“Right.”
And I have no idea what to do about this pickle of a situation. I’ve never felt so attracted to someone as I did last night.
Yet the one I wanted…was Faith freaking Easton?
I would have never in a million years pictured her to be someone who would go to Mont du Marquette.
Faith is more interesting then she lets on.
And much, much less innocent.
And now she’s got me infinitely curious.
This is certainly a complicated situation, but I’m going to get to the bottom of this.
I check my phone.
Still no text back from from her.
Guess I’m going to have to come up with a new game plan.
Because I can’t remember a time when I’ve wanted a woman as much as I want Faith Easton.
Or should I say, Luna.
And I’ll be damned if I don’t find out what she’s really after.
10
FAITH
On Sunday after church, my friends and I join my family to eat brunch, as always, at Easton’s Eatery—our place.
“I just don’t understand why those boys always have to be instigating,” my dad huffs, taking a sip of his coffee. He’s never been shy about stating his opinion, even in front of my friends. “All of them! And in church, nonetheless. I was willing to just ignore him, buthehad to start.”
“Honey, please,” my momma says. “Not while we’re eating.”
“We’re not eating yet,” my daddy points out. “We haven’t even gotten our bread yet.”
“You know what I mean. Not at the table. It’s Sunday, for goodness sake. The Lord’s day.”
A brick sits in my stomach.
I don’t know what got into Hunter Holloway at church this morning, or what exactly he said to my daddy, but whatever happened, this means war.
You don’t mess with my family and get away with it.
“He was such a prima donna when he came into the restaurant, he wouldn’t even speak when I walked up to his table,” I comment. “Shoot, I don’t think I’d know his voice if I heard him.”
“Is that right?” my mom sings.
“Yeah!” I say. “He had his cousin order, and ask questions for him. He didn’t say one word.”
“The trailer park kid gets a big contract and now he thinks he’s all that,” Daddy adds. “I tell you what…”
“Hey, y’all,” Aunt Miranda says, approaching our table. She’s managing the restaurant this morning. “Everything going good? Your food order is in, there’s not many other orders right now so it shouldn’t take too long.”
We’re sitting at a long table with all of my friends, who I think, quite honestly, just feel a little awkward with the way my daddy is ranting right now. They stayed up late last night drinking beers in the barn after we got back from that club, and they aren’t feeling too social at the moment, much less holy.
