Chapter one the girl in pink
If there was one thing Lily Martin had never been accused of being, it was boring.
She was a girl who loved pink.
Not a reasonable amount of pink, either.
Lily loved the kind of pink that made people squint when they walked into her bedroom. Pink curtains. Pink pillows. Pink ribbons. Pink flowers. Pink stationery. Pink perfume bottles lined neatly across her vanity. There were even tiny pink bows attached to the handles of her dresser drawers.
And then there was the glitter.
Lily believed glitter could improve almost anything.
She sat curled up beside her bedroom window, one leg tucked underneath her, listening to ABBA’s Dancing Queen playing softly from the little speaker on her desk. Afternoon sunlight spilled across the room, catching on the rhinestones of her picture frames and making them sparkle against the walls.
Outside, the Martin family’s front yard stretched toward the road, green and peaceful.
Across the road was a completely different world.
Dust.
Old trucks.
Fences.
Horses.
And the Butte ranch.
Lily glanced toward it before quickly looking away.
She had lived next door to the Buttes practically her entire life, which meant she’d spent practically her entire life dealing with Bozmen Butte.
Bo.
She preferred Bozmen.
Mostly because it annoyed him.
He was everything Lily wasn’t.
Plain.
Quiet.
Practical.
He wore old jeans and work boots while Lily owned enough shoes to outfit a small theater production. He could spend an entire afternoon fixing something without saying more than ten words. Lily could spend an entire afternoon explaining why a cupcake needed three different kinds of sprinkles.
Bo liked things simple.
Lily believed simple was usually just another word for boring.
They had been disagreeing about that since they were children.
But that was a problem for another day.
Today was Tuesday.
And Tuesday, in Lily’s opinion, was tragically underappreciated.
The song changed.
La Vie En Rose floated softly through the room.
Lily smiled.
She turned toward the small crucifix hanging above her dresser.
Beside it was a little picture of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower. Underneath sat a tiny pink rosary and a rose charm that Lily had received as a gift.
She reached over and touched the rosary gently.
“Okay,” she whispered.
She folded her hands.
“Dear God, thank You for my family, my friends, and for all the little things that make life beautiful. Thank You for giving me people who love me even when I’m probably a little much.”
She paused.
Then smiled.
“Actually, maybe a lot much.”
Her eyes moved toward the crucifix again.
“And thank You for Tuesdays.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Even though nobody appreciates them.”
That felt like enough.
Lily opened her eyes and smiled.
Her faith was not something she talked about constantly. It wasn’t a performance. It was simply there—in the little rosary by her bed, in Sunday Mass with her family, in the prayers she whispered when nobody was listening, and in the quiet feeling that God was there even on ordinary Tuesdays.
Especially ordinary Tuesdays.
She glanced at the gold-framed mirror beside her vanity.
Her blonde curls had gotten slightly messy while she’d been sitting by the window.
Lily frowned.
“Absolutely not.”
She stood and walked toward the mirror.
A few minutes later, her curls were bouncing perfectly around her shoulders. She pulled the top section of her hair back and secured it with a large pink bow.
She tilted her head.
Perfect.
Her bedroom door opened.
Her mother stood there.
“You look fabulous today.”
Lily grinned.
“Thank you, Mama.”
Her mother smiled.
The two of them had more in common than Lily liked to admit.
Her mother was feminine, too. She loved floral dresses, pretty things, soft colors, pearls, gardens, handwritten notes, and anything that made a house feel warm.
But where Lily went all the way to the moon with pink bows and glitter, her mother stopped somewhere around the front porch.
She was the elegant Southern belle version of girly.
Lily was the parade.
Her mother looked at the enormous bow in Lily’s hair.
“I suppose you’re planning something.”
Lily placed a hand over her heart.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re wearing that expression.”
“What expression?”
“The one that means your brothers are about to suffer.”
Lily laughed.
“Maybe.”
Her mother shook her head affectionately and walked away.
Lily followed her downstairs.
The Martin family had always believed that ordinary days were worth celebrating.
Birthdays certainly weren’t allowed to be ordinary.
The birthday person chose breakfast, which sometimes resulted in perfectly reasonable meals and sometimes resulted in combinations nobody should have eaten before eight in the morning.
Then came the Birthday Royal Parade.
The birthday person wore a crown and sash while the entire family marched through the house singing Happy Birthday.
Even Dad participated.
Especially Dad.
He still wore the old felt crown Mama had sewn when Anthony was a baby.
It had survived three sons, countless birthdays, and at least one incident involving a birthday cake and the family dog.
Christmas was no less chaotic.
Every Christmas Eve, the family held a mystery gift exchange. Nobody was supposed to know who had whom, and the person who gave the funniest gag gift won.
Lily had once received a box containing nothing but a potato wearing a tiny paper hat.
She had named him Sir Spudington.
She still had him.
That was the Martin family.
A little ridiculous.
A little old-fashioned.
Very loud.
And completely theirs.
Lily loved it.
She loved them.
She loved the way they could laugh at themselves. She loved the way nobody had to pretend to be cooler or more sophisticated than they really were.
Anthony could be serious.
Andre could be ridiculous.
Michele could be Michele.
And Lily could be Lily.
That was enough.
She walked into the kitchen and stopped.
She looked at the clock.
Tuesday.
She suddenly knew exactly what needed to happen.
She smiled.
“We need Tuesday cupcakes.”
Michele, her youngest brother, looked up from the table.
“What time is it?”
“Tuesday.”
He blinked.
“That’s not a time.”
“It is today.”
Andre wandered into the kitchen behind him.
“What’s happening?”
Lily grabbed her pink ruffled apron from the hook.
“Tuesday celebration.”
Anthony, her oldest brother, was sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee.
He looked up.
“Here we go.”
Lily tied the apron around her waist.
“Tuesday is the least appreciated day of the week.”
Andre nodded seriously.
“She’s got a point.”
“Thank you.”
Michele’s eyes brightened.
“I’ll get the tambourine.”
Anthony sighed.
“Of course you will.”
Lily clapped her hands.
“Today we’re making Tuesday cupcakes.”
“What makes them Tuesday cupcakes?” Andre asked.
Lily smiled.
“You throw in whatever’s in the candy cabinet.”
Andre stood.
“I’m listening.”
They opened the cabinet.
Chocolate chips.
Marshmallows.
Cinnamon twists.
Sour gummies.
Lily held up one finger.
“Chocolate chips, yes.”
Another.
“Marshmallows, yes.”
Another.
“Cinnamon twists for the top.”
Andre held up the sour gummies.
“What about these?”
Lily stared at them.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you took it too far.”
Anthony laughed into his coffee.
Andre looked offended.
“They’re sour.”
“Exactly.”
Within minutes, the kitchen smelled like sugar and cinnamon.
Lily mixed the batter while Andre measured ingredients and Michele attempted to steal chocolate chips when he thought nobody was looking.
Anthony caught him.
“Michele.”
Michele froze.
“What?”
“Put it back.”
“But I’m helping.”
“You’re eating.”
“Same thing.”
Anthony shook his head.
Lily laughed.
Once the cupcakes went into the oven, Lily started preparing the frosting.
She had recently learned how to make buttercream properly while attending pastry school, and she was still ridiculously proud of it.
She whipped the frosting until it was light and smooth.
Bright white.
Perfect.
She tasted a tiny bit from the spatula.
“Oh, that’s good.”
Andre leaned over.
“Let me try.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll eat half of it.”
“I would never.”
Anthony looked at him.
“You absolutely would.”
The cupcakes cooled.
The frosting went on.
Then came the decorations.
Chocolate chips.
Mini marshmallows.
Tiny pieces of cinnamon twist.
A little more frosting.
And, because Lily was Lily, a few pink sprinkles.
Michele picked one up before she had even finished decorating the tray.
He took a bite.
His eyes widened.
“Mhhh.”
Lily looked at him.
“Well?”
He swallowed.
“This is great.”
Lily smiled proudly.
“What does it taste like?”
Michele thought very carefully.
“Chocolate marshmallow cinnamon twist.”
He paused.
“The taste of Tuesday.”
Lily burst out laughing.
“Exactly!”
Then Michele started singing.
“Nah nah bang Tuesday! Tuesday! Nah nah!”
Lily immediately joined in.
“Tuesday! Tuesday!”
She began dancing around the kitchen.
Andre grabbed a wooden spoon and used it like a guitar.
Anthony tried to ignore them.
For approximately four seconds.
Then Andre pointed the spoon at him.
“Come on, Anthony!”
Anthony shook his head.
“No.”
Lily grabbed his hand.
“Come on.”
“I’m not dancing.”
“You don’t have to dance.”
She pulled him into the middle of the kitchen.
“You just have to participate.”
Anthony laughed.
And before long, all four of them were singing some completely ridiculous Tuesday song that had absolutely no lyrics beyond the word Tuesday.
Lily spun around the kitchen, her pink bow bouncing behind her.
Andre air-guitared.
Michele shook his tambourine.
Anthony laughed so hard he had to lean against the counter.
For Lily, moments like this were everything.
Anthony was home for a break from the Army, where he worked in some sort of technical job Lily still didn’t completely understand.
She had tried to understand it.
She really had.
But every time Anthony explained it, Lily’s eyes eventually glazed over.
Something about systems.
Something about equipment.
Something about things that were apparently very important.
She loved him anyway.
Anthony didn’t always understand Lily either.
Sometimes he looked at her as if he genuinely couldn’t figure out how one person could own so many bows.
But he never asked her to be different.
That was the thing Lily loved most about her family.
They let one another be themselves.
Anthony could be serious.
Lily could be sparkly.
Andre could be chaotic.
Michele could carry a tambourine around the house like he was leading a marching band.
Nobody had to apologize for being who they were.
Lily looked around the kitchen.
She smiled.
What a blessing.
The music continued.
The cupcakes disappeared one by one.
Eventually, Mama walked into the kitchen.
She stopped.
There was frosting on the counter.
Sprinkles on the floor.
Michele was holding the tambourine.
Andre was still holding the wooden spoon.
Anthony was trying very hard to look innocent.
Mama smiled.
“Well.”
Everyone turned.
“I hear y’all had a Tuesday celebration.”
Lily smiled proudly.
“We did.”
Mama looked at the tray.
“Those look delicious.”
“They’re Tuesday cupcakes.”
“I can see that.”
Mama picked up one.
Then she looked toward the window.
“You know what?”
Lily waited.
“We should take some across the road.”
Lily’s smile faded slightly.
“To the Buttes?”
“Of course.”
Mama gave her that look.
“Mrs. Butte is my best friend and my sorority sister.”
Lily groaned.
“Mama.”
“Be neighborly.”
Lily looked toward the dusty ranch across the road.
She knew the Butte boys.
All six of them.
Jackson.
Miles.
Eddie.
Dallas.
Vincent.
Jesse.
They had all grown up together.
And then there was Bozmen.
Bozmen Butte.
Bo.
Lily had known him practically her entire life.
And somehow, in all those years, she had never figured out how one person could be so completely—
Annoying.
He was always covered in dirt.
Always fixing something.
Always wearing that old hat.
Always acting as if enthusiasm were a contagious disease.
Lily liked excitement.
Bo liked quiet.
Lily liked glitter.
Bo liked grease.
Lily liked music playing in every room.
Bo could apparently work on a truck for three hours without turning on a radio.
Lily liked things that sparkled.
Bo liked things that rusted.
She sighed.
“Do I have to go?”
Mama gave her a look.
“Lily Claire Martin.”
Lily straightened immediately.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Andre snorted.
Anthony smiled into his coffee.
Michele grabbed the tambourine.
Lily picked up the tray of cupcakes.
Mama opened the front door.
The warm afternoon air swept inside.
Michele marched down the porch, shaking his tambourine.
Andre followed, singing the Tuesday song.
Mama carried the plate.
Lily walked behind them, balancing the cupcakes carefully in her hands.
The Martin family crossed the road like a tiny, ridiculous parade.
Lily couldn’t help laughing.
She looked toward the ranch.
There were horses in the distance.
An old truck sat beside one of the barns.
And there, underneath the hood, covered in dust and grease, was Bozmen Butte.
Of course.
Of all the people in the world, he had to be the least Tuesday person in the entire county.
Lily rolled her eyes.
Then Bo looked up.
Their eyes met.
And for just a second, neither of them said a word.
Lily tightened her grip on the cupcake tray.
Bo glanced at the giant pink bow in her hair.
Then at the cupcakes.
Then back at her.
His expression was unreadable.
Lily narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t even think about it, Bozmen.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
And somehow, that was even more annoying.
Or at least, that’s what Lily told herself.
