Page 7

I felt several sets of eyes on us, the BBQ population tuning in for the first performance of As the World Burns: Wedding Edition.

The tip of my tongue tasted blood from biting it. I smiled, keeping my face as pleasant as possible, and said, “Not long enough.”

Julissa, sensing the tension, did the world’s worst job of redirecting. “So, uh, the Welcome BBQ is just getting started! Kayla, did you see the wine in your cabin, or⁠—”

“So you’re seeing someone?” Kenny interrupted. “I hope I get to meet this new man in your life.”

Fuck.

Annie shifted uncomfortably, grinning like she was constipated. “Yeah, will he be here this weekend?” She tightened her hold around Kenny’s arm. “We’d love to meet him.”

We? They were a we now?

“Yep, he’ll be here,” I responded before my mouth ran it by my head.

Cool.

Now all I needed was a boyfriend.

2

DIMPLES ARE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES

Damon

There were two kinds of people during a wedding weekend on my family’s ranch: those running around like their hair’s on fire, and those smart enough to let them.

I was the latter. Cold Pacifico sweating in my hand, a spectacularly bad cribbage hand fanned out in the other, while the groom’s great-aunts systematically dismantled everything I thought I knew about cheating at cards.

Mrs. Jenson slid a hidden jack across the weathered deck table with the practiced ease of a Vegas dealer. Mrs. Albright winked like we’d been partners in crime for years.

I’d met them an hour ago. The sisters had descended on Lockhart Ranch like a force of nature, matching oversized handbags, zero filter, and a rotating arsenal of jokes filthy enough to make a longshoreman reconsider his life choices.

Naturally, we'd hit it off.

"Now, Damon, the trick is to distract your opponent before you move your peg," Mrs. Jenson explained, peering at me over rhinestone-studded bifocals.

I leaned closer. "Distract them how? With my devastating good looks?"

"Those might've worked twenty years ago."

"Ouch." I pressed a hand to my chest. "And here I thought we had something special."

"We do, sweetheart." She patted my cheek. "You're just not as pretty as you think."

Mrs. Albright nearly spit out her Chardonnay.

"Careful, ladies. Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start getting ideas."

"At our age, honey, we don't have time for ideas." Mrs. Albright winked. "We prefer action."

I tipped my beer toward her. "And that right there is why I love older women."

"Too bad we didn't meet you fifty years ago," Mrs. Jenson said.

"Fifty years ago, I would've been a twinkle in my daddy's eye."

"Shame. I would've given your mama a run for her money."