The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

her travels, she’d never found any place that quite matched the Pacific Northwest.

Scooping up her mat, she headed back toward the house. The old craftsman structure had certainly seen better days, but Uncle Paul kept it in good repair. She could still picture her grandfather teetering on the ladder, cleaning out the gutters and having her run the bucket across the yard to dump the leaves over the embankment, then bring it back again. Between loads, she’d grab a handful of blackberries, plus a few extra for Grandpa.

Okay, so a niggling part of her was jealous that Asher and Sophie were buying the place, but more, she was glad it was staying in the family. After a decade of roaming around Europe, she was still wondering how she felt about the idea of settling down at all. Buying a house was a long way off.

Asher had been by, but didn't stay long. Sophie’s car was gone for the workday, but Zane looked to be home. Biting her lip, she paused, then kept walking toward the main house. As much as she wanted to see that face close up, she’d give him space.

For now. One little pinky-shake, and the pheromones had pinged back and forth between them. And he’d totally checked out her butt.

Sauntering inside, she set her mat under the entry table. To the left, the open kitchen was sparse, with a few small boxes of Sophie’s on the far counter that hadn’t been unpacked yet. There were four stools, but still no table. To the right, a stone fireplace took up half the main wall, with built-in shelving on either side. A couch and TV were in place, although not hooked up yet, but otherwise the room was pretty empty.

After a quick shower, she hopped on her phone to order a Nespresso machine and some pods. For now, she grimaced as she caffeinated with bland drip coffee. There was really no going back once becoming hooked on viscous Italian brews. She dragged one of the stools to the window.

Resting her feet on the windowsill, she pulled up her banking app. Sneering, she didn’t care for the checking account balance. The move over had pretty well emptied it, and her primary gallery in Florence only deposited every ninety days.

Rolling up the cuff of her jeans so the distressed fray at the ends would stop tickling her ankles, she moved on to read the news. At least the jetlag was easing a bit.

Gravel crunching under tires caught her attention. Checking out the window, she saw the dust cloud trailing behind her mother’s F-150. Setting down her coffee, she strolled barefoot onto the covered porch and leaned against the pillar. The worn wooden planks cool against her feet, her toes curled around a loose nail. She'd have to swing by Sutherland’s to pick up some basic tools.

The truck door wobbling behind her as she rushed down the path to the house, Tammy giggled out loud. Freya dashed down the few steps and flung her arms around her tiny mom, both rocking on their feet and grinning like a couple of fools. “My baby’s home at last. I’m so happy,” her mom said, wrapping her arms around Freya’s side as they walked into the house together.

That last little bit of wondering why she’d come home melted away as she remembered exactly why. “I was just here two weeks ago for Pippa’s wedding,” she teased.

“You know what I mean. Now it’s permanent.” Tammy helped herself to a cup of coffee. “Sophie at work?”

Nodding, Freya held out her mug for a warm-up. “Monday through Friday, nine to five.”

“And when will you be looking for something similar?”

Oh boy. Already? Letting air flow in and cool her lungs before she huffed, she exhaled and said, “My easels and supplies should be arriving in a few weeks, and once I’m settled, I’ll head into Seattle to buy what I couldn’t ship.”

“Yes, but are you sure you can make a living at that? I mean, I know you have been, but long term? Do you want to couch surf for the rest of your life?” Tammy led the way back out to the porch and parked on the shade of the front step, continuing once Freya sat beside her.

Dig that hot poker a little deeper. Freya was worried enough about losing her in-person presence to build her brand. “I’m scared but I’ll figure it out. Mom, that vineyard painting I sent you the pic of is being featured at an auction in Rome next weekend. I’ve been making a name for myself and some pieces have become investment pieces for big spenders; this auction and the additional pieces this new gallery picked up should set me up for months.”

Crickets creaked in the distance, a cheerful bird squawked a redundant tune as she waited for her mother to either argue or pander. Could go either way, really.

“I’m sorry. It was one thing, getting to see you in action in places where art matters. But here? Making a living at art seems so beyond Foothills. I still have that sweet little painting from your first day of kindergarten on the mantle.”

She leaned into her mother as they sat side by side on the porch steps. “I know, Mom. I’m not that little girl anymore. I wouldn’t have come home yet if I didn’t think I could continue to make a consistent living at this.”

“I know, just let me adjust. But if anyone can make it happen, you can. You have always been a force of nature.”

Freya took a long sip and feigned a smile. That force of nature spirit usually resulted in her spinning her wheels or bowling right past anything useful.

Jerking upright, her mother chirped, “Speaking of little girls. Your cousin Lulu is getting married on the tenth.”

“Little Lulu? What is she, nineteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty-one and