“Are you serious? He said that I’m in breach of contract? How am I in breach, Jessa?”

Jessa had called early this Friday morning to give me an update on how things were going with Culinary. I knew that Rowling was playing dirty. His bag of tricks seemed to run deep. This time, I may be in trouble.

“He’s saying that you are supposed to be on set right now filming the upcoming season. The start date was in the contract, and he says that since you ran to Savannah and the studio is dark, you are in breach.”

I knew that he would try to hold the engagement party over my head. If I hadn’t slapped him, this wouldn’t even be an issue. “The execs knew that I was coming this week. How am I in breach if they knew and agreed that it was okay?”

Jessa’s voice was filled with regret for the part she had played in my leaving New York two days earlier than planned. “You left on Wednesday. The agreement was that you would film all week until you left after Friday morning’s filming. This is my fault. I told you to take the extra time. Hell, I even had the plane gassed up. I’m pretty sure he would have let it go if you had stayed out of sight like I asked you to.”

I knew working at Simmer last night was going to come back to bite me. I wasn’t careful, and I should have stayed in the kitchens. But it was such a rush and so comfortable being on the floor of Simmer, doing what I was meant to do. I was home. Signing a few menus and taking some pictures wasn’t even a concern. I suppose it should have been. It didn’t take long for notifications to hit my cell phone of the pictures I was tagged in all over social media. Elliot was already looking for a way to get rid of me. In my haste and carelessness, in my comfort and search for purpose, I may have given him the ammunition to end my television career.

“Jessa, I know I should have been careful. I know I put us in a horrible position, but last night… I just felt…”

“Free?”

“Like I was where I belonged. Jessa, what if Savannah really is where I’m supposed to be? It’s something I’m going to have to decide.”

“You’re right. You have to decide if you can walk away from everything you’ve been trying to build here and start over. But would you really be starting over, Bethany?” Jessa asked me.

“What do you mean?”

She was silent for a moment, took a breath, and chuckled. “Seems to me you’ve been moving toward this for the last year. The show gave you the chance, but it isn’t fulfilling you. You wouldn’t be going back to Savannah to start over. You’d be going back to Savannah to finally start the life you were supposed to have. Am I not right? I take it you’ve seen that gorgeous baker?”

“I did. I’ve learned a lot about his last year.”

“So you know about his brother?”

“Why am I not surprised that you knew? Celeste knew too?”

“We both knew. Remember, we’re your team. When you went to Europe last year, we had to know where you were, in case of emergencies just like this. Clara called me once the news broke, and I was ready to get you on the first plane out and get you home. Instead, she asked me to wait. Then Rosemary called to say that Gideon didn’t want to keep you from your work. I thought it was a mistake. He needed you. You should have been told, but that man is bullheaded.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you, Jessa? He’s been going through all of this without someone to support him. It should have been me!”

“We did what he asked us to do. We kept you working, and we kept Galen’s death quiet. I wish I hadn’t. By now, you’d already be in Savannah.”

I held my phone to my ear with one hand and dropped my head into the other. I still had to get out to the farm.

“Dad’s waiting, Jessa.” And my father had zero tolerance for tardiness. “I have to go. Do what you think is best to deal with Rowling.”

“He’s going to insist that you get on the plane back to the city tonight. He expects you to make up for missing the start of the filming by filming this weekend. All weekend.”

“He can go to hell. I’m not going back to New York tonight, tomorrow, or even the next day. Not until I’ve talked to Gideon and we’ve made some decisions about where this relationship is going. I’m not living without him anymore.” 

“Finally.”

As much time as I spent running the hills of my aunt’s vineyards, I also ran the fields of my father’s farm. The smell of freshly tilled earth, fields stretching as far as I could see, the colors vibrant and breathtaking. The farm used to have animals, but my dad decided a few years ago to focus on the crops, and had sold off that portion of the operation. I didn’t miss the smell of dirty wet fur and manure, that’s for sure.

Good memories lived here. No, great memories. All because of my dad.

Judson Thorne may have been a corporate climber in his past life, but he was a much different man than the one I know now. He was gentle and so kind that he made my heart sigh. My father’s family may not have been one of “Georgia’s first families,” but he came from hard-working people that made their fortunes on the land. My dad grew up on this farm, but chose to go to college to learn how to make farming better. His knowledge and innovations made him well sought after in the corporate world. With determination and diligence, he became a self-made millionaire and drew my mother’s attention. Or rather, he drew the attention of the Leightons.

The trappings and rituals of money and high society were never for my father. You can take the boy from the farm, but the farm life never left the boy. After my parents’ divorce, he chose to live simply and enjoy the fruits of his labors. He found teaching in jeans just as fulfilling as leading a board meeting in a suit and tie. And his hands and knees were always in the dirt, growing and cultivating what he loved.

As I walked out to one of the smaller gardens, I found my dad just like that—his knees in the dirt, picking the reddest, plumpest tomatoes I had ever seen. I made a note to make sure I got those for the party. He was concentrating on the look of the dirt, the feel of the ripe fruit in his hand, but he looked peaceful.

“Make sure you pick those and give them to me. They look delicious.”

He turned his head toward the sound of my voice and gave me the widest smile. His hazel eyes danced with happiness. They always did nowadays.

“Bitty! You ready to get to work?”

I walked toward him with a smile of my own. “You always put me to work when I come to see you, Dad.” He stood as I got closer and wrapped me in one of his bear hugs that always made me feel like no one would ever hurt me. He bent down and kissed the top of my head, squeezing me tightly. We were quite the pair, my father at six-foot-two, and me at a much shorter five feet tall.  

“I’m so glad you’re here, daughter. Let’s grab some of these for lunch.”

A basket in hand, I got down in the dirt with my dad. We picked the best tomatoes, removing dead leaves and bad fruit as we went down the row. We worked together in a comfortable silence. It was our way. We worked well together, and some of the best conversations we had often happened when we were harvesting the gardens. He was too quiet today, so I knew we were due for a long talk.

“Are you ready for the party tomorrow? Menu planned? Do you have all your help set up? I know the party is going to be small, but you need to be ready. You can always use the kitchens here. They’ve seen more than one of your cooking jobs. Or do I call it one of your disasters?” he asked with a hearty laugh.

“I’m ready, Dad. Clara and Sheridan worked out the kinks in the menu and we’re all set. And I only burned a couple of things in the kitchens.”

This time, he laughed so hard he was doubled over. “I had to air out the kitchens for three days when you burned a ‘couple of things’ the last time you cooked here. I guess that’s what happens when the sous chef is distracted with other things.”

With a playful punch to his arm, I picked up my basket and linked arms with him. He patted my hand, and we moved out of the gardens toward the house. I loved this house and everything that it represented. Just like at my aunt’s cottage, this farmhouse was simple and graceful. I walked inside and felt home pour through me. The moments of joy I shared with my grandmother while she passed along some of her favorite recipes... family secrets, she often said. Frustrated tears when dishes failed. Tears of joy when I got accepted into culinary school. Tears of profound earth shattering sadness when my beloved grandmother died. It was all here in this home. This farmhouse was where love, laughter and heartfelt emotion lived.  

There were other tears too.

I spilled tears for a mother I could never understand, who never seemed to want to be anything more to me than the woman who broke my heart with her insults, snide remarks, and vicious emotional blows. She was so distant and so cold. Rosemary always tried to fill the void her sister left, but it was my dad who gave me tools to cope with his ex-wife. He taught me to cook as a way to channel my hurt. He made me tend to my own garden so that I would appreciate the land and the food that came from it. When I fought with her, I called Dad. He would pick me up from the mausoleum and set me in the Thorne gardens, even when there was nothing but empty rows and cold soil. He was teaching me to be still and appreciate everything around me, to be calm and listen.

Over the years, I observed how this farm, this house, had calmed him. I needed that calm today.

“Dad, you got cucumbers and onions inside, or do I need to go back to the garden? I was thinking of making a tomato cucumber salad,” I asked, as we rounded into the kitchen. I let out a happy sigh…oh, how I loved this place. I set the basket on the counter and reached for a colander so I could rinse the tomatoes. 

“Just picked some yesterday getting ready for the party. Should be some on the counter. There should be an onion in the fridge. No tears, remember?” 

Yes, I remembered that if the onions were cold when they were sliced there would be less tears. I gathered everything I needed to make the fresh salad, dressing the vegetables lightly with red wine vinaigrette and fresh herbs from the pots close to the windows. Instead of dishing out the cucumbers and tomatoes, I simply grabbed two forks and set the bowl between me and Dad at the eat-in table. I handed him his fork, and we dug in.

“So, why did I have to hear about that Rowling bastard from my former sister-in-law instead of my daughter?” Dad asked as he took a bite of his lunch. The look on his face said everything. He was angry that someone had dared to hurt me. He was irritated because he found out about the incidents secondhand. The most important, though? He was hurt I hadn’t come to him first.

Shit.

I set my fork down and peered at him. “Dad, I wasn’t trying to keep it from you. I swear I was going to tell you everything over lunch today. I suppose Auntie has told you everything?”

“Bitty, you should have come to me. And I don’t mean yesterday, when you got into town. You should have come to me after he pulled this bullshit the first time. That bastard never impressed me. He was too dirty. Slick. Too much like what I left behind in corporate America. He put his hands on you.”

“Dad, I know.”

“If he had hurt you, Bethany…”

“Dad. Daddy. I know. But you raised me to take care of myself. I think you would have been proud of the way I handled him.”

He picked up my hand between his two larger ones. His face was filled with so much concern and so much anxiety.

“Dad, trust me and trust Jessa, okay?”

He stared at me for a long moment. It was as if he was trying to see into my thoughts and determine if I was telling him the truth. Finally, he gave me a nod, and I smiled as he placed a kiss on the back of my hand.

“I do have to agree with your aunt about your options, though. It’s true that she has wanted you and Clara to take over operations at Leighton Cellars. We both have wanted that for a long time. I love being a part of the vineyard too, even if it has only been as a silent partner.”

“Dad, you’re a huge part of the Cellars. No way would the grapes have survived some of the conditions in Georgia without your knowledge. Guess it helps to have a genius in the family…”

He shrugged with a self-deprecating grin and squeezed my hand again. He had always been so humble and modest about his knowledge. “You have another option, and I think your grandmother would have approved, since it’s her namesake anyway. There’s plenty of land here too, and a working farm. Build Opal’s here. Your aunt can still provide the wines, of course.”   

I was stunned by his generosity, and amazed by his thoughtfulness. I couldn’t speak. Even after all these years, he was still trying to help me achieve my dreams. I had wanted Opal’s since my grandmother left us. His mother. A way to honor her and all that she taught me, right here in this farmhouse. I swallowed around the lump in my throat and swiped at the tears on my cheeks.

“Your grandmother would have been tickled to have that restaurant on her family land. She was so proud of you. Just think about it, yeah? Another option.”

I nodded my head. “Dad… I don’t know what to say. You… I just…”

“You’re my daughter, Bitty. I’ll always make sure you’re safe and happy. Until I take my last breath, understand?”

Another nod of my head, because I was too overcome with love for my father for my words to really convey how precious his offer is to me. Still, I knew I could see it in his eyes. I stood to take what was remaining of our lunch to the fridge.

“There’s something else we need to talk about, Bethany.”

I turned around to face my dad, and I had a strong feeling he was going to want to talk about her. We’d had such a great lunch, and I really wanted to finish up what I needed to do here to get ready for tomorrow. And then I wanted to see Gideon. Really needed to see him today.

“You need to see your mother.”

I knew it! I let out an exasperated sigh, all of my joy sapped just from the mention of Anna Thorne. Why do my father and aunt insist upon this?

“No, no, no. I am not seeing Anna. I don’t understand why, after everything that she said and everything that she put me through—put us through—that you would even mention her name. She’s horrible, Dad. She called Clara an abomination. She said worse about Gideon. She called him trash. She called him such disgusting names I refuse to repeat them. She cares about the name and image. We never mattered to her!”

“Your mother has her faults, Bethany—”

“Her faults? Dad, are you serious? She’s a homophobic racist.”

“She owes you an apology, and she desperately wants to make things right with you. She wants to try, Bethany. She’s different. I think time and loneliness change people. It changed me.”

“You’ve been talking to her? Since when? Why? Why would you go back into hell after you escaped the flames?” I almost shouted. I knew I was acting like a spoiled brat. I knew it. I just don’t have it in me to do what my father is so adamant that I do. I can’t forgive her.

The stern expression on his face let me know he understood how much I was struggling with his request, but that I was bordering on being disrespectful. I dropped my shoulders and tried to ease the tension from them. I walked back over to the table and sat next to him. I lowered my voice and spoke more calmly.

“Dad, what’s going on? Where is this coming from? I’ve been fine without her. I’ve had you, Aunt Rosemary, and Clara. I’ve been fine.”

He laid his hand on my cheek and gave me a rueful smile. “You know, daughter. I knew you and your mother would clash as you got older. You’re so much like me. Fiercely independent, self reliant. Brave. So brave. You’re no Georgia debutante and you were never going to be just some high-society wife. I think that scared her. She just couldn’t relate to you.”

“So she decided to brow beat me and you instead?”

“Time is short, sweetheart. You should understand that more, now that you know about Galen Alexander. She felt she was doing what was right. Even before Clara came out and that awful dinner took place, your mother knew she was losing you. But afterwards, she knew that she had broken any bond she may have had with you.”

“What does she want, Dad?”

“She’s come out here, gone out to the vineyards a lot. She’s talked to me and Rosemary about you, who you are. She wants a chance to earn a place in your life again. Maybe not as your mother, but as a friend. She begged Rosemary to forgive her. It took a while, but they are rebuilding what they lost. Anna even tried to make amends with Clara. Clara may never be able to forgive her and God knows. It’s understandable.”

“I still want to know why.”

“I think the answer to that is Lynn. Your mother saw what losing Galen has done to her in the last year. They’ve talked too, about you and Gideon, and how Anna tried to ruin what you two had. It’s hard letting go of old messed up ideas, Bethany. Your grandparents drilled so many ridiculous prejudices and lies into your mother, it’s a wonder she could see beyond it and sit down with Lynn.”

“But Aunt Rosemary didn’t hold onto those lies!”

“You’re right. She didn’t. You’re a lot like her, and your mother hated that too. Not to mention the jealousy.”

“I’m not sure if I can believe this about-face change, Dad. She and I have hated each other since I was a teenager. It only got worse after I refused to turn down culinary school and joined the working class.”

He leaned forward and with a tilt of his head, his eyes took in my doubt and fear. “After we learned about Galen, and your mom spent some time seeing to Lynn out at the vineyards, she came here. Sat in the same seat that you’re in now and said to me, what if it had been Bethany? She said that she has already lost you. It devastated her. She talked about all the wasted time, how she was so proud of you for standing on your own and showing her just how wrong she was to try and put you in a box you didn’t belong in. It was the first time in a long time that I could see the woman that I fell in love with.”

I was so stunned. Everything he was telling me shook me to the core. I could see everything was true by the look in his eye. But I’m so like my cousin and, in my heart, I don’t know if I have the strength to forgive her.

“She really hurt me.”

“Come here, daughter.”

Even though I’m a grown woman, when my dad calls me into his lap, I go. I snuggled into his warm bear hug embrace and the tears I had tried to fight managed to travel down my face. So many years of longing for my mother’s approval, needing her just to be my mom. We’d fought so much and for so long, I wasn’t sure I knew how to be anything to her. But she apparently wanted to be more to me.

Dad put his lips to the top of my head and was quiet while my sniffles filled the kitchen. The last few days had been so emotionally draining, I wondered if I’d ever stop crying, or if this roller coaster would come to a complete stop soon. Once I could catch my breath, he spoke to me in his calm, commanding voice.

“She did hurt you. She hurt us. I owe you an apology for leaving you with her, but I wanted you to have a mother. Your mother has already told me how sorry she is for how our marriage ended, and how she took a lot of it out on you. Give her chance, Bitty. For your own peace of mind, stop running. Come home for good and let’s fix this. I need you here. Your mother needs a second chance. Time is too short to waste.”

I pulled back from his embrace and made him a promise that I would try with all my heart to keep.

“I’ll talk to her.”