Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(83)

“Appreciate it.” Foster nodded, then as quickly as he’d come in, he was gone.

Memphis and I shared a look, waiting until he was out of sight.

“Coast’s clear,” I called.

Talia inched up, her eyes barely over the counter’s ledge. “Is he gone?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Want to tell me why you’re hiding from Foster Madden?”

“Nope.” She got to her feet, tiptoeing around the desk. Her eyes stayed glued to the glass windows, checking to make sure he was gone. “I should go.”

“What about dinner?” Memphis asked.

“Rain check.” And before we could say another word, she ran—not jogged, but sprinted—out the doors. She hit the sidewalk and did one quick check for Foster, then bolted to her car in the parking lot.

“Okay,” I drawled. “What the hell was that about?”

“Does she know him?”

“No idea.” Apparently enough to recognize his voice and from the back. “I’ll call her later.”

Not that I expected her to tell me anything. Talia was a lot like me. If she didn’t want to talk about something, she wouldn’t. Lyla and Eloise wore their emotions on their pretty faces for the world to see. Talia kept hers locked behind our family’s signature blue eyes.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” I kissed Memphis’s temple, then helped her into the car. I did not want my wife stressed about my sister. “I got an email from Lester today.”

“Really?” Memphis sat up straighter. “What did he say?”

“He’s coming to Quincy in January. The magazine wants him to do a best of the best article or something.”

“And he picked you. Of course he’d pick you.” She did a fist pump. “This is amazing.”

Lester’s article from last year had brought more people than I’d expected to Quincy. The hotel was poised to have its biggest year in history and the restaurant had doubled my initial income projections.

That kind of money meant more staff. And more staff meant that Memphis and I had more freedom and flexibility.

She wasn’t working as a housekeeper these days, but once or twice a week, she’d cover the front desk because she genuinely enjoyed the work and helping Eloise at the hotel. She loved being a part of the family business.

“I’ve been thinking about that wedding in May,” Memphis said. “Maybe I should tell the bride no.”

“Absolutely not.”

She sighed. “We’re going to have so much going on. Drake’s only one. We’ll have a newborn. Our schedule is so busy already. I don’t know if it’s smart to add a wedding planning job into the mix.”

“Do you want to do it?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

I reached over to take her hand. “Then we’ll find a way.”

If Memphis’s dream was to plan weddings and events, I’d do whatever necessary to make that happen.

She’d planned two weddings in the past year—one of which was our own. We’d gotten married on the ranch, in a meadow filled with summer wildflowers. Then we’d had a reception at the hotel, cramming the space with friends and family who’d all danced beside us beneath a blanket of fairy lights.

Two days later, we’d gone to the courthouse, where I’d adopted Drake.

We were all Edens. And I, for one, had been happy to see the Ward name vanish.

Contact with Memphis’s parents had been minimal this past year. She’d told them we were getting married, sans an actual invite. Her mother had sent flowers. Her sister had sent a card. Not a word from her father and brother, but Memphis hadn’t cared. She’d already decided that if by some miracle she inherited her trust fund, she’d take the money and set it aside for the kids.

We were six months into this pregnancy and she had yet to inform Beatrice and Victor. Maybe she would eventually, probably after the baby was born, but as time passed, as we built our own life, she seemed more content with their distance.

I suspected that distance would become permanent.

She didn’t need that family.

We were building our own.

And I’d be overprotective every step of the way.

It had been nearly a year since the incident with Jill and Averie Flannagan. There were days when I didn’t think about it, but those were rare. The fears were a constant nuisance, and I only hoped that in time, they’d surface less and less.

Averie Flannagan would be spending most of the decade in a penitentiary. That bitch could rot in jail.

Jill was nearing the end of her prison sentence, and though she’d be released on parole soon, I doubted we’d see her face in Quincy ever again.

Just like we hadn’t heard from Oliver again. The FBI had questioned Memphis and me once after Drake’s kidnapping. During her statement, Memphis hadn’t mentioned Oliver’s name. She’d simply spoken to Averie’s blackmail attempt and going into daycare to find Drake missing. If they’d contacted Oliver during their investigation, we didn’t know and didn’t care. With any luck, he’d be long forgotten.

I slowed at the turn to home, easing off the highway and down our quiet lane. “What about Harrison?”

“Your dad?” Memphis asked. “What about him?”