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“He didn’t. The owners, Colin and Lois, were punk rockers back in the seventies in the UK. It was an homage to their youth and meant to represent Georgie’s desire to break free from convention.” And as pissed off as Atley was that day, I’m sure something as playful as a bright blue mohawk wouldn’t have occurred to him.
“And that’s why I love this town.” Wilson smacked the steering wheel of the truck as he chuckled.
“When I went in to order the hair dye, the Muzak version ofLondon Callingwas playing. I should have guessed they were old-school punk rockers without having to ask.”
Wilson stopped and typed in his code at the main gate to Blue Star.
“I can’t believe Cami agreed to make us breakfast while we ran our mouths on the radio. She really didn’t need to cook for me.” I glanced at the time on the truck’s flat-screen display; we were right on time.
“Oh, it’s not just you. She cooks for everyone—a family tradition.”
I could see what he was talking about as we pulled up to the main house. A handful of cars and trucks were all in the drive already.
“Are we getting raided or something?” I pointed at the sheriff’s department cruiser.
“Nah, that’s Colton, Cameron’s brother. He’s town sheriff.”
“Totally forgot. I’ve not met him yet.” A few of the comments Lara had let slip about him when I stopped in at The Pub for a drink last week with Gabriel had me curious.
“He can be a pompous jerk, but his heart is in the right place, or so my fiancée tells me.” Wilson parked the truck in the garage and we both got out. I followed him inside. We stepped into a kitchen and great room overflowing with happy chaos. From video games on a TV at the far end of the room to a whirring exhaust fan over the cooktop, noise and people were everywhere.
Over by the stove, Cameron and her daughter, who’d come home for a few days before college started, were frying pans of sausage. The mother and daughter were each armed with an apron and spatula and were lip-syncing to an old NSYNC song playing on a wireless speaker on the counter. Their dance moves were strikingly reminiscent of 1990s Justin Timberlake. Wilson stepped between them to give each woman a kiss. Bailey got a peck on the cheek and Cameron got a full dramatic dip with a little tongue.
“Darling, Rebecca.” Amaryllis wrapped me in a hug, the smell of lily of the valley perfume overtaking the frying sausage. “You were wonderful on KTXE. I’ll email you the details of tomorrow’s Chamber of Commerce breakfast. Come by. You can do your pitch again. I know all the local business owners are dying to see the redone dancehall. Your soft open party is going to be a blowout.”
“Sure. I’d love to.”
“Now come help me get these breakfast sandwiches made. With Wilson in the kitchen, Cami is distracted, and we don’t want anything to burn, especially not my biscuits.” She opened a drawer and found a set of potholders. It was obvious she’d been in the kitchen enough to be comfortable.
I pulled open the door on the wall oven, and the aroma of fresh hot buttermilk biscuits made my mouth water.
“You made these.”
“Mmhm.” She pulled a sheet pan with perfect flaky golden-brown biscuits from the oven and turned to set it on the end of the island.
I closed the oven door and stood watching the well-choreographed ballet of the breakfast sandwich from the sidelines. Cameron and her daughter plated the sausage. Colton, the good-looking sheriff deputy, stole a bite and popped it in his mouth, earning a smack on the hand from his sister and burning his tongue. Bailey laughed at her uncle. Lara passed Colton her glass of orange juice to cool his burned mouth. Amaryllis tsked at her grandchildren’s silliness while she split open her hot biscuits.
I stepped farther back, not wanting to get in the fray, and a hand closed over my hip, stopping my progress. A shiver of recognition told me who I’d almost collided with. He squeezed my side; his long fingers scalded my skin through the thin layer of cotton separating us.
Then he let go.
A longing for what we’d screwed up hit me so hard I wanted to scream. It took all my willpower not to spin around and yell at him. Confront him over what a grade-A asshole he’d been. Ask him what I needed to do to fix things. No, I didn’t need to do anything. He’d been the jerk. He should apologize.
“Good morning.” I turned to face him, my gaze never rising past the top button on his shirt. “Did you listen to the interview?” It was the most civil thing I could think of to ask.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He might as well have said go away. His voice, icy and stoic, lacked even a tiny spark of warmth. I crossed my arms over my chest and nodded. So be it.
The weight of the silence between Atley and me was crushing. And not anything I had to endure.
I pasted a big fake grin on my face and improvised my part in the breakfast sandwich ballet. Wilson had a new family, and I wanted to be part of it. Grabbing a platter of sliced cheese that seemed to have been forgotten near the refrigerator, I joined the fray, not looking back at Atley.
“I think you guys forgot the best part.” I added the plate of cheese to the buffet they were creating on the far end of the kitchen island.
“Wilson, tell your sister she’s wrong. My sausage is the best part.” Colton said, holding out a hand to shake as an introduction.
“Is that a food thing or some sort of sex thing?” Wilson asked in a stage whisper to Cameron, who tossed a wadded-up dishtowel at his head.
