"What was he like in the past?" Joanne asked, her eyes drifting again to where Jeffrey stood, laughing easily with soone across the lawn.
Sohow, talking about him—even when she was frustrated—lifted her mood. She was beginning to realize there were whole parts of his life she didn’t know. And oddly, she wanted to know. She wanted to understand the man who had changed so much in just four years.
She had assud, from the way Elsa and Jeffrey bickered, that there must be so buried dislike. But the way Elsa softened when she spoke of him told another story entirely.
Elsa raised a brow but didn’t hesitate. "Reckless," she said with a soft chuckle. "But his heart was stupidly big. He couldn’t walk past anyone hurting without offering help, even if it burned him."
Joanne smiled faintly. That... sounded about right.
"And contrary to popular belief," Elsa continued, her tone quieter now, "he never did things for attention. He never wanted power. He just wanted people to be okay. Sotis that made him impulsive, even foolish."
Joanne had expected Elsa to hate him, the way they fought like siblings banished from the sa room. But the way she spoke of Jeffrey now—it wasn’t disdain. It was warmth. Familiarity. Almost like love.
"He knows I’m lonely," Elsa admitted after a pause. "I’m surrounded by people who would rather suffocate than step on my toes. No one speaks against . They just... agree."
Her gaze grew distant, her smile smaller. "But Jeffrey? He argues. He challenges. He annoys to death. And yet—" she looked at Joanne again, "—I’m happy every ti I see him."
Joanne took a slow sip of wine, quietly processing her words. She hadn’t thought Jeffrey was thinking so deeply about any of it. He always looked like he was just defending his grandmother, like the whole conversation was so noble crusade. But maybe, just maybe, he was doing two things at once. Or maybe... he didn’t even realize the effect he had.
As their conversation carried on, Joanne’s eyes briefly flicked toward the entrance.
Heather.
Trying to get in—and being stopped by security. Her frustration was visible even from a distance. Good.
Joanne looked away before she could let that mont sour her again.
Later, Jeffrey returned and introduced her to a few people—n in tailored suits, won with sharp smiles. Most seed to know of her already. Or rather, they knew her company.
Every ti Joanne ntioned her farm, Jeffrey would slide in with a well-tid interjection about her logistics business. He was shaless about it.
"She’s being modest," he said once. "Her company’s been all over the news back ho."
And indeed, eyes widened. Soone even pulled out their phone mid-conversation. Her na was trending back in her ho state—the exposé on Congressman Campbell had put her on the map, and people were curious. Impressed.
And then, a middle-aged man—charming, a little shy, dressed in a finely tailored navy suit—walked up to her with a cautious smile.
"Are you, by any chance, related to the Kelly family from New Greenwich?" he asked.
Joanne blinked. It was an odd question. But her heart fluttered—just a little.
What if...?
What if there was more to her story than she knew?
"Yes," she said, cautious but curious. "My mother was."
The man’s face lit up, like he had just found sothing long lost. "Really? You’re Maggie’s daughter? Magdalene Grace Anne Kelly?"
Joanne’s breath caught. Her mother’s full na, spoken aloud, echoed through her like a bell she hadn’t heard in years.
"Yes," she said slowly. "How do you know her?"
He smiled—a soft, warm smile filled with so much affection it almost overwheld her. "We went to school together," he said.
Joanne’s heart dipped a little. Just schoolmates?
"Oh?" she replied, trying not to sound disappointed. But still—he looked so genuinely delighted.
"What is she doing now?" he asked, eyes scanning her face with gentle wonder. "I can’t believe I’m standing in front of Maggie’s daughter. You have her eyes..."
Joanne leaned back slightly, her hand curling loosely around her wine glass. "Oh..."
That was rare. No one ever talked about her mother like this. In Rockchapel, her mother was only known for three short years before she died.
"My mother passed away when I was two," she said quietly.
The man froze.
It was as if all the color drained from his face. His expression crumbled with the kind of grief that felt too raw, too real, for soone who hadn’t seen her in decades.
It shocked Joanne.
Because in that mont, it felt like he was mourning her mother more than she ever had.
Maybe they weren’t just schoolmates...?
"Dad, you’ve not introduced yourself to the lady yet."
A dapper man stepped in, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy suit that sohow made the rest of the n look underdressed. Dark hair, stormy blue eyes that leaned green in the light, and a voice dipped in British silk. He slled expensive—sothing soft and musky with a bite of cedar.
Joanne blinked. That was... unexpected.
He looked at her with a crooked smile. "Your eyes are greener than I anticipated... Beautiful," he said, and then turned to gesture smoothly between them. "I’m William Belford. And this is my father, Jas Belford."
He offered his hand. Firm shake, cool fingers, charm cranked to ten.
Joanne tried to play it cool. Her heart? Not cooperating. William. Now that was a good na. And Belford... wait—
Belford Ranches?
Were they those Belfords?
Her business brain kicked in hard.
"Joanne Smith," she replied with a pleasant smile, shaking his hand.
"I must apologize," William said, sounding almost sheepish as he rubbed his hands to warm himself. "I got a bit excited eting my crush." He chuckled under his breath. "You look like Grace Kelly... Grace of Monaco, I an," he added quickly, raising his brows in question. "Except the hair. Yours is prettier."
Joanne’s face went red before she could stop it.
Was he flirting with her?
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