Bishop and Kingston have a list of instructions on what to do while I’m gone. It’s just a week, but that’s all the time they need to fuck up my guests, my gift shop, and their lives. Not that I should care.

When did I become the oldest of the three?

I swear, I was the baby. Now, they need me to hold their hands every single day. From this point forward, I’m just going to focus on me—well at least until next Saturday. I’m sure that while I’m in Kentbury, they won’t leave me alone.

If everything goes as planned, I’ll arrive in New York around ten or eleven. That would give me plenty of time to find a salon to fix my messy hair and maybe get my nails done. At three o’clock I have my appointment at the fertility clinic. It’s just a consultation where the doctor will explain the process and the cost of going through artificial insemination.

On Tuesday, I have an all-day interview. If that goes well, on Wednesday, I’ll have another round of interviews.

Kingston doesn’t like the idea of having a child without a father, but I want to know my options. Ideally, I would love to meet a guy and fall in love. But if that doesn’t work, I can adopt or just have a baby.

“You got this, Lee, who needs fucking Heath Miller?” I say, dragging my bags toward the living room.

“I hope you do,” he answers.

The man himself stands by the door. He’s wearing his winter gear.

I need to start locking my door.

Where is he going?

“Why are you here?”

“There’s a big storm coming. It’s snowing already. But if we leave now, we might reach Manhattan before they close the roads.”

“We?” I cross my arms, looking at him defiantly. “You’re not coming with me.”

“Lee, you drive like a pro. However, a blizzard is about to hit us. The roads are going to be bad, and neither your father nor I would be able to breathe knowing that you’re out there alone.”

He uses a dirty trick. My father and the snowstorm. Mom died in these same conditions. I was just three months old. I could fight him, but this isn’t about him or me. It’s about Dad.

“Okay,” I yield.

He nods and walks toward me, taking my bags. “I’ll load them in my truck. Let’s go.”

But as I’m about to step out of the house, I suddenly remember my kid. “Wait, what about Cassie?”

“Your Dad’s already at my place. He’s taking her for the week,” he says reassuringly. “Everything is under control. We’ll be away, enjoying New York for a week and Kentbury will remain in one piece.”

“This isn’t a vacation, Miller,” I warn him.

He gives me a smug smile and tilts his head. “We’ll see.”

I groan, he’s so fucking infuriating.

The roads are snow-packed by the time we cross the state line between Vermont and Massachusetts. Most of the cars are slowing down. Not us. Heath Miller doesn’t believe in slowing down during a storm. We shouldn’t linger around drivers who doubt themselves, those are the ones who cause accidents.

For me, it’s unnerving to sit next to him while he’s driving because I have to be quiet. The silence is killing me slowly. He has one rule. We don’t talk when he’s driving during a storm. It distracts him. Seeing that we have another three or four hours to go, I close my eyes hoping to sleep for the rest of the trip. It’s almost impossible. When we arrive in Hartford Heath wakes me up, “fucking asshole, get out of the road.”

“Lovely,” I grunt. “Good morning to you too.”

“Sorry, I’ve been trying to control myself, but these fuckers are just getting on my nerves.”

Needless to say, the next hundred miles are stop and go. We crawl along with the traffic. The no talking rule switches to swear words all the way to Manhattan. It’s twenty minutes after one when we finally arrive at The Ambassador Hotel. It’s new, it’s trendy, and I’m not sure how I feel about it all, yet I’m still excited to be here. I have less than two hours to eat lunch and find a Blow Dry Bar for my hair.

If I’m lucky, I can squeeze the visit to the nail salon after my appointment with the fertility clinic. If not … I look at my chipped, uneven nails. My nails will have to do with a nice clipping and a coat of the clear nail polish I have in my bag.

“Where are you staying?” I ask Heath.

“Hopefully, they have a room next to yours,” he says, handing the bags to the bellboy. “I requested that when I made my reservations.”

“You planned this?”

“I’d call it improvising,” he corrects me and takes the ticket from the valet attendant. “Careful now, I know every inch of my truck, Frey.”

The kid’s eyes widen when Heath says his name. It’s funny to see the reaction of people when he talks to them as if they’re old friends. Most people forget they are wearing a name tag.

“Make sure it doesn’t have a scratch, and I’ll tip you well by the end of the week,” he warns him in the friendliest tone he can use.

Heath is very particular about his cars. God forbid someone sees his Porsche Carrera. That thing is as old as my father, but according to Heath, it’s a treasure.

I look at the kid who gives Heath a dismissive gaze.

“Seriously, don’t scratch my car?” Heath shrugs. “They need to learn to be careful with other people’s stuff. Plus, maybe I can hire him to work at Jared’s.”

I give him an infuriating side glance and continue walking toward the entrance. He follows right beside me.

“Thank you for driving me even though it wasn’t necessary. I’m sure Dad appreciates the gesture.” I dismiss him as we enter the luxurious hotel.

There’s a big Christmas tree right beside us, which reminds me that next weekend we’re putting up the trees. It’s going to be the last time I spend it with the Millers. Dad would drive from Vermont to spend the holidays with me. I’m not sure if Bishop would follow. Kingston won’t entertain the idea.

It’s the high season, why would he waste his time celebrating something that’s based on commercialized merchandise? We’re lucky that he lives close by and takes a few hours to be with us. He’s a combination between Mr. Scrooge and the Grinch. Sometimes he can be so fucking obtuse, cold, and heartless.

“Are you going to tell me why I’ve been on your shit list since Saturday?”

“There’s no such list, and if I had one, you’d know why you’re on it,” I say, and then warn him, “I hope you have plans for the week. I’m going to be too busy to spend time with you.”

Seriously, how can I find dates if I have this guy following me around? I double check my phone to verify that my profile is visible on Tinder. Bishop helped me open an account last night.

When I check in, the clerk asks me for my credit card. Only two out of the five nights I’m staying are paid by the hotel. Heath hands over his.

“Just put everything on my card.”

I’m thankful that this isn’t Kentbury or everyone in town would know that Heath Miller’s paying for my room. I groan. They already know that Heath and I are in New York, don’t they?

“What’s wrong?” Heath asks as we walk toward the elevator bank.

“Everyone in Kentbury knows that we’re in New York,” I mumble. “I can just hear Mrs. Bowman, ‘Cassie is lovely, but I’m glad you two had some alone time, dear.’”

I slap my palm on my forehead. This can’t be happening.

“Let them talk, why would you care?”

I stab the number 20 several times until the doors close while glaring at him.

“You’re hungry. Why don’t we change clothes and have some lunch? I want us to talk,” he suggests.

Food, yes, food sounds just about right.

I check the time on my phone. It’s almost two. I barely have time to change and leave for my appointment.

“As I said, I have plans. My appointment is at three.” I google restaurants near me.

Everything that pops up sounds fancy. I just want a slice of pizza. When the elevator’s doors open, he walks me to my room, where the bellboy is already setting our bags.

“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” he says, tipping the guy that helped us with our luggage. “We can find a place to grab a quick bite, and I’ll get you to your appointment on time.”

“You’re not coming with me,” I say but it’s too late, he’s already gone.