As if my hometown is welcoming me back, I find an open parking spot right in front of the diner. I’ve been gone for three months, but I already know exactly what I'm about to smell when I open that metal and glass door with theNo shirt, no shoes, no problemsign. For the record, they don't mean it. Plenty have tried.
Fried onions. Oil. Cinnamon. I step inside, inhaling deeply. A familiar, melodious voice sails across the wooden chairs and plastic countertops.
"As I live and breathe, it's my favorite Hayden." Cherilyn, a woman who's as much a fixture in this town as the HCC, waves me over. "Come sit, honey. This booth has your name on it." She smacks an empty, Formica-topped table.
I make my way over and step into her fleshy, open arms. A sudden lump forms in my throat. I've done a good job pushing away thoughts of what I saw at Austin's house, but Cherilyn's embrace forces it from behind the curtain.
Once again, I catapult it back to the recesses of my mind and step out of her arms. I smile at her and slide into the booth. "How have you been, Cherilyn?"
"Same as always," she answers, winking at me. "Expanding waistlines and making friends."
I laugh, and the lump in my throat disappears. "I guess I came to the right place, then."
"Patty melt, half fries/half onion rings, Oreo milkshake?"
My salivary glands kick in. "Yes, please. Phoenix has thousands of places to eat, but nothing is better than this diner."
Cherilyn barks a loud laugh. "Something tells me there'd be people willing to argue about that if they overheard you." She touches my chin affectionately. "But thank you."
She walks away. I lean back, resting my head on the fake leather covering the back of the booth, and close my eyes. Cherilyn's cheerful voice floats around the room as she talks with other tables. It comforts me in a way that doesn't make total sense.
Three years ago, I couldn't wait to go to college, but as time went on, I realized how much I didn't know what I wanted to do. Lindsay's laser focus made it even more stark of a realization for me. I have no doubt she will be the journalist she's always dreamed of being. She nabbed a summer internship with one of Arizona's biggest news stations and talks incessantly about how she can't wait to meet a certain female news anchor she's been idolizing for years. I envy her determination, her knowledge of what she wants.
I have none of that. All I really know is how much I love this town. The ranch where I grew up. My family. I don't have grand plans the way other people do. Not that any of that matters anyway. The dean did me a solid by allowing me to withdraw as opposed to kicking me out, so at least my transcripts won't bear that mark.
Despite that show of kindness, the fact remains. I'm twenty-one years old, and where most of my peers are gearing up for their first steps onto career paths, I've been knocked on my ass on the sidelines.
I take a deep breath, determined not to feel sorry for myself. My lungs are full of air when goose bumps ripple across my forearms, even though it's not cold in here. I look down at the tiny, taut hairs, and around the room for the source of the sudden chill. There's no obvious reason for this feeling, but my gaze lands on a man fitting his tall frame onto a stool at the eat-in counter.
He wears a suit. Fancy leather sneakers. He shrugs off his navy-blue jacket and carefully folds it in half, draping it across one thigh. His crisp, white shirt stretches over an expansive upper back. He is large, well-built, and oddly reminds me of my brothers. If they'd ever wear a suit, that is, which none of them do. He turns his head, revealing his profile, and all thoughts of my brothers vanish. This man is strikingly handsome, with a strong jaw and a perfectly straight nose. He’s completely out of place. Maybe his Porsche broke down as he was passing through.
Cherilyn approaches him, exchanging pleasantries. He isn't overly friendly, but he's not rude. Reserved. Something about their exchange seems comfortable, as if she knows him.Interesting.
She pivots, grabbing my lunch from the window, then sets an ice water in front of the mystery man. When she drops off my plate, I ask as casually as I can muster, "Who's the suit at the counter?"
She glances over her shoulder, then back to me. "That would be Sawyer Bennett."
I sneak a peek at him, admiring the way the fabric of his shirt molds to the dips and rises of his upper arms. I look back to Cherilyn. “Why do I feel like I know that last name?" It’s ringing a bell in an off-hand way.
"His family lived here way back when. Before you were born. Bennett is the B in Circle B. Also known as the previous name of your newest sister-in-law's ranch."
I nod slowly. This is getting more interesting with every unearthed detail. “Why is he back?"
Cherilyn shrugs. "He came back a while ago to sell the ranch, but he started buying up other properties too. He's some kind of real estate guy. He was buttoned up when he arrived, but I’ve been wearing him down.” She gives me a pointed look and ducks her chin at me. “He has some ties to you."
My eyebrows cinch. "How's that?"
"He invested in Jo's ranch when she needed cash."
“Ohhh…” I knew there’d been an investor, I just didn't know who. When I hear the wordinvestor,my mind conjures up an old guy. “That was nice of him,” I say, my lips wrapped around the wide straw poking out from my shake.
Cherilyn looks at him again, eyes squinted in suspicion. "I suppose so. Couldn't have been for nothing. I'm sure he gets a percentage of the profits for the cash he fronted."
“As most investors do,” I comment, taking a bite of my burger, and the automatic groan brings Cherilyn's attention back to me. "Do you know how much I love that I can come back here and order this and it's still as good as it was the first time I had it? That constancy makes my heart happy."
"I'm just happy you're happy." Cherilyn taps my nose and walks away to take care of her other tables.
And me? Well, I'd be lying if I said I haven't glanced over at the counter a few times. That man,Sawyer Bennett, is hard to look away from. Gorgeous and a mystery? Great combination.
