Autumn

The end of the business day always follows the same sort of rhythm. Counting and cashing out the register. Packing up any leftovers from the day’s baked goods to sort in the morning. Whatever is still good put on a discount and anything else donated to people who will appreciate the treats, even if they are a day or so old. Sweeping the floors, wiping down the surfaces, making sure everything is locked up.

It’s usually soothing, a kind of meditative thing, even if it is work. There’s something about a routine and doing it in the quiet of my bakery that always makes me feel at peace, no matter how hectic the day has been.

Of course, that usually requires there to be some peace to be found, and talking with my mother has a way of sucking the peace right out of any situation.

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder, sorting scones into two separate bags while I listen to her go on.

“It’s one dinner, Autumn,” she says, and the disappointment and exasperation are already heavy in her voice. “It would mean a lot to your sister for you to be here.”

I suppress a snort at that—barely. Rhiannon won’t care if I’m not there. It’ll just mean more snide comments behind my back instead of to my face.

“Mom, I don’t know,” I hedge. “It’s the holidays, and you know that’s a busy time for me. I have to be up early in the morning to get a head start on baking. I’ve been nearly selling out every day this week, so I want to make some extras⁠—”

Mom cuts me off with a scoffing noise. “Your desserts can wait for one night, Autumn. Just sell whatever you have left over from today and come be with your family. Or is this little business of yours more important than family at the holidays?”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. It’s funny when family is always weaponized when it comes to getting me to do something I don’t really want to do, but never when it comes to supporting me.

My mom and sister have barely ever set foot into my bakery, and I know they both think it’s just a silly little business that I’m running. They don’t understand the work it takes or the late nights and early mornings.

Every time Mom calls it my ‘little business’ it makes me cringe, but no matter how often I try to tell her how much it means to me, she just doesn’t seem to get it. Probably because she doesn’t care and never will.

Why would she, when she can focus on the wedding of the daughter she actually likes?

“It’s still my job, Mom. Whether it’s as important as family or not, I have bills to pay, and I can’t just slack off. This is an important time for me.”

Not that that matters to her.

“It’s also an important time for your sister,” she fires back. “And frankly, Autumn, she could use your support. She’s been so stressed out with the wedding planning and everything. Planning a wedding is a big deal, you know? She needs her sister.”

“She has Raymond,” I say, trying not to let the bitterness of that curdle the words in my mouth.

“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “He doesn’t know what your sister needs the way her family does.”

Then why is she marrying him? I think, but I don’t say it out loud.

Still, the thought is there. Raymond was mine first, technically. And now he’s marrying my sister. Anyone with any empathy would understand why I don’t want to be overly involved in this wedding, but empathy and my mother have probably never been formally introduced.

At least when it comes to me.

It’s just… exhausting. No one gave half a crap when my twin sister started dating my ex-boyfriend just a few months after our breakup. We were together for over two years. I thought we were getting serious, but right when I thought he was getting ready to propose, he broke things off with me instead.

I was devastated, and you’d think people would remember.

“And I’m really tired.”

“Autumn,” my mother snaps, finally showing her true irritation. “Just be here for your sister. You’re a member of this family, and it will be nice for her to have everyone here. Is that too much to ask? Do you care so little for her—for us—that it’s too much trouble for you to come to one dinner?”

I sigh because now I’m caught. If I say I can’t come, I’ll be the bad guy. They’ll spend the whole dinner talking about what a horrible, bitter sister I am to not show up for my sister in her time of need or whatever. It’ll make everything harder than it needs to be, and things are already hard enough.

“Alright. I’ll be there,” I murmur, feeling the exhaustion weighing down on me heavily.

“Good,” Mom says, her tone immediately brightening. Nothing makes her happier than getting what she wants, after all. “We’ll all be together then.”

“Like the whole family, or?”

“Us and Raymond’s family,” she says. “They’re coming to show their support for Raymond.”

“That’s nice of them.”

“Isn’t it? And, Autumn, this is a nice dinner.”

I blink, confused. “Okay? Do you want me to bring something?” I glance around the bakery. Most things sold out today, but there are some cookies I could put together into a platter if that’s what she wants.

But she cuts that thought off with a snort. “No. I’m saying that you should dress nicely for tonight. Wear something you wouldn’t usually. We want this to be an elegant affair.”

I hold my breath and count to five. “Right. Okay. I will.”

“Good,” she says again. “Then we’ll see you tonight.”

Before I can say anything, Mom hangs up.

I stand there with my phone in my hand, breathing in slow and deep. The peace that I should have gotten from my evening routine is just a distant wish now, and while I would love to just go home and run a bath or crawl into bed with a book or something, that’s clearly not happening now.

I look around the bakery, glad that at least all the cleaning is done so I can lock up for the night.

Autumn

I set aside the baked goods that will be picked up in the morning and grab my bag and my keys. I run my hand over the counter on the way out and something settles inside me.

Even if my mom can’t find her way to being proud of me for this—or anything else for that matter—it doesn’t take away the sense of pride I feel when I’m here.

This bakery is everything to me.

My grandmother left the space to me when she died, and I knew immediately what I wanted to do with it. Ever since I was younger, I dreamed of opening my own bakery, and this was the perfect opportunity to do that.

I poured so much time, energy, and money into making it the perfect space, and while it’s small and business has been an uphill climb, it’s everything I wanted it to be.

Living in a small town means business can be slow going sometimes. Especially since I was basically starting from nothing. But I have a set of customers who are very dedicated, and that means the world to me.

I wasn’t just trying to get out of dinner when I told my mom that the holidays are a busy time. I have a list of orders to fill, and people come pouring into the bakery every day to pick up pies and cakes for holiday work parties or cookies and cupcakes for their kids’ schools. Gifts for teachers or neighbors or little treats for delivery people. It goes on and on this time of year, and I spend most of my time thinking about that.

It keeps me busy, and it’s work I genuinely enjoy. It means something to me.

I sigh and let myself out of the bakery, locking up behind me and going to my car. I’ll have to move fast if I want to have time to shower and change before this dinner.

The last time I didn’t shower before going over to my parents’ house after leaving the bakery, I spent the whole night hearing about how showing up with flour in my hair was ‘disrespectful.’ I’m not doing that again.

Just like winding down the day at the bakery, a hot shower usually relaxes me. But not tonight. I feel even more keyed up than before as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to figure out what counts as ‘dressing nicely’ to my mother.

The truth is, most of it isn’t even about my clothes.

Where my sister and mother are thin and beautiful, I’ve always been on the heavier side. I’m plus sized, with curves that aren’t easy to cover or hide. I have plenty of dresses and skirts that make me feel good, but my mother has always been critical about me. Her eyes skate over my body when she sees me, lingering on the places that make me the most self-conscious.

If she can see the curve of my stomach or too much of my chest she makes that disapproving little click of her tongue and asks if I couldn’t find something more flattering to wear.

I don’t know what she wants from me, honestly. Should I just wear shapeless sacks of fabric to hide the fact that I’m not skinny?

I pull out a dress in a deep maroon color and put it on. It hugs my midsection a little and then flares out into a full skirt. The neckline is deep cut, plunging to show off a fair amount of cleavage. I make a face and pull it off. I can imagine what my mom would have to say about that.

The next outfit is a dark blue skirt with a white off the shoulder blouse. It’s a cute ensemble that I loved when I bought it, but the skirt is tight on my thighs, and the white blouse doesn’t really hide anything. I also can’t be bothered to wear a strapless bra for this.

I finally settle on a black dress. It’s still cute, but the neckline is higher, with a lace panel that shows off some of my chest but not too much. It hugs my midsection but flares over my hips and is long enough that it won’t ride up if I bend over. I put on some silver earrings and a bracelet and call that good enough.

Examining my reflection critically, I end up rolling my eyes. I don’t really know why I’m bothering in the first place. Mom said this was a ‘nice’ dinner, but it’s just going to be the family and Raymond and his dad. Raymond’s mother passed away three years ago, and while he does have three older brothers, they’ve all left Sweetwater Lake to do other things.

There’s no one worth showing off for, since Raymond won’t give me a second look, and I doubt my sister would care if I showed up in a trash bag for all she notices me.

Whatever. This is just going to have to do.

I grab my purse and get back in the car.

My parents’ house is the same as it always is. Elegantly decorated with a neatly maintained garden. Raymond’s car is already in the driveway, and I sigh as I pull in next to it, getting out and heading for the front door.

My mom greets me there, and she sweeps her eyes over my outfit as soon as I’ve taken off my coat. She doesn’t say anything, but the twist to her lips is more than enough for me to get that she doesn’t approve.

Fantastic.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to force some cheer into my voice.

“Autumn,” she replies, smiling thinly. “You’re on time.”

“You didn’t tell me a time,” I point out.

“And yet you made it. Hang up your coat, everyone’s in the living room.”

She bustles away before I can say anything else, and I just sigh, turning to put my coat in the closet.

I take my time with it, needing a moment to myself before I have to go in there and see my sister cozied up with my ex and pretend to be happy for her. I inhale deeply and let it out slow, closing my eyes for just a second.

It’ll be fine, I try to convince myself. It won’t be as bad as I’m imagining.

With a resolute nod, I shut the hall closet and turn to head for the living room, but as I turn the corner, I slam right into a tall, muscled body.

Autumn

I stumble back, almost losing my balance from the force of the collision. Before I go down, a hand reaches out to catch me, setting me back upright. I look up to see who I ran into and my eyes wide as I recognize Elijah, one of Raymond’s older brothers.

My heart stutters in my chest at the sight of him.

He’s so tall now that I have to crane my neck to look up at him, and there’s a scar that cuts across his eyebrow down to his cheek.

He’s still stupidly handsome with those piercing blue eyes and his neat brown hair, and he fills out the slacks and sweater he’s wearing nicely with his lean, muscled build.

One of his hands grips my arm tightly, and my eyes are drawn down to where the other one is shuddering just a bit.

I know he was injured during his time in the army, stationed overseas. He was honorably discharged several years ago, but I didn’t expect to see him back here.

His hand is warm where it grips at me, and I have to swallow hard at the flash of heat it sends through my body. My heart pounds, and I flick my tongue out to lick my lips, stepping back to put some distance between us.

Elijah lets me go and pushes his hands into his pockets. “Autumn,” he says, inclining his head.

“Hi,” I reply, trying to sound normal despite the awkwardness of the moment. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“You’re alright.”

“I, um, wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. I didn’t know you were in town. You and the others haven’t been back in ages.”

He shrugs a shoulder. “My father asked me to come for the holidays.”

“Oh.” That’s new. “Because Raymond’s getting married before Christmas?”

Elijah nods.

That just makes it worse, honestly. Everything about this situation is awkward, and the embarrassment of it all fills me. If it wasn’t bad enough that Raymond dumped me, now I’m stuck having to see him, having to think about being family with him because he went and chose my twin sister.

Rhiannon is older than me by a few minutes, which she already never let me forget when we were kids. Now she’s marrying the man I thought I would be marrying, and there’s no way everyone involved in this wedding won’t know that.

Elijah’s eyes are on me, and I wonder if he’s thinking about it. Wondering what’s wrong with me that his little brother dumped me and took up with my twin.

“Well, that’s nice,” I say, forcing cheer. “I’m sure he’s happy to have you here to support him.”

Those bright blue eyes narrow slightly. He opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, my mother’s impatient voice cuts across the conversation.

“Autumn, what is taking you so long? It’s rude to keep people waiting.”

I jump, cringing internally before shooting Elijah an apologetic smile and hurrying into the living room.

My mother keeps her living room entertainment-ready at all times, and to my surprise, the couch and loveseat are both full of people. I blink, and then realize it’s because Benedict and Luke are there too. All three of Raymond’s brothers are in town.

That’s a first in a long while.

None of them have lived in Sweetwater Lake for at least five years. Elijah never moved back after his honorable discharge from the army, and Benedict left shortly after that.

Luke was the last to leave, moving away not long after Raymond and I started dating. But now they’re all here, looking like they’ve been living completely different lives.

Where Elijah is all straight backed and neat, Luke is much more rugged. Even now he looks a bit like a mountain man with his thick brown hair and beard. He’s more muscular than any of his brothers, which is apparent from the way he’s sitting with his arms folded, his biceps straining the limits of the nice flannel shirt he’s wearing. He’s sitting on the couch with Benedict, although there’s a good distance between them.

Benedict is the second oldest of the four of them, just a year and a half younger than Elijah. He’s the tallest, and his gaze is stormy and intense. There’s a faint scar along his jawline, but that just draws attention to how nice of a jaw it is.

He has the same dark hair as his brothers, and he rivals Luke for being muscular, although his muscles are more chiseled than Luke’s. They both look out of place sitting on my mother’s expensive leather couch.

Not that Mom seems to notice. She’s in her element, holding court over the room talking about the wedding. Raymond and Rhiannon had only been together a little over a year when he proposed ten months ago, and their upcoming nuptials have been my mother’s favorite topic of conversation ever since then.

“And of course we need to see about the flowers,” she’s saying, as if Luke and Benedict care at all. “It’s a winter wedding, so some things are traditional, but we can be a little different if we want to.” She laughs, like she’s just told some great joke.

Elijah comes into the room after me, and I see him glance at his brothers. The other two barely look at him, and that combined with the very deliberate space left on the couch between Luke and Benedict speaks to the cold vibe that’s going on with the three of them. It’s palpable, even without any words spoken.

I know there was some kind of falling out with Raymond’s older brothers after they started a security company together, but I don’t know what it was. The last time I saw the three of them was when they were back in Sweetwater Lake for their mother’s funeral three years ago. After that, something happened between them. Whatever it was, it was clearly bad enough that they don’t get along anymore.

I have to wonder if this is the first time they’ve been in the same room since then.

For all my mother was complaining about me not being in the living room with everyone else, she barely acknowledges me when I’m there.

She just keeps talking about the catering for the wedding and the way the arch Rhiannon and Raymond will be standing under should be decorated with fairy lights so that it looks more magical.

“It would be nice to be a fairy princess for my wedding,” Rhiannon says, smiling brightly. “I think I deserve it, right?” She laughs, and Raymond wraps an arm around her.

“Of course,” Mom says, smiling back. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more than my daughter. We’ll talk to the wedding planner and see what we can make happen. I know it’s getting close to the date, but a few last minute changes won’t hurt anything.” And then she’s off again, talking about all the other things they could add.

I just keep my head down and wait for her to finish.

When she does, it’s to beam at the room at large and clap her hands. “Alright, well, now that we’re all here, dinner will be ready soon. Shall we head into the dining room?” She’s only ever in this good a mood when she’s getting to play hostess to a captive audience.

Luke and Benedict push themselves up from the couch, giving each other and Elijah a wide berth. The rest of us follow into the dining room to be seated.

My mom insisted on one of those long wooden tables with the elegantly carved wooden chairs when she and my dad were redoing their house years ago.

The table is beautiful, all mahogany wood that always smells faintly of citrussy wood polish even under the crisp white tablecloth it sits under. The chairs match, with elegant velvet cushions, which Mom always switches out in different colors depending on the season.

A chandelier hangs over the table, the lights twinkling through the crystal drops that hang from it, refracting little rainbows across the room.

As beautiful as it is, all I can really think of when I see this room is the awkward dinners I’ve had to sit through, feeling like I shouldn’t eat too much and should make myself invisible.

I can already tell this is going to be one of those dinners.