The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(23)

“I have no idea. It’s not on brand, so probably not. Plus, do you know what you need to post pictures on the internet? You need access to the internet. Can I borrow your Wi-Fi? I swear I’m only up to a minimal amount of bad.”

“She needs waivers or something to use images of all of us.” I kill the lights again, sink into my chair, prop my feet up like I’m not suddenly sweating, ignore her request for my Wi-Fi, and grab my fish, which is rapidly cooling.

Phoebe audibly sniffs. “Oh my God, that smells amazing. We had to have veggie burgers for dinner from that bar, and I don’t think they knew how to make veggie burgers, or else Tavi’s vegan diet has completely killed her taste buds, because she actually called them delicious, and she ate them without a bun since the bun had sugar in it.”

Dammit. I need to hear that her sister won’t post pictures of all of us little unimportant people all over her Tikstagram or whatever it is.

But I can’t push the issue with Phoebe without clueing her in to the fact that I have more reasons for not wanting her family here than that they’re annoying. Give her a chicken leg, she’ll take the whole damn farm.

I flake off a bite of fish, already plotting the best way to scare the shit out of Tavi Lightly first thing in the morning over what I’ll do if she posts a single picture of anyone here without permission. “Tastes good too. Talk. What do you want?”

She slumps into the chair, pitches forward, and drops her head between her knees.

I think.

Hard to see more than just her outline with things this dark.

“Even if we convince her to leave here, I won’t get my job back.”

“Ah. You’ve realized your existence is futile and need someone to confirm it for you.”

“Very funny.”

I take another bite of fish and gaze out at the night sky, visible through the threaded branches of the red pines around my house. “So quit. You have an education. You have experience. You clearly have a solid work ethic, much as it pains me to admit it. You can find a new job.”

She mutters something to the floor.

“I don’t speak sullen teenager, Phoebe. You’re going to have to enunciate.”

I expect to feel a glare when she straightens and leans back in my deck chair.

Instead, she tips her head back like she’s planning on falling asleep right there. “Remington Lightly is part of my heritage. It’s who I am. I’ve known since before I could walk that one day, I’d be the first woman in my family to follow in my great-grandfather’s footsteps and run the entire company. Actually, the next Lightly after him to run the company, period.”

“But is that what you want?”

“Yes. Clearly.”

“Or are you afraid of what would happen if you didn’t have family money to fall back on?”

“This is what I want, Teague. And this isn’t about me. Not fully. It’s also about giving you back your town without my family upending everything so you can milk your goats and catch your fish and do whatever else it is you do on a normal day when you’re not selling condemned real estate or planting raccoons in lockers to scare the ever-loving hell out of me.”

Is she arguing in her sleep? The outline of her chest is rising and falling steadily under the baggy T-shirt that she was still wearing when I pulled her up into the tree house.

“Scaring the hell out of you was a nice bonus,” I agree. “Can’t wait until tomorrow when you find out what I planted in the old chemistry lab.”

“In other words, you’ve planted a stink bomb somewhere that is not the chemistry lab, so I should volunteer there for my next cleaning shift.”

“Stink bombs are old school. What I have planned is much better.” I have nothing planned.

The high school itself is torture enough, and it really will be good for the community to have it fixed up.

Despite Estelle’s stipulation that when she donates it back to the town, it forever becomes known as the Estelle Lightly Heritage Museum for Good.

Spent all day embellishing what she wanted to call it.

Lady clearly still needs a few lessons in humility herself.

“Did you attend high school in that building?” Phoebe asks.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I went away to Peter Pan boarding school.”

She makes a noise that I’d call amused on any other woman.

Maybe she is amused. Maybe she has a sense of humor, and she’s finally worn down enough to show it.

But admitting that would be akin to admitting there’s something to like about her, and I can’t have that.

I like my life here. It’s quiet. Predictable. Safe. Bridget’s here. Shiloh and Ridhi are family, too, even if it’s supposed to be weird to be friends with my ex-wife and her spouse. Hell, the whole town is family.

That’s the part I like best about Pink Gold.

The part where Whitney finds a true family that’s not blood or money but real.

That’s what I want to keep.

Rich people coming here and finding their souls? That only happens in the movies.

In real life, they come with snooty superficiality, judgment, and an unhealthy emphasis on the importance of their money. Bridget’s already making more of a fuss about her hair and makeup, “in case Tavi wants to do selfies or whatever.”