Chapter One
Paradise, Georgia. Emma couldn’t believe she was back after
twelve years. Morning of her first day in the dirt speck of a town she’d grown
up in, and two words rose to prominence in her overwhelmed brain.
Culture shock.
She took a sip from the chipped coffee mug she’d given her
mother for Christmas one year as a girl. The dishwasher had faded Santa until
he resembled nothing so much as a creepy gnome.
“Mama?” she called above the din of frying bacon.
“Yes, Emma Lee?”
Emma Lee. Mama’s idea of a bad joke. “Everyone calls me Emma
now, Mama,” she reminded. “And why on earth are there chickens in the lawn?”
Her mother threw a glance her way, the platinum waves she’d
always sported a tad on the deflated side. “You’re Emma Lee. That’s what I
named you and by God, that’s what I’ll call you.” She turned back to the stovetop.
“Those are my free-range chickens. Aren’t they darling?”
Emma almost choked. She would describe many things as
darling. A sassy pair of heels, an Italian leather purse, the perfect dress.
All those things fit into the darling category. Chickens? Definitely not.
“Where do they poop?”
“Right in here on my commode.” Jean spun away from the
stovetop and whipped a lock of limp hair from her eyes. “Good heavens, girl.
Where do you think they poop? In the grass. Sometimes I think running off to
California turned you into a prissy princess.”
Not the old argument again. Emma placed her mug on the
counter and looked back to the scratching chickens. She hadn’t had a slice of
bacon in eons. Damn it smelled delicious. “Mama, we’ve had this conversation
before. Paradise is no place for interior designers. I found my niche in L.A.
and I’m happy.”
Jean sniffed. “Could’ve stayed and saved yourself a lot of
heartache.”
“Rob is off limits,” she warned. “You know I didn’t come
here to listen to an I-told-you-so. I came here for a break.”
Though looking at where she’d landed, she had to admit
perhaps coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Not that her mind had been clear
and functioning at the time. Her frantic schedule had finally cleared, allowing
her to take some time to recover from an awful split with her boyfriend a few
months before. Mama had been harping on her to come home and she hadn’t wanted
a solo vacation, so coming back to Paradise had seemed like the best option.
On second thought, maybe not.
“I tried to tell you that boy was no good.” Jean sniffed,
apparently not caring if Emma didn’t want to hear her opinion. “I never even
met him and I knew it anyway. Don’t know what took you so long to realize it.”
Truth be told, Emma didn’t know either. Rob hadn’t been right
for her. He’d been so obsessed with his own career he’d been willing to sleep
with his boss to succeed. His affair had effectively put an end to their
year-long relationship.
“Mama, I’m over it. I don’t want to talk about it.” The
doorbell chimed, interrupting what was potentially about to become a painful
conversation. “I’ll get it,” she told her mother, happy for the reprieve.
Without waiting for an answer, Emma padded through the house
in the well-worn pair of bunny slippers she’d had since high school. Coming
home had turned into a chore. Had she ever fit in here?
She pulled open the front door, not bothering to rethink her
fashion choice of striped flannel pajamas. When she saw the man waiting on the
other side, she had to battle the sudden urge to slam the door in his face and
run upstairs for a change of clothes. Could her luck be any worse? Why, on
today of all days when she looked like a brace-faced tween, did she have to run
into him ?
Jackson Fielding.
He blinked at her, holding a set of keys midair. “Em? What
on earth are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” she returned, trying to
stifle the ridiculous emotions ricocheting through her.
Do not , she urged her inner
Paradise, Georgia. Emma couldn’t believe she was back after
twelve years. Morning of her first day in the dirt speck of a town she’d grown
up in, and two words rose to prominence in her overwhelmed brain.
Culture shock.
She took a sip from the chipped coffee mug she’d given her
mother for Christmas one year as a girl. The dishwasher had faded Santa until
he resembled nothing so much as a creepy gnome.
“Mama?” she called above the din of frying bacon.
“Yes, Emma Lee?”
Emma Lee. Mama’s idea of a bad joke. “Everyone calls me Emma
now, Mama,” she reminded. “And why on earth are there chickens in the lawn?”
Her mother threw a glance her way, the platinum waves she’d
always sported a tad on the deflated side. “You’re Emma Lee. That’s what I
named you and by God, that’s what I’ll call you.” She turned back to the stovetop.
“Those are my free-range chickens. Aren’t they darling?”
Emma almost choked. She would describe many things as
darling. A sassy pair of heels, an Italian leather purse, the perfect dress.
All those things fit into the darling category. Chickens? Definitely not.
“Where do they poop?”
“Right in here on my commode.” Jean spun away from the
stovetop and whipped a lock of limp hair from her eyes. “Good heavens, girl.
Where do you think they poop? In the grass. Sometimes I think running off to
California turned you into a prissy princess.”
Not the old argument again. Emma placed her mug on the
counter and looked back to the scratching chickens. She hadn’t had a slice of
bacon in eons. Damn it smelled delicious. “Mama, we’ve had this conversation
before. Paradise is no place for interior designers. I found my niche in L.A.
and I’m happy.”
Jean sniffed. “Could’ve stayed and saved yourself a lot of
heartache.”
“Rob is off limits,” she warned. “You know I didn’t come
here to listen to an I-told-you-so. I came here for a break.”
Though looking at where she’d landed, she had to admit
perhaps coming here hadn’t been the best idea. Not that her mind had been clear
and functioning at the time. Her frantic schedule had finally cleared, allowing
her to take some time to recover from an awful split with her boyfriend a few
months before. Mama had been harping on her to come home and she hadn’t wanted
a solo vacation, so coming back to Paradise had seemed like the best option.
On second thought, maybe not.
“I tried to tell you that boy was no good.” Jean sniffed,
apparently not caring if Emma didn’t want to hear her opinion. “I never even
met him and I knew it anyway. Don’t know what took you so long to realize it.”
Truth be told, Emma didn’t know either. Rob hadn’t been right
for her. He’d been so obsessed with his own career he’d been willing to sleep
with his boss to succeed. His affair had effectively put an end to their
year-long relationship.
“Mama, I’m over it. I don’t want to talk about it.” The
doorbell chimed, interrupting what was potentially about to become a painful
conversation. “I’ll get it,” she told her mother, happy for the reprieve.
Without waiting for an answer, Emma padded through the house
in the well-worn pair of bunny slippers she’d had since high school. Coming
home had turned into a chore. Had she ever fit in here?
She pulled open the front door, not bothering to rethink her
fashion choice of striped flannel pajamas. When she saw the man waiting on the
other side, she had to battle the sudden urge to slam the door in his face and
run upstairs for a change of clothes. Could her luck be any worse? Why, on
today of all days when she looked like a brace-faced tween, did she have to run
into him ?
Jackson Fielding.
He blinked at her, holding a set of keys midair. “Em? What
on earth are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” she returned, trying to
stifle the ridiculous emotions ricocheting through her.
Do not , she urged her inner
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