“No,” he disputed with a smirk. “I’m on vacation in Spring Hill.”
I gestured around and comically peered out the window at the abundance of trees as we drove down the two-lane highway. “From the looks of things, we left the nothing in Chance, and we’re headed to even more nothing in Spring Hill.”
“Now who’s judging?”
Innocently, I widened my eyes. “I’m not judging. I’m observing.”
He let out a deep rumble of a laugh as he approached the first stoplight. “Well observe this.” He smiled. “Spring Hill Square.”
Spring Hill had evolved since I was a teen. There were stores and restaurants where trees used to be. Although they had modernized, it was still a small town and looked every bit of it. There was maybe a six- or seven-block assortment of buildings and then nothing but trees and farmland. But the sign that said WELCOME TO SPRING HILL SQUARE listed businesses below in fine print.
“There are thirty businesses over here,” he told me, reading my mind. “This is like the downtown area.”
“And three restaurants. Okay, I see you!”
“And a fourth one, the nice one, is down the street by the water.” He pointed to the right proudly as he parallel parked on the street. He turned the engine off and shrugged his shoulders. “I know you’re not used to the big city, being from Chance and all.”
“This is damn near New York City,” I joked, reaching for the door handle.
“Whoa…” His hand wrapped around my wrist. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through my arm.
Gasping at the unexpected sensation, I whipped my head around to face him.
“I’ll get your door,” he told me.
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
His fingers lingered on my flesh for a second longer than necessary as he held my gaze.
Licking his lips, he dropped his hand from me and climbed out of the SUV.
I exhaled loudly. Pushing myself up in my seat, I watched him circle the hood to get to the passenger side. When my door opened, he offered me his hand.
“You’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” I remarked, allowing him to help me out of the vehicle.
His lips spread into a slow smile without answering. Looking back and forth to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, he put his hand on my lower back and ushered me to the other side of the street.
“We’re going to start here…” He smiled as we approached the first stop.
“A bookstore,” I cooed as he opened the door for me.
It was called Edwina’s. The bell announced our arrival, and we were greeted by an older woman with graying hair and a slow, dawdling walk.
“How can I help you?” she greeted us.
“We’re just going to look around for a minute. We’ll let you know,” Lamar replied.
There were people milling around the store, but it was surprisingly quiet. I gravitated to the collection of journals on a shelf. I ran my fingertips over the leather-bound ones while I made my way down the aisle.
“Are we looking for anything in particular?” I wondered as I paused on a brown vintage journal with a rope closure. The hundred-dollar price tag helped me to move on from it. “Or are we just here for the tour?”
“You mentioned you taught English, so I planned for Edwina’s to be our first stop.” He headed down the first aisle. “They have rare books and a bunch of other stuff that might pique an English teacher’s interest.” He looked back at me. “And I already know you can’t find books like this in Chance.”
I snickered behind my hand, trying to keep quiet. “You’re not wrong.” Reaching up, I pulled a book off the shelf. “Have you ever read this?”
He read the title and then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Should I?”
“For your program to help incoming rookies who are heading into the league, yes.”
