Page 2 of Big Dill

Only until you get back on your feet, Jami.

Right.

That little mantra again.

I hate that a man is the reason I’m fleeing my beloved home. Maybe a man is behind Jaxon’s move too. He came here with his buddy—the one I’ve never met—and sometimes I wonder if there’s more to that story than he’s letting on. Together they opened a pickleball social.

A pickleball social.

On the polar ice caps.

Fine. Not literally the polar ice caps.

But okay.

Way to put your business degree to good use, brother.

I hear those thoughts in my mother’s voice, complete with the judgy eyebrow raise. I cringe. Ugh. I hate when I accidently turn into her.

My brother can do whatever the hell he wants with his life.

At least he can now, with a college degree in his pocket and Mom and Dad finally ceasing their marionette routine—no more string pulling, no more demands for white-collar careers and respectable paths.

We both rebelled after graduation.

And look where that got me.

Turns out an early childhood education degree does not an entrepreneur make.

Okay, Mom. I get it. I never should have opened a yoga studio with my hot jock fiancé, and you’ll never be proud of me. Message received. Loud and clear.

I thought leaning on my fiancé’s fancy finance diploma would help keep the business side of things running smoothly. And yet here I am—hurt and humiliated—flying toward a frozen wasteland, a place I don’t belong.

Where do you belong, Jami?

I don’t know. I truly don’t. My stomach twists into a sad, self-pity pretzel.

Enough about me.

My thoughts shift to my brother and I warm a little inside. Jaxon is an athlete through and through, a real-life Iron Man, not to mention a pickleball champion. If he believes opening a pickleball social space in the middle of the Arctic is smart, then I’ll stand with him. I just wish we were standing on sand, not glacial crust.

Brrr…

But seriously, his venture isn’t as wild as it sounds. Apparently, a wave of new residents is about to hit, the population about to quadruple, thanks to the government rolling out a slew of new energy projects. The guys will have a space for all the newcomers, something warm and welcoming upon their arrival.

The front tire slams the snowy runway, sending me pitching forward. A soft, terrified squeak escapes my throat as the bleak whiteness outside stabs my heart like a pointy icicle.

I miss home.

Ah, but you can’t go back now, Jami.

Nope, it’s true, I can’t. I mean physically I could, but what’s waiting for me. In the past few months I’ve lost three things.

One: My fiancé…good riddance a-hole.

Two: My yoga studio—along with the apartment above it—both of which I was locked out of compliments of said a-hole.

Three: My dignity.