“I don’t want you to make this a habit,” I stated.
“A habit of what?”
“Rescuing me. First from the ditch and now from this financial crisis I got myself into because I should’ve gotten insurance, but I went the bare minimum to save money. See how well that worked out?”
“You’re babbling again,” he said with amusement.
“Brooks?”
“Yeah?”
I paused. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
I stood there for a moment and then asked, “Do you really think Milton has three daughters?”
“No,” he said. “If that man had daughters, there’s no way he’d actually be immune to crying.”
“I knew it,” I said with a sigh. “Hold on, let me see if I can muster up some saltwater.”
Brooks let out a laugh and then wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. “He already knocked 100 bucks off the price tag.”
“Really? He was that afraid to see me cry?”
“Nah, he heard you puke.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Truck
“Poet Sunshine Peabody!” Salem screeched on the other end of the phone.
I winced, glancing at Brooks in the driver’s seat of the truck.
He was smirking.
Yep, heard that middle name, all right.
“Salem Kathleen Powell,” I fired back.
“Why didn’t you tell me or Hadley that you were coming to Huckleberry Hill?” she demanded.
“Who told you?”
“Hello—the Huckleberry Hill gossip hotline is undefeated.”
I sighed. “Gracie.”
“Yep.”
“Can nothing be a secret in this town?” I asked.
“No—you know that better than anyone,” she said with a laugh. “So, what’s going on?”
“I quit my job.”
“Youwhat?”
