What in the actual hell just happened?
Has Benedict Clark always secretly been the hottest man alive and I didn’t see it under the “darlings” and the jokes?
I’ve seriously never exploded like that.
And him. I don’t think he took his eyes off of me for a second, watching like I was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. He exploded too, so fast, so completely. It was all so…honest? Is that the word? There was no showing off or excessive charm. He can’t exactly fake being that turned on. I mean, two minutes?
What even was that?
And…
Why am I already eyeing my tiny polka dot shorts over there, eager to make it happen again?
27
JANIE
“Admit it, it’s going to work,” I say to Tyrone.
“Alright, alright it’ll work! Now I’ll have juuuust enough margin to never retire and die right here,” he gestures to his stool behind the register at Let it Spin, where he’s almost always perched.
“Didn’t you say that was your plan?”
“Girl, I say a lotta things, get outta my store,” he bellows, his accent thicker than usual.
“You’re welcome,” I sass back.
“For what?” Aunt Kim says as she and Aunt Bobbie push in through the door I was about to pull open.
“The wiz done wizzed my numbers, now I’m not gonna close after all.”
“Close after fall? Is that what he said?” Aunt Kim asks.
“You were never closing, Tyrone.” Bobbie rolls her eyes.
Kim points, confused. “The sign on the door says Closed on Monday?”
Tyrone raises his voice because all three of them are hard of hearing and refuse to wear hearing aids. I remember Skye’s granddad is the same. Why do all Boomers refuse to wear hearing aids? “No, not after fall. And look, it says closed on Mondays.With an ’S.’ The wiz’s idea. Not just close the store on my slow days but to let Miles rent it out those days too. Like I said, she wizzed.”
“Can we not use that term?” I mutter.
The women decide they’re done with his conversation and both turn to look at me instead. I brace myself.
“Janie. Why weren’t you at the Gobble Squabble?” Bobbie narrows her eyes at me.
I sigh, “Because I know nothing about turkeys? Because it’s a ridiculous tradition to place bets on random birds and their weight, speed, and feed preference?”
“But there was a Mellman’s sign,” Kim asks the statement at the same time Bobbie grumbles, “Well that’s just silly, everyone knows the birds prefer the corn over the seeds.”
I inhale and exhale because Icannotwith this town. Just because I live here again does not mean I want to spend my Saturday playing holiday-themed farm games.
I explain, “Auntie, Mellman’s was a sponsor, they just slap their logo on things.”
“Don’t sigh at us, girl, that husband would have liked it. He liked the scarecrow contest,” Bobbie huffs.
“Oh, he did?” I tilt my head.
“Yes,” She nods back, “he’s very competitive, like you, clearly. And the way he split that pumpkin, quite muscular.”
