“When was the last time you lived in the same place? No one was suspicious?”
“No one ever asked. As a park ranger, I have to go where the jobs are.”
“I can’t believe you’re married and didn’t tell me.”
“Fake married.”
“Legally married, ” he corrects me.
“Not anymore.”
“Why get divorced now?”
“Isaac is in love and wants to propose to his boyfriend. They’re eloping to Tahiti. That’s why he came here—I needed to sign our divorce papers.”
“Where is he now?” Odin’s shoulders finally relax.
“I told him to find a hotel, back in Atlanta.”
“You made him drive four hours for a hotel?” he asks in disbelief.
“If he stayed anywhere near here, I’d be tempted to go yell at him so more.”
He pauses for a moment. “I understand why you got married. If you signed the papers, then as of today, you’re divorced. That’s all I need to know.” He reaches for my hand and entwines our fingers before kissing my knuckles.
“I’m not mad at him for showing up. I’m happy to officially end the marriage.”
“Then what has you so upset?” His concerned eyes search mine.
“His hillbilly comments were out of line. I don’t know what came over him. He was shunned by his family and ostracized for being gay—he should know better. I’m embarrassed he’d even joke about that.”
Odin squeezes my hand. “Don’t be upset on my behalf. I’ve spent my whole life as the butt of a joke. Even when I worked in the top kitchens in New York, I had to deal with ignorance and stereotypes.”
“Yeah, he changed his tune when he figured out who you are.”
“Who am I?” He cocks his head to the side.
Oops. I’ve just outed myself for snooping.
“Former fancy pants chef? That’s what Isaac said, something about having a star. He has a major foodie crush on you.” I give an exaggerated shrug to defend my innocence.
“He shared all this with you this afternoon?” Doubt is written all over his face.
“Okay, fine … I looked you up online when we first met.” I’m disappointed in how easily I fold.
Odin lifts his brow in surprise. “You did? Why?”
“Curiosity. Suspicion. Boredom.”
“Interesting. And what did you find out about me?” He’s not angry; if anything, he’s amused.
“I freaked out when I saw how many results there were for your name. I only read one headline.” I cringe and use my water as a distraction, taking long gulps until the glass is empty.
“Let me guess—it had something to do with me and Tony. Was it the one about me sleeping with his widow or my arrest on drug charges?”
“You slept with his widow?” I fail to hide my shock.
“No, we had dinner together after the funeral. The paps framed the shot so it appeared to be only the two us. And the drug charges? They were dropped, but it made for an excellent click-bait headline, which is why it continues to circulate on various websites. Don’t believe what you read online.”
“I didn’t.”
“Your investigation into my illegal park activities wasn’t inspired by reading that headline, was it?” He leans forward until his elbows rest on his knees.
I scrunch up my eyes and pinch my index finger and thumb together with a tiny gap. “Maybe a little bit. Can you forgive me?”
“Already done.” He gazes at me with love in his eyes.
I exhale with relief. “How are you so understanding?”
“Because I know your true character and I love you. Love means accepting imperfections in ourselves and others. We’re all worthy of love.”
“I love you.” I mean it with my whole heart.
“And I love you.” He rises and lifts me from my chair. He wraps his arms around my waist, and I circle my arms over his shoulders. Our gazes interlock. His is full of love, and a little lust. “Any other confessions or can we return to our earlier plans of spending the day in bed together?”
“Prepare yourself—I think Isaac’s going to invite himself to Thanksgiving. I told him maybe next year.”
“Can’t wait.” He kisses the corner of my jaw. “If he asks what we’re having, tell him possum.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Odin
Daphne’s revelations about her upbringing and marriage to Isaac surprised me but didn’t change how I feel about her.
We all carry a lifetime of secrets within ourselves.
Today I’m going to reveal another one of mine.
When I turn onto the logging road, she frowns. “I’ve already been to the orchard.”
“Our destination is different today.”
Unlike the sunny October day I first brought her out here, the mid-November afternoon is freezing and damp. Fog clings to the trees in droplets. The contrast between the types of weather makes the span of time between the two dates feel longer than it appears on the calendar.
Roman bounces around in his crate, excited, and Patsy snorts and sniffs the air. She knows where we’re going and why.
“Yes, I’m a farmer. Yes, I forage for wild edibles. However, this is where I make my money.”
“In an old filbert grove? How many hazelnuts can you get off of these old trees? The going price must be exceptionally high if you’re making money.”
“It’s not what’s above the surface that matters as much as what’s below it.” I point to the ground. “Do you know what’s beneath your feet?”
“Grass, soil, roots, rocks, insects, for starters, magma if you want to get really deep.” She stares at the tip of my mud-covered boot.
“I really do love you even when you’re being snarky.” I kiss her temple close to the ribbed edge of her knit hat.
“I think you love me even more because of my snark.”
That’s true and I won’t bothering denying it.
“Between your foot and the magma, what else do we have?”
“Dead things?”
“Also probably true.”
“Where are you going with this? Is there a body buried here?” She lifts one foot and then the other, peering at the dirt.
“Could be. Unmarked graves exist all over these mountains. Sometimes the headstones get removed or stolen, but the grave remains.”
“I knew that. People love visiting the cemeteries in the park and reading the epitaphs. I find them depressing. Too many children died as babies or at an early age.”
“Life in the Smokies was hard. Still is today.”
“Especially when your boyfriend drags you outside in the cold to play a guessing game of ‘What’s beneath my feet?’ Buried treasure? Archeological artifacts? Who can say?” She gives an exaggerated shrug.
I make a buzzer noise. “Wrong answer.”
“What’s the right answer?” She blows on her gloved hands.
“Mycelium.”
“Mushrooms? We’re out here because of fungus?”