Page 10 of Small Town Boy

“No, why would I want that?”

“It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Noel, let’s get something straight. I do not need sweeping off my feet. I am capable of taking care of myself.”

“So you’ve said.”

"As long as we’re clear.”

With those last words, I turn on my heel and walk to my front door. I can feel him waiting, watching, wanting to make sure I make it in. Which is sweet. But unneeded.

Once inside I give another little wave, letting the door slam behind me. Enough of the uber sexy man, with an even sexier voice and a weird sense of chivalry. There are bigger things to focus on.

Like my new home.

4

BRONWYN

I flex my hands—once, twice, three times—much like Matthew Macfadyen as Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice as I walk into Pour Decisions. Only my flex isn’t due to being overwhelmed by the touch of the incomparable Elizabeth Bennett. Nope, mine is strictly out of a desire for them to stop shaking.

It’s not working.

There are a lot of words that I could use to describe the old pickup that was left for me in the driveway of the cottage. Battered. Decrepit. Rusted.

The email that Gus sent me a couple of days before I arrived, confirming that the fleet car they had ordered for me was on its way but that it wouldn’t be there in time for my arrival, also informed me that there was an old farm truck that I could use in the meantime. He also warned me that it had “seen better days.”

Yeah, that was one way of putting it.

That wasn’t what got to me though. Sure, I did wonder if I needed a tetanus shot after prying the driver side door open, but I’m not so much of a prima donna that I can’t handle a little rust and dust. In fact, nothing about the exterior of the truck was what set me on edge. It was what I found when I hopped in and looked at the dashboard.

It’s a stick shift.

For a girl who already hates to drive and avoids it at all costs, handing her a stick shift is asking for trouble. Might as well hand me a scalpel and tell me to perform open heart surgery. I am no more qualified to drive a stick than I am to operate on a human being.

Stop being dramatic…

Thankfully, Pour Decisions isn’t very far from the cottage, and after a quick tutorial on YouTube, I made it here without issue. Might have pissed off a couple of locals along the way with my subpar driving, but I didn’t end up in the ditch. That’s what matters.

The open, warehouse-like space that acts as a taproom for Southern Brothers Brewing is decently busy, with almost half of the tables occupied and the bar completely full. I scan around, looking for Willa. I quickly find her at the far end of the long, rough-cut bar, almost tucked into a corner. Two women sit to her left at the short end of the bar, one brunette, the other with auburn hair, an empty chair left in between them, presumably for me.

“Hiii!” I call out, approaching the threesome. “This seat taken?”

My voice is cheery and hopeful, more so than I’m feeling on the inside. And not just because of the truck. Because I feel so out of place it’s not funny. It’s like there is a sign on my back that says “New Girl” on it, and everyone can’t help but stare. And this time, I’m not being dramatic. Walking across the warehouse, I could not only feel, but see the eyes on me.

“Of course!” the brunette exclaims, a wide smile taking over her face as Willa goes, “It’s all yours!”

I climb onto the stool, settling myself, as the brunette continues.

“I’m Kenzie Noble, town librarian, and this is Sylvie Forde, high school science teacher extraordinaire. She took our robotics team to the state championship this past spring.”

“That was all my students. I don’t do much other than supervise,” Sylvie says, her attempt at modesty met with an eye roll from Kenzie. “But it’s nice to meet you, Bronwyn! Welcome to Hickory Hills!”

“Thank you. And, thank you again, Sylvie, for letting me rent the cottage. It’s adorable!”

“Psssh, you’re so welcome. It was really quite perfect actually, since I just moved into the vet clinic.”

“You live in the vet’s clinic?”