Page 10 of With This Ring
Dakota tilted her head. “Where’d you get your business sense?”
“I’m a Jamison. From my dad, of course.” Skye smirked and headed toward the back of the store.
Dakota pressed her lips together, silently acknowledging again that Skye was right. She shouldn’t have given Layla a discount, but she had to make Layla’s wedding dress more affordable. Layla and Trudy were almost her family. No matter her feelings about Hud, she would make sure Layla had the wedding she always wanted.
Chapter 3
Later that evening, Dakota steered her ten-year-old blue Ford Focus sedan into her driveway. Exhaustion covered her as she killed the engine. She slumped in her seat and rested her forehead against the steering wheel as a yawn overtook her. Pulling herself up, she looked ahead at her little house. When her phone started to ring, her father’s name flashed on the screen. She stared at it for a moment, then decided to ignore the call as she climbed out of the car.
Dad had insisted that Dakota was taking on too much by buying a house while her business was still blossoming. Yet when the two-bedroom home came up for sale, Dakota fell in love with it. She scraped together a down payment and snatched up the house before anyone else could grab it. Its one-car garage, galley kitchen, two small bedrooms, family room, laundry room, and tiny deck were all she needed. And it was hers. Well, technically, it belonged to the bank, but it would officially be hers someday.
After grabbing her mail from the mailbox and unlocking her door, Dakota stepped inside and was met by her orange tabby. “Hey, Trouble. How was your day?”
The cat meowed and walked circles around her feet, rubbing her shins while she set her keys, purse, and tote bag on the bench by the door.
“Mine was less than stellar, but thanks to Layla, it wasn’t a complete wash.” She deposited the mail on the kitchen counter and scanned the cabinets that showed their age. A few of the doors were hanging at odd angles, in desperate need of an update—or at least a coat of paint. She’d get around to that... eventually. She turned to the cat yammering at her feet. “Are you hungry?”
The cat sang a chorus of meows while continuing to massage Dakota’s shins.
“I thought so.” She opened the cabinet door to retrieve the cat food, and the hinges came off, sending the cabinet door and her arm sailing onto the counter with athwack. Dakota blinked and then grimaced. Great. Just what she needed: something else to fix. But she’d have to worry about that later. She couldn’t take on one more task until her store issues were handled.
She picked up Trouble’s bowl and filled it with canned food. Tonight’s flavor was Tuna Delight. Yucky smelling, but Trouble loved it. “Enjoy,” she said, setting the dish in front of him.
He purred and dug in.
Dakota made her way down the short hallway to her bedroom. When she stepped inside, she kicked off her heels and then halted. “Oh no!”
Sheets of toilet paper decorated the floor. She brushed her hand down her face, turned toward the open bathroom door, and groaned. How could she have forgotten to close the bathroom door this morning? Trouble loved dragging toilet tissue all over the room.
She picked up the mess, but when she entered the bathroom, her mouth dropped open. The cat not only had wasted an entire roll of paper but also had pulled the toilet paper holder out of the drywall. If only Dakota had fixed the loose holder sooner. It was her fault for letting it get to that point. She leaned against the doorjamb. She had enough problems to work out at the store, and she had no budget or time to fix her house.
After placing a roll of paper on the back of the toilet tank, she closed the bathroom door. She’d worry about fixing the holder another day. Right now all she wanted was to put up her sore feet after working late into the evening, trying to salvage more gowns.
Dakota changed out of her skirt and sweater and pulled on her favorite yoga pants and gray hoodie before returning to the kitchen. When she found her cat taking a bath in the corner, she wagged a finger at him. “Trouble, you’re a bad kitty. I cleaned up the mess, but you need a time-out.”
The cat ignored her and continued licking his paws.
With a sigh, she opened the fridge and pulled out the chef’s salad left over from yesterday’s lunch. She wished she had more time for cooking an actual meal. And cleaning. And doing yard work in the spring and summer.
Dakota plopped down on her sofa, rested her aching feet on her coffee table, flipped on the television, and chewed a forkful of salad. Opening the messages on her phone, she looked at the few she had traded with Parker during the past week. They’d mostly made small talk about how glad they were March was here and the weather was finally starting to warm up a little. But she hadn’t committed to seeing him again.
She frowned, set down her phone, and pulled out the sketch she’d created for Layla’s dress, continuing her dinner as she studied the drawing. As her thoughts moved to Layla and her weddingplans, she couldn’t help but think of Hudson too. She hoped he wouldn’t come back to Flowering Grove until the wedding. If he did, she’d have to find a way to avoid him.
Dakota took another bite of salad as another thought hit her: Hudson Garrity had always been so career- and money-driven that perhaps he wouldn’t bother to show up for the wedding at all.
And that would be fine with her.
***
Hudson steered his SUV down Main Street in Flowering Grove, his headlights guiding his way past the landmarks that had painted the backdrop of his life from his childhood until he’d moved away seven years ago.
He motored past the Barbecue Pit restaurant, where he’d eaten more meals than he could count, then the library where Aunt Trudy took him and Layla every Saturday afternoon when she didn’t have to work. In the distance he spotted the sign for Vet’s Field, where he’d attended the Fourth of July fireworks every year until he moved north.
He merged onto Lincoln Avenue and drove past Ridge Road, the street that led to the home where he lived for a couple of years before his parents died. He could still remember every detail of that little house his parents had rented—the chipped gray paint on the front porch, the worn beige carpet in the family room, and the creaky stairs that led up to his small bedroom, where he’d lined up his Star Wars figures on the wooden shelves. He could almost hear the sound of his mother singing to his sister as she rocked her to sleep in the next room, and his father’s laugh while they played catch in the small backyard.
Hudson pushed that image out of his thoughts and flipped on his right blinker before turning onto Zimmer Avenue. He stoppedat a stop sign and drummed the steering wheel to the beat of a country music song playing on the radio. It felt strange to be back in Flowering Grove, especially in March. For the past several years he’d managed to come for just a few days at Christmas, but now he was planning an extended visit.
Hudson gripped the wheel. He hadn’t yet decided on the best way to talk his sister out of her crazy idea of getting married. Since he couldn’t get through to her over the phone, he hoped discussing it with her in person would help her see she was making a huge mistake. Maybe she would listen to the voice of reason if they were sitting in the same room together. And if she insisted on getting married, then maybe he could convince her to postpone the wedding for a year—or maybe even two.