It was her turn to laugh. “Not at all. We only have one newspaper that prides itself on sharing the news and only the news. They’ve won several journalism awards over the years.”
“To be fair, you never know anymore. Back in Charlotte, there were social media accounts dedicated to spreading local gossip.” His eyes crinkled with disgust. “Don’t people have better ways to spend their time.”
“You would think. I’d hate to think my personal business would be put out there for all to see. The entire incident with Jess was humiliating enough without having the details published online.” She shoved those thoughts aside. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t know of any such social media accounts for Dogwood Creek. There might be a rampant gossip mill, but it’s rarely malicious. We’re a small town that looks out for each other.”
“That’s what I’ve noticed so far. Black eye withstanding, Dogwood Creek is as ideal as they come in real life.”
“What brought you here? We don’t often get transplants from the city.”
His eyes shaded. “That’s a story for another day.”
“Gotcha.” A pang of disappointment surprised her. She’d opened up to him and half expected him to reciprocate but if he wasn’t ready, she wouldn’t push. Her own experience gave her empathy and patience.
He shifted his weight to his left leg. “Should we head to the diner?”
Her growling stomach answered for her. They both laughed at the timing, breaking the minor tension between them.
Chapter Six
Judah enjoyed dinner. His fried catfish with turnip greens and mac and cheese hit the spot. The tea found the perfect balance of smoothness and sweetness, and the pecan pie for dessert melted in his mouth.
More than the food, however, was the company. They’d briefly had a tense moment earlier when she’d asked why he moved to Dogwood Creek. He could tell she’d wanted him to tell her and was disappointed, but she didn’t make an issue out of it.
The truth was, he wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t jump that hurdle. Nobody in Dogwood Creek except for Nancy knew, and she wouldn’t tell a soul. He preferred it that way. Or at least he had until earlier today.
He felt like a cad not telling Maegan. They’d entered this crazy scheme together, which should create a certain level of trust between them. If there was anyone in this town he could tell, she would be the one.
Maegan stared at him with her head tilted and eyes questioning. “Am I boring you with my yarn stories? Not everyone finds yarn as fascinating as I do.”
And now he felt even worse. “My mind drifted, I’m sorry. I never realized there are so many types of wool and breeds of sheep.”
“I’ll spare you more details for now.” She ate the last bite of her cherry pie and vanilla ice cream. “I wish I could say, I rarely get dessert, but that would be a lie. Of all the traits I could have inherited from my dad, I got his sweet tooth.”
“If all the desserts are as good as that pecan pie, I’ll be in trouble. I’m stuffed but still want another piece.”
“See, it’s hard to resist, isn’t it?” She laid her spoon on the plate and pushed it aside.
“Very hard.” He drank his coffee the waitress had brought with the pie. “Do you take more after your mom?”
“I’m a pretty even blend of my parents. I have my dad’s height and dark hair. Mom is six inches shorter than me and has platinum blonde hair. Dad is extremely outgoing, while Mom is more introverted, and I get that from her. I love people, but my social battery drains quickly, and I need time alone to recharge. They’re both hard workers, which I like to think I inherited. What about you?”
“I am my father’s son through and through, even in appearance. If you line up photos of my dad and me at the same ages, we’re nearly identical. Dad’s also in law enforcement and is the police chief for the town I grew up in on the outskirts of Charlotte. Guess the biggest difference between us?”
Maegan pursed her lips as she thought. “Your age?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not so obvious of one.”
“You like your steaks rare, and he likes them well done.”
“Good guess, but we both like them medium rare. Believe it or not, my dad hates coffee, can’t even stand the smell of it.”
Her eyes widened in mock horror. “You mean there are actually people in this world who don’t like coffee? I can’t understand that.”
“Right? How does one function without coffee?” Lifting the mug to his mouth, he drew in an exaggerated whiff. “WhenMom got sick, Dad would make her coffee every morning and afternoon. He’d make a cup for himself also, though he would never drink it.”
“Why make one then?”
He choked on the rise of emotions in his throat. “Mom would always tell him she wished he drank coffee or tea so they could sit on the porch and watch the sun rise together while sipping on their coffee. When the terminal diagnosis came, Dad did everything he could to fulfil all her wishes, and rain or shine, from that day forward, they started their day on the porch with a cup of coffee. Even the days she was too weak to walk, he would carry her out.”
