They both look over at me and I slowly meet their gazes. “What?”
“You’re extra grouchy today, Bails,” Sadie says.
“Yeah, what happened? JB asks.
“Nothing happened. I just didn’t get time for lunch. I’m starving. They could hear my stomach growling all the way over in Silver Pines.”
I can’t be sure, but I think I hear them say “Hangry” at the same time.
Hilarious. I mean, a girl’s gotta eat.
Tempted to flip them the bird—but don’t because there’s children present—I go order for the three of us, muttering as I go.
CHAPTER 2
Brett
The Perky Porch is just as I would have expected from the name. It’s quaint and homey with good music, great vibes, and the intoxicating smells coming out of the kitchen are to die for.
I’ve been sitting at the end of the bar for half an hour nursing a light beer, contemplating what to order for dinner, and listening to Tyler Childers over the jukebox. Being new in town, I don’t know this little place well enough yet, but if vibes are anything to go by, this place is rocking.
Small towns have always had their way with me, or me for them, whichever way you want to look at it. I grew up a country boy, born and raised in Nashville. The country way and the lifestyle are in my blood. This isn’t anything new to me, but the change of scenery is, and that’s what I’ve been craving for a while now.
Somewhere new. Somewhere I can just be me. No expectations and, more importantly, no drama. I don’t do drama very well. That shit just creeps up into your veins until you eventually rot.
I raise my beer to my lips, not wanting to think about all I’ve left behind, because right now, nothing good—aside from my family and best friend—is waiting for me back home.
I’m mid sip when I see someone in my peripheral walking up to the counter. I notice the tan cowboy boots before anything else, followed by the legs belonging to the owner. Hot damn. Then, as if in slow motion, one foot slides on something, and the woman falls forward with a loud ‘holy fuck’.
I see the trademark puddle where someone must’ve spilled a drink, and no one cleaned it up yet.
The woman careers on a wild, slippery slope across the hardwood. Her arms flail and she slides right toward me. I’m out of my seat in a flash to steady the long-legged, chestnut-haired beauty before she crashes and hurts herself.
“Woah, there little darlin’,” I say, as her hands press against my chest to break her fall. I don’t miss the way she makes a gasping sound like the wind just got knocked out of her sails.
It’s not enough force to push me over, not by a long shot. I’m just glad I got to her when I did. I steady her with my arms around her shoulders as her lean weight falls into me.
“Holy shit,” she breathes as I hold her steady, a waft of something deep and luxurious delights my nostrils as we both pause.Sandalwood? Amber?Maybe a touch of vanilla, or cinnamon? Whatever it is, it’s rich and divine, just like her.
“I didn’t know ice skating was a thing around here.” I try to make light of the situation as I reluctantly let go of her, but I don’t move my stance, just in case the bottom of her boot is still slippery.
“Or maybe they put one too many shots in whatever you’re drinking.” I throw in a wink for good measure.
She blinks several times before her eyebrows knit together at my words. “Hey, I’m not drunk!” she protests. Geez, she has acute face and pretty eyes to boot. She isn’t happy about my joke, though, but that just makes me smile even wider.
I tip my hat by way of apology. “Of course not.”
“I slipped on the damned hardwood.” The beauty thumbs behind her to the slick floor, as well as a squashed piece of lemon that didn’t help matters.
“Hazardous,” I agree. “Can I at least buy you a drink to calm your nerves after that near death experience?”
She narrows those brows again. Okay, so it’s fine for a complete stranger to be suspicious of me. Plus, if she’s a local, she’d know I’m new in town.
“No, thank you. My nerves are just fine.” She straightens herself out and my lips twitch as I quickly scan her over. This woman is even more beautiful now I’m up close and looking into those chocolate whirlpools for eyes; her long lashes frame them perfectly, and I detect a cute freckle or two scattered over her cheeks. She has minimal makeup, her skin glowy and soft. A natural beauty.
She wears dark denim jeans, a fitted dark purple shirt and those boots that look like they are made for walking. “Are you sure? I’ve slipped on a lemon wedge before in my time, you could’ve really hurt yourself.”
She scans me up and down quickly, and I have to admit, I like it. It could just be wishful thinking, but do her eyes linger a second longer than necessary over my torso? I’m in my usual attire: a Henley, flannel shirt—open because there’s a chill outside—plus my trusty old Levi’s and dark brown cowboy hat that’s never seen me wrong. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she says eventually.
