Sabrina snorts. “Too young for me anyway. My days of training men are over. I need them to be at least fifty with basic domestic skills, earning a good dependable income, and not talking to ten other women on some dating app.”
“Seems like both a sensible and reasonable baseline.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She sighs. “I fully expect to stay single. You know the house across the street from your grandma’s is about to come on the market. Awilda had a job offer in Boston, which is closer to her family.”
“Hope whoever buys it doesn’t mind photographers parked out front making a nuisance of themselves.”
“Better you dealing with all that than me. I couldn’t stop myself from flipping the bird at them every chance I got,” she says. “Time for another drink. You want one?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to help Carmen hand out the food. Those trays look heavy.”
“Isa, this one has something to say to you…” Sabrina says on her way to the bar.
Isa raises a brow at me and says, “My stomach is full and my feet are sore and I’m on my way home. Give me the condensed version.”
“I’m sorry I was a lying asshole, and I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Mm-hmm.” She stretches her neck and heads for the door. “Make sure it doesn’t.”
No idea who’s taken over security duties on the door. But Mac is now standing on the small stage doing karaoke. “Little Red Corvette” by Prince is his choice of song tonight. He really does enjoy anything vaguely to do with cars. And before him, Carter performed “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” by Shaboozey.
Nash is too busy living his best life to perform. He was getting down on the dance floor with Grandma to some Willie Nelson. But now he’s behind the bar helping Rose keep up with demand. Opening bottles of beer and loading dirty glasses into the washing machine and fetching ice and so on. The man seems to be genuinely having the time of his life, if his broad smile is anything to go by. It wouldn’t surprise me if this isn’t the only occasion on which he takes over the bar and throws an all-expenses-paid party for locals. He’s in his element.
The food truck is located near the front door in the crowded parking lot. Before I can offer my help with handing out food, however, a man around my age wearing a suit appears at my side. He really doesn’t fit in with the general dress code.
He gives me a serious nod and says, “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Farmer would like a word with you.”
And huh, yeah, I know the name. “Farmer’s here?”
The man nods toward a shiny black Cadillac SUV parked in the back corner. It was probably the one space they could find. And thank goodness the jerk didn’t invite himself inside. Nash is enjoying himself and doesn’t need his night trashed by corporatebloodsuckers. Keeping Farmer out here and away from Nash and the party is my number one priority.
I follow the driver over to the vehicle and wait as he opens one of the back doors. Then he waves his hand, inviting me inside where an older man sits waiting. And it’s a nope from me. “Call me overly cautious, but we can have this conversation out here in the open.”
Such a disconcerted sigh from Farmer. Like how dare I inconvenience him. However, he opens the door and steps out of the vehicle and walks around to me. He’s normal height and weight with a head of gray hair and a knowing grin. And he’s wearing designer chinos and a polo shirt.
“June Calloway, I presume? It’s nice to finally meet you. You know, Carrie described you differently.”
“Smart of you not to bring her.”
He clicks his tongue. “Your tone of voice. There’s no need for animosity, June. May I call you June?”
“Sure,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s an obvious defensive manner but such is life. “What do you want?”
“To help Aaron.”
I snort. “Try again.”
“June…”
“He neither wants nor needs your help. And I don’t see that changing anytime soon.”
He spreads his hands and asks, “How are you enjoying your new car? Is it comfortable?”
“Do you want it back?”
