Knocking mud off my boots on the back doorstep, I whine into the phone, “Do I have to?”

Alex laughs. “Yes, dummy. It’s Thanksgiving. It’s the one sacred Hughes holiday.”

“Only because of Nona’s pumpkin pie,” I grumble. As my brother’s laughter fills my ear, I head inside and sit on the bench in the mudroom to untie my boots. Despite removing the excess clumps, they’re still covered in mud thanks to yesterday’s storm.

“Besides, Thea wants to see you.”

I smile at the mention of my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “We talk all the time. That’s how I know you’re driving her crazy.”

Alex groans. “It’s not like I’m the first groom in history who wants to help plan the wedding.”

I make a considering noise. “Yes, yes, you are.”

He snorts. “All I did was suggest a change to the color scheme. She acted like I accused her of torturing animals.”

“Stupid man,” I chortle.

“Clearly.” He sighs. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to reinstate your previous job title?”

“Nope.”

Both he and Thea have been bugging me for weeks to be their wedding planner on the conviction that it will save their marriage. As two creatives, they’ve been continually butting heads about everything from location to size. Thea wants small, Alex wants big. Thea wants rustic, Alex wants modern.

I’ve already decided to do it, but I’m not above letting them sweat a little. Besides, I’ve been busy. Running a farm—however tiny—is a lot of damned work.

Smiling to myself, I think of my farm manager, Jonah McAdams, who would no doubt be thrilled to have me stop working so much. In my quest to dive into the world of agriculture, I’ve driven the poor man crazy.

A gruff man in his sixties, Jonah called me “city girl” for my first month here. But I’ve grown on him, as has my blueberry pie. And his wife, Meghan, loves me, so he’s outnumbered, anyway.

Padding into the kitchen in my socks, I ask, “Did I tell you that I think BlueBell Apples are going to win an award this year?”

“Oh yeah?” asks Alex, sounding equally miffed and surprised. “What award?”

“The county does a fall festival and gives out ribbons for best harvest. I have it on good authority that we’re the frontrunner. Our biggest competition is—”

“Who are you?” he demands. “Put Candace on the phone right now!”

“Ha ha. Shut up. This is exciting!”

He yawns. Obnoxiously. “Whatever you say, sis. Book a ticket. You can’t skip Thanksgiving.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You’re stubborn.”

I smirk. “As stubborn as you.”

He grunts. “By the way, Sebastian will be there.”

My throat closes and my eyes follow. Rarely a day goes by that I don’t think about Sebastian, but hearing his name aloud is a particular kind of pain. Not as sharp as it once was, at least, but still potent.

Alex clears his throat. “You know I’m not stupid, right, sis?”

I force a light, teasing tone. “Actually—”

“No bullshit,” he says firmly. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you. Frankly, I don’t want to know. But whenever I mention one of you to the other, you both go quiet and broody. I’m sick of it. You guys need to hash your shit out.”

“There’s nothing to hash out,” I say tiredly. “Something… might have happened, but we decided not to go down that road. It’s too creepy. We’re basically brother and sister.”

“That’s ridiculous. You two are the furthest thing from siblings. And don’t think the rest of us didn’t notice that you guys have been eye-fucking each other since puberty.”

My stomach plummets. “What? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

“Oh, give it a rest,” he says on a small laugh. “You’re grown-ups now—or at least as close to it as you’ll ever be. For the record, it wouldn’t bother me.”

I almost choke. “What?”

“Sure, maybe ten years ago I would have flipped, but now… Well, I kind of think you and Sebastian are made for each other.”

I sink heavily onto a stool at the kitchen counter. “Who are you? Put Alex on the phone right now.”

He laughs, but it trails off swiftly. “I just want you to be happy, Candace. It would kill me to think you didn’t go after something you wanted because of fear of my reaction.”

I rub the frown lines etched on my forehead. “Alex Hughes, all mature and shit.” I sigh. “Look, Sebastian and I—whatever we might have been—is in the past. If you agree to never mention this conversation again, I’ll come to Thanksgiving.”

He pauses. “Sebastian who?”

I roll my eyes. “I’m hanging up now. I’ve had enough of this little heart-to-heart.”

“Coward,” he says lightly. “Love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you too. Give Thea a hug for me.”

“Will do.”

I end the call and drop my phone on the counter beside me. For a long moment, I stare through the window over the sink at the scattered clouds. My thoughts are jumbled, clashing explosively.

Sebastian.

He’s back Stateside, according to the celebrity-news app on my phone. Over the last few weeks, he’s been photographed in New York and Los Angeles. Always with the same, waifish model on his arm. I wonder if he’s bringing her to Thanksgiving.

I wonder if I can handle it.

“Only one way to find out,” I mutter, and snatch up my phone.

Ten minutes later, I’ve booked a plane ticket from Los Angeles to the small, municipal airport in Belfast, Maine, for the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Then I hit the first name on my speed-dial.

Vera picks up on the second ring. “How’s my favorite apple-picker?”

“Since I know you aren’t doing shit for Thanksgiving, I booked you a plane ticket.”

She squeals. “Where are we going? Bermuda?”

“Not even close.”

She’s quiet for all of three seconds. “Oh my God,” she hisses, “does this mean what I think it means?”

I smile. “Yes, bitch. You’re coming home with me.”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up.” But my words are lost as she pulls the phone from her ear to squeal. Finally, she gets ahold of herself. “It’s not that exciting, V.”

“Yes, it is! This is a dream come true. The Hughes mansion? The siblings all in one place? Nona and Daddy Hughes!”

I grimace. “Please, never call him that.”

She sobers. “Yeah, that was gross. Never again.”

Chuckling, I glance out the kitchen window to see Jonah heading toward the back door. His tall, distinctive figure is even bulkier than usual thanks to a waterproof jacket and padded hat. I know Meghan made him put them on despite the fact it’s not raining anymore.

“I gotta run,” I tell Vera. “And to warn you—there’s some business I need to take care of in Boston on our drive down.”

“What kind of business?”

Watching Jonah remove his hat, then scowl at the sight of his dirt-caked hands, my lips form the first genuine smile in what feels like years. A smile unencumbered by irony. Few people in my life have given so much of their time, patience, and heart to me as Jonah and his wife.

Memories make my smile widen further. My first weeks on the farm, feeling like a fish out of water. Wearing the wrong clothes, the wrong shoes. Doing endless research about soil conditions and what would and wouldn’t grow in my personal garden.

A garden that’s thriving and has healed me on more levels than I can comprehend. All thanks to Jonah.

I tell Vera, “I need to see my lawyer.”