Three days after the grand opening of The Story Shop, four days after Presley decided to have it out with me in the middle of duo night with the entire town as our witness, I’m at my mom’s gravesite.
What a fantastic f*****g week this is turning out to be.
Chevelle hands us all flowers, each one different to make a bouquet that Mom would love. She always said she never had a favorite flower, how could she choose, they’re all beautiful like her kids. But I might be the only one who remembers Mom saying that. Sometimes I think being the oldest child with the clearest memories of her is a curse.
“We’ll start oldest to youngest, like always,” Chevelle says, nodding at me.
I blow out a breath, not really into this. “I’ll pass right now.”
“Cade, you always go first,” she says.
I shake my h
