“You always did have a vengeful streak when it came to your cooking.”
“It’s not vengeful, it’s educational,” I corrected primly, fighting a smile. “I’m simply teaching people to appreciate proper seasoning.”
“By setting their taste buds on fire?”
“If necessary.”
We fell into our old rhythm, the years of separation melting away as we traded stories back and forth. For a moment, it was just us again—the way we used to be before life got complicated.
“Oh, and then there was the great Huckleberry Creek Chicken Incident.” I leaned forward as the server cleared our appetizer plates. “You missed that whole fiasco.”
Rhett raised an eyebrow. “Chicken incident?”
“So Mayor Wilson decided the town needed more ‘rural charm’ for the tourism brochures.” I rolled my eyes. “He bought twenty chickens and set them loose in the town square for a photoshoot.”
“He did what now?” Rhett’s eyes widened.
“Oh yeah. Professional photographer, the whole nine yards. Except nobody told him that chickens don’t just pose nicely.” I took a sip of wine, warming to my story. “Those birds scattered faster than teenagers at a busted party. Three ended up in the fountain. One got into the library—your mom nearly had a heart attack when it started pecking at the rare books display.”
Rhett’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Please tell me someone got this on video.”
“Are you kidding? It was the most viewed post on the Huckleberry Creek community page for months. Your dad was out there with his net, trying to wrangle them while still in his uniform. Chief of Police, chasing chickens down Main Street.”
“Dad never mentioned this in any of our calls,” Rhett said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Would you? Your mom got the whole thing on her phone. She calls it ‘Jim’s Finest Hour.’”
We both dissolved into laughter again. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed this hard—especially with Rhett. Something warm and familiar unfurled in my chest as I watched him across the table, his face lit with genuine amusement.
“I missed this,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “Talking to you. Laughing with you.”
The words hung between us, more honest than I’d meant to be. But it was true. For all our problems, conversation had never been one of them. We’d always been able to talk for hours, about everything and nothing.
Rhett’s smile softened. “I missed it too, Pep.”
I should have felt panic at the intimacy of the moment, should have changed the subject or put up those walls I’d spent years building. Instead, I found myself relaxing into it, savoring the easy back-and-forth we’d always had.
“I’m really glad you made it home okay—shoulder notwithstanding.”
Those deep, dark eyes warmed. “Me, too.”
The server appeared again, breaking the intimacy of the moment. I sat back in my chair, telling myself it was for the best. Before I let nostalgia drag me down a dangerous path.
“Will y’all be having dessert this evening?”
Rhett’s smile dialed up to a grin. “I think dessert is an absolute necessity. What do you think? Crème brûlée and the bourbon pecan pie?”
“Well, who can say no to that?”
Nine
Rhett
The glow of the dashboard cast soft shadows across Pepper’s face as we cruised down the winding roads back to Huckleberry Creek. The night had been perfect—better than I’d dared hope. The way she’d laughed at my story about the guys I’d been deployed with trying to turn MREs into a proper casserole that had turned out so bad even the stray dogs at the base wouldn’t touch it. The sparkle in her eyes when she described her latest culinary experiment. It felt like old times.
The radio played low, some country song I didn’t recognize. Pepper hummed along, her fingers tapping against her thigh to the rhythm. The dress she wore rode up just enough to make my mouth go dry. I thought again of The Underwear and gripped the steering wheel tighter as I tried to focus on the road.
“Thanks for tonight.” Her voice was soft, almost lost under the engine’s purr.
