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As much as I was going to miss Aunt Rhonda and, of course, Harlan, I was also going to miss Nadia, Ashley, Zoe, Reagan, Skylar, Cheyenne, and Isabella. Not to mention everyone at Southern Comfort. I’d spent quite a few evenings hanging out at the bar with Davina, Phil, Lydia, and Ernie over the past couple of weeks since it was the only source of nightlife in town, and I’d grown close to Ray, who had worked at the bar and lived above it for the past forty years, Kevin Bacon the Insta-famous pig, and even Skittles the foul-mouthed parrot.
My heart was heavy as I pushed myself out of bed and headed down the hallway to the bathroom. It wasn’t the only thing that felt weighed down. All of my limbs were equally dense as I showered, dried my hair, and brushed my teeth.
After I threw on my comfy travel clothes—yoga pants, an oversized long-sleeve shirt, and slip-on tennis shoes—I grabbed my phone to check into my flight. My heavy heart sank like the Titanic when I saw there were no messages from Harlan. Onceagain, he’d respected my boundaries. It was a quality I’d always claimed I wanted in a man, and now that I found the man who possessed that trait, irritatingly so, I was leaving.
Despite the fact that I was running late, I glanced out the window and saw that a Farm Strong session was in full swing. Harlan stood in sweatpants, the same pants I’d seen him in the first day I’d been there, a white T-shirt with his whistle hanging around his neck, supervising a group that was moving bales of hay.
I couldn’t help but notice the way that the women in the class were looking at him as they walked past like they were starving and he was a filet mignon. They were eyeing him up and down like a prime piece of meat. I also took note of the extra sway in their hips when they were in his eyeline—the flirty glances over their shoulders as they bent over to pick up hay bales.
Harlan stood stoically with his arms crossed, surveying the class. His aviator glasses and the distance made it impossible for me to be certain, but if I had to put money on it, I would say that the ladies’ “charms” were wasted on him. He’d mentioned that he would never date a client, and he was a man of his word. In the past few weeks, the time we’d spent together hadn’t been enough that I could attest to his character. But he’d grown up in Firefly, and everyone had the same things to say about him. He was honest, hard-working, dedicated to his family, and a man of his word.
Those were things I’d observed but couldn’t know for certain in such a short amount of time. What I did know with absolute certainty was that he was funny, charming, protective, and could make me come faster than I’d ever known was humanly possible.
He was perfect…except for the tiny detail that he wanted a wife, kids, and to live the rest of his life in Firefly on his family farm.
My problem was, as I stood staring down at him, the thought of being the woman he settled down with sounded tempting. More than tempting. It sounded like it was everything I never knew I always wanted.
But that wasn’t real. That was old Daphne. She morphed into whoever her partner wanted her to be. I couldn’t do that anymore. I had to stay strong. Just not Farm Strong.
Tears began to fill my eyes, but I sniffed back the emotion as I took in a trembling breath. “Bye, Harlan.”
On the way down the steps, I shook my head in irritation at myself. I didn’t even know Harlan Mitchell existed a few weeks ago, and now I was getting choked up because I was leaving him. I was imagining white picket fences, a golden retriever dog, and Harlan chasing our son around the farm as our daughter sat on his shoulders.
Stop,I chided myself.This is ridiculous.
I just needed to get back to California. To my life. To my career. That was what was important. Not Harlan Mitchell. Or this small town filled with amazing people who made up an incredible support system.
My eyes were still misty as I grabbed my bags and waddled my way down the stairs. As happy as I was that I was an overpacker, the transporting of said overpacked luggage was not always the most fun. As I reached the bottom step, I set my suitcases, carry-on, and tote bag beside the front door and called out, “Aunt Rhonda!”
When I didn’t hear an answer, I walked to the back of the house and glanced around the kitchen. There was no sign of her there. I checked the sunroom and her sewing room. Empty.
I walked back into the kitchen and realized that her coffee cup wasn’t sitting in the dish rack drying. She always had a cup in the morning, rinsed it out, put it in the rack, and then put it back on the shelf after her lunch. I glanced over and saw thecoffee pot was full, which meant she must have come down and started it. She had an old-school coffee maker, one that didn’t have a timer.
Maybe she’d been tired and gone back up to bed for a little bit. I went back upstairs and knocked on her bedroom door, which was ajar. It swung open with a creak to reveal her bed was made and her slippers were not sitting beside her nightstand, which meant she was wearing them. I checked the bathroom and didn’t see any signs that she’d gotten ready for the day. The tiles in the shower were dry as a bone.
It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air.
My mind was going a mile a minute trying to come up with where she might be. Had there been some sort of emergency at the distillery? Maybe she was out with a friend for breakfast. Or maybe she was taking a walk.
No.She knew that I was leaving today. There was no way she wouldn’t be here to say goodbye.
As I headed back down the stairs, I pulled out my phone and called her number. When I heard it ringing, I followed the sound and discovered it sitting on the kitchen table, plugged into a charger.
Anxiety started to build in me as I walked out onto the front porch and didn’t find her in the porch swing or picking weeds from her flower beds. “Aunt Rhonda!” I shouted. “Aunt Rhonda!”
I waited, hoping to hear her respond. When I was met with only silence, I went back inside. The screen door slammed behind me as I rushed through the house and out the back of the sunroom. I searched for any sign of her in the pasture, but there was nothing.
“Aunt Rhonda!” I called out again as I headed around the side of the house. Maybe she’d gone down into the cellar for something.
I opened the hatch door and called, “Aunt Rhonda!”
The light was off, and I didn’t hear anything. Still, I went down to make sure that she wasn’t there. I walked down the wooden steps, and when I reached the dirt floor, I tugged on the metal string, turning on a single bulb that illuminated the dark space.
“Aunt Rhonda!”
I checked behind a stack of boxes, and all I found was a mouse trap that, thankfully, was empty. Panic started to set in as I walked back up the stairs. My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out as I reached the top of the steps. My stomach turned when I saw it was the alarm I set indicating it was time to leave for the airport.
At the same time I was turning it off, Davina messaged me, saying they were running a little late to pick me up.
