But I did know how to make my brother understand what I was going through. “Imagine if I went to one of those speed dating events,” I said. “It’d be weird, right? Uncharacteristic. Awkward as shit.”

His eyebrows pinched together, and he nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

“That’s how I feel about this too,” I said. “Leaving Brooklyn, attending some damn food festival on my own, and a fucking cooking class? This ain’t me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Understanding flashed in his eyes. A faint grin followed. “That’s part of tryin’ shit that’s outside your comfort zone, innit? I think it’s great you’re doin’ this.”

I guess I’d succeeded then, ’cause I wasn’t comfortable at all.

Nicky pointed to my phone. “You should go. If the cooking class feels awkward, I bet the barbecue will help. You’ll have a chance to talk to King—and the other participants.”

He had a point.

“And you know you can always call me, right?” he went on. “You could be in fuckin’ China for all I care. Call me if you need a pep talk.”

I exhaled a chuckle, finding him too sweet sometimes, and shook my head at myself. When did I turn into a coward? I hadn’t always been this unsure.

“Thanks, bambino.” I cleared my throat and opened the email again. “I’ll go to the barbecue.”

Chapter 3

Drive All Night

The growing crowd loved seeing my brother with a banjo, and he was a stellar entertainer.

He flirted with them using his skills and charisma.

I strummed on my electric and sang of needing a new path to go down, a new look, a new everything. The music had me in a tight grip, and I felt the buzz flowing through all of us, connecting us. Sylvia on the piano, Chris and Nicky moving to the beat, and Luiz showing off behind the drums.

We raised the roof with the last chorus, when Matthew led the choir.

Fourteen hours on the road had only one upside.

I was too exhausted to be nervous and worry about making a fool of myself.

I’d paused at a roadside motel for a few hours of bad sleep somewhere in Nowhere, Virginia, but that was it. Not counting quick breaks to buy coffee and gas.

Even though I knew exactly where I was, I felt utterly lost in my surroundings. The past hour or so, I’d seen nothing but ranches, never-ending pastures, and animals. Horses and cattle. I was officially in a state where plantations existed.

I might as well be on another planet.

Right next to the dirt road, framed by a white-painted wrought-iron gate welcoming me to the Littlefield Ranch, was a place to park, and I pulled in there just to grab a smoke and stretch my legs.

Four mailboxes were attached to the white fence that enclosed the King land.