Cal’s eyes twinkle mischievously as he pats Gael on the shoulder. “It’s a free-for-all between Magnus, Gael, Gen, or Elle, isn’t it?” His smirk says it all. He doesn’t give a fuck about the future of our father’s estate.

“This isn’t a joke. We can’t afford to let the company slip through our fingers,” Gael insists. “And we can’t just let anyone run that company.”

“I’ll touch base with Finnegan. We’ll try to figure out a way for us to retain some control,” Cal reassures him.

This isn’t how Father planned for this to happen. Then again, I doubt he ever envisioned his own death—or that he would be killed. “Have they figured out who killed our father?” I dare to ask.

Cal’s expression darkens as he shakes his head. “No, they haven’t figured out who killed him yet. But Finnegan mentioned something unsettling. According to the FBI, we, his own children, are also suspects in the investigation, especially considering we flew out around the time of his death.”

“You’re saying we’re . . . we’re considered fugitives?” I gawk at him as I struggle to comprehend the magnitude of what he just said.

His lips press together in a grim line before he nods.

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