I can’t help it.
For one, they’re loud as all hell. They needn’t worry about ever having to repeat themselves because the whole diner is eavesdropping on their conversation right now, hanging on to each word.
Me included.
It’s crickets in here when they’re not talking.
First, they discussed a woman named Oakley who won’t commit to a man named Graham. Then they moved on to how the winter carnival was coming up, and they didn’t want a man named Jamison Williams to head the beer tent again because he and his friends get all “pig-drunk”.
Then they moved to Micah.
And Ihadto listen to that because it’s the latest I’ve heard about him.
“If you’re implyin’, Maebelle, that my Marnie is some kind of floozy, I’m going to break your nose.”
“With what reach?” Maebelle challenges with amusement. “You couldn’t reach the obvious if it were dancin’ in front of you.”
“Maebelle,” Agnes grinds out. “I’ve had about enough of you today.”
“Well then, stop comin’ out to breakfast with me every Sunday and quit your gripin’’.
“I will,” Agnes shoots back. “You’re nuthin’ but an old bat with too much mouth and not enough brains.”
Oh, Lord, help us.
I’m all for drama, but not between two grown women who could be my grandmother. I prefer it on TV. Not when it involves the man I’ve been “seeing”-ish. If spoons or coffee mugs start flyin’ around, I’m leaving. The last thing I need is a concussion.
Or an eventful Sunday morning with a black eye.
“Can’t say I’ve ever wished to be a stool before, but there’s always a first for everything.”
That deep, delicious baritone hits my senses like a freight train as I mindlessly glance over my shoulder to find Micah, of all people, taking a seat next to me with a shit-eating grin on his face.
It’s…confusing.
I completely understand that he has Heath, and he had something—orsomeone—come up at the bake sale, but…
You’re overthinking everything right now, Sienna.
You barely know this man, and you’re expecting miracles.
Play it cool.
“You just missed it,” I mutter because my brain function can’t operate with anything else. “Maebelle and Agnes were just talkin’ crap about you.”
He doesn’t bother to give them any attention; he just keeps his lucid blue eyes on me with that same grin.
One, I’m sure he used to get away with just about anything.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Shifting in my chair, I straighten my spine and try to ease into a normal conversation. “I didn’t know I was seeing someone famous.”
Micah chuckles. “It’s not for good shit, I’ll tell you. Charlie Sheen doesn’t have crap on me, minus the drinking and drugs.”
“So you slept around then?”
Micah pushes his lips out, realizing that he may have gotten himself into a bind. “I wouldn’t say the whole town knows what my dick looks like—” My arm flies out and hits him square in the ribs.
