Jo snickered. “That sneaky son of a bitch set you up, didn’t he?”
“I always knew I liked him,” Poppy said.
“Pretty sure he did. Although Sophie was there too, which helped. They were baking cookies.”
“Oh my god, that’s so cute.”
“Keaton had on a pink apron and everything.” I chuckled. “Sophie was no better than her daddy—kid guilted me into helping and staying to eat some.”
“But were they good?” Poppy asked.
“They were.”
“Even better. The man makes delicious cookies, is good with kids, and is built like that? Somebody better lock that down,” Poppy said.
“Go right ahead,” I offered. “If you really think he’s on the market.”
“Oh, no. He’s not my type. Too serious.”
I gave her a look. “Too serious?”
“Yeah, too serious. I need somebody with a smarter mouth,” Poppy informed me. “Sarcastic. A little bit Han Solo, a little bit Indiana Jones.”
“So, Harrison Ford?”
“Listen, it’s not my fault Daddy made us watch those movies over and over again when we were little. It gave me unrealistic expectations of the world. It’s been a disappointment ever since I realized men were mostly garbage cans. Present company excluded.”
Grant gave her a nod of thanks but said nothing.
“Anyway,” Poppy continued, “he’s more your type, Daisy.”
“Sorry, I’m cursed,” I said, stuffing a forkful of hashed browns into my gob.
“Are you cursed, or do you just want to avoid getting yourself hurt?” Jo asked.
“Iris Jo,” Mama chided. “You leave her alone.”
I withered at Jo’s suggestion, somehow made worse by Grant’s presence, though I knew he didn’t judge. But that bruise was deep enough that I didn’t want anyone around to witness my reaction to my sister punching it.
I swallowed the rock that my food had petrified into.
“I’m just saying,” Jo nagged, “you and Keaton have plenty in common, on top of being young, hot, and lonely.”
“Thank you for reducing my love life to something so simple,” I snarked. “What would I ever do without you?”
Jo shrugged. “Probably make terrible decisions. We all know you’re the irresponsible one.”
At that, we all chuckled, and Mama stood to pick up plates. Everyone knew I was the one who couldn’t say no and always followed through, leaving me the one holding the bag.
It’d be worse if I minded. It made me feel better about life to help others, to do the things they didn’t want to do. To make their lives easier in an effort to avoid thinking about mine.
“I know you’ve become a believer, Jo,” Mama clucked, “but it wasn’t too long ago that you would have put buckshot into any man’s rear who had the gall to cross our property line.”
“Well, I was wrong.”
Mama turned once the dishes were in the sink and landed a hand on her hip. “So instead of bullying her into not dating, you’re gonna bully her into it?”
Jo shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. But I’m not wrong, and you know it.”
“You always did have a lot of nerve, child.”
“It’s one of my best qualities, I think.”
Mama gave her a look but otherwise let it go, busying herself with dishes. When she walked past me, she laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
“You should just ask him out,” Poppy suggested.
“People don’t just do that, Poppy,” I noted.
“They absolutely do, weirdo. It’s not 1894. You can kiss a boy without marrying him, and you can even vote. What a time to be alive,” Jo said.
I picked up my plate, shaking my head at them. “On that note, I’m late.”
“Seriously,” Jo prodded. “What could dinner hurt?”
“You’re assuming he wants to go out with me.” I scraped my plate off into the trash and put it in the dishwasher.
“Aha! So you’re admitting you’d go out with him?” Poppy asked.
“That’s a stretch.”
“I mean, is it?”
I headed for my purse and grabbed keys to Dad’s truck off the hook. “Y’all need hobbies.”
“Aw, come on, Daisy—”
But I’d already opened the back door and was half out. “Bye.”
I trotted for Dad’s truck, hoping they didn’t follow me as they’d been known to do. Thankfully, I pulled away from the house without interference, heading across the property for the construction site.
It would likely be a day like any other. I’d become a project manager of sorts, working as a liaison between my sisters and the build, as well as taking on tasks at the worksite with Millie as my supervisor. I’d also taken on the interior design of the homes and common spaces, which was almost complete.
In fact, the project was moving so swiftly, I couldn’t believe the progress. Furniture and goods would be delivered next week, and as soon as the community center and facilities were complete, we’d be ready to open our doors.
Building this quickly was unheard of, but thanks to Keaton’s standing not only with vendors, but his family’s clout in town, he’d been able to pull off a miracle. The stars had aligned, and it was all falling into place. Since the initial fight to get our permits, nothing had stood in our way.
It was a streak I should have known wouldn’t last.
As I pulled up to the back entrance of the site, I saw no one was working. But at the front gate near the county road stood a knot of people, split in half by the gate.
When I cut the engine, the sound was replaced with chanting. As I approached, I saw picket signs moving in a circle. Inside the fence were our workers wearing grim looks, many of them the very people those picket signs intended to hurt.
Doug Windley led the charge, bullhorn in hand. Deep down, I knew Doug didn’t really mean to hurt anyone. Putting it simply, he saw the problems and not the people. He saw crime and drugs and people who made bad choices—he shouldn’t have to help someone who made bad choices, should he?—deciding that the best course was to run them out, let them be somebody else’s problem. Sadly, for some of the vagrants in town, that might have been true. You couldn’t help somebody who didn’t want it.
Our success rate might never be high, but if we could help rehabilitate anyone, what a gift that would be.
Keaton stood between the two groups, massive arms folded across his chest. He was made of sharp lines—brow, nose, lips, jaw, all set and fixed on Doug and his picketers.
Braveness came in many forms, but the truth of courage was that the act, whatever it may be, was in defiance of fear. Courage wasn’t being big, looking strong—it wasn’t a matter of being stronger that your opposition. You only had to be stronger than your fear. Doug was afraid for his safety and his town. But despite how brave he thought he was, there was no sacrifice in his actions. It was easy to push them off, let them be some other town’s problem. There was no risk. Only posturing.
Keaton saw it plain as day.
But while Keaton made himself big, made himself strong, he had everything to lose. His business relied on this town, and if half of them boycotted him, he’d have a hard time hanging on to it. Only he didn’t seem to care, not as much as he cared about doing what he thought was right before considering what was right for him.