Maybe whiskey.
Willow Grove was quiet today—like it always was on Sundays, when a few folks drove out to neighboring towns for church while others worshiped in their own ways. Some preferred to worship in their gardens…some in bed, some parked in front of the TV. Others gathered at Mabel’s Diner to pray to the god of good grub.
I worshiped with my brothers in the place I’d always known was holy: the old Ward house, where my Grandma Hazel’s ghost kept watch over us all.
The gravel crunched under my tires as I pulled up the long drive, the trees on either side throwing shadows across the hood. The Ward house sat at the top of the hill, a small cluster of cars parked out front—including Delilah’s Jeep, which took me by surprise. She hung out here often enough, eager to spend time with Willow and with my baby niece, Hazel—but Delilah wasn’t exactly an early riser. Beau’s truck was parked alongside Willow’s Bug, Rhett’s truck on the other side.
And there were three women sitting on the porch.
Willow, Delilah…and someone I never thought I would see again after she’d exorcised my brother’s house.
June Fontenot.
Tall. Blonde. Gorgeous.
Episcopalian…devout.
Totallyoff limits.
She looked almost the same as when she’d been here for Rhett’s wedding-exorcism last year, though her hair was a little longer, her freckles a little darker. Her blue eyes were lookingright at me as I pulled up the driveway, like she’d already known I was comin’.
She had that way about her…a shine, the kind that Grandma Hazel would have said meant she was somethin’ special.
That was obvious enough.
She wasn’t just special…she was mercy. She was compassion. Two things I didn’t want and sure as hell didn’t deserve.
I got out of the car, my eyes still locked on hers while Willow and Delilah chatted away. I was about to greet the three of them, but the wind was suddenly knocked out of me as a golden blob bolted out of nowhere and hit square in the middle of my chest.
The sloppy kisses came a second later.
“Hi, Milo,” I grunted, looking down at Beau’s dog. Milo was standing on his hind legs, fully expecting me to pick all ninety pounds of him up like a baby, and I gently pushed him back to the ground.
He got right back up.
“Yeah, you’re a real peach, buddy,” I muttered, scratching him behind the ears and then pushing him away more forcefully this time. When I looked back up at the porch, Willow and Delilah were laughing…but June looked downright bashful.
I knew she saw somethin’ in me, the same way I saw the shine in her.
Unfortunately, she didn’t know the first thing about me. If she saw any kind of promise in me, any future…she was wrong.
“Well, hey stranger!” Delilah called in singsong, still laughing. “I see you met the welcoming committee!”
“You and Milo have an awful strange definition of welcome,” I shot back, frowning.
Willow chuckled, standing up with baby Hazel on her hip. “You look like you could use a biscuit,” she said. “And maybe an Irish coffee?”
I grunted.
Willow would understand.
June still hadn’t said a word, standing now with one hand resting lightly on the porch railing. She hadn’t stopped looking at me though, like she was challenging me to break the silence first. The night of the wedding, we’d talked a lot. About Amelia, about the town, about anything and everything.
Then I’d had a couple too many shots.
I’d asked her to dance.
She’d said yes…and I’d held her in my arms, closer than I’d been with any other woman since Amelia died.
