“Kayla, why don’t we go catch up?” he asks. “Miss Eunice, Miss Loretta, always a pleasure seeing you. See you Sunday at church.”
“Oh, good. Now that you’re home, we’ll have you bring the deviled eggs again,” Loretta says. “Between us, Darla Hampton’s aren’t up to snuff.”
“I love deviled eggs,” I say. “I’d be happy to bring them!”
Eunice rolls her lips together and pauses. “Oh. I don’t think that’s necessary,” she says. “Sean’s always made the deviled eggs.”
“I insist,” I say brightly.
Loretta and Eunice exchange glances again—what is with these glances?—and then Loretta smiles. And it’s not as venomous as usual! Victory!
“Well, that does sound like a treat. Thank you, Miss Carville. We look forward to it.”
Sean makes his goodbyes and takes my elbow, directing me away from the tables toward the bar. And while we walk, I loop my arms around his bicep and give a squeeze.
“Thank you. You saved me back there! That was the first time they haven’t ended a conversation blessing my heart.”
Sean smiles. He has a great smile, amused but supportive. It’s as rich and inviting as his eyes. “Just make sure you home make the deviled eggs. Around here, anything store bought is considered taboo. Unless it’s from the Piggly Wiggly and you transfer it to your own dish. In that case, everyone agrees to pretend they don’t know.”
I widen my eyes but nod. “Good to know.”
He squeezes my arm one last time before heading behind the bar. I take a stool, and suddenly we’re thrust back in time to that night months ago when we had the most memorable conversation of my life.
I smile at him across the counter.
He smiles back at me as he pours a club soda. His confident movements hold me captive. Nothing about him is rushed orfrantic, nothing about him seems aware that someone could be looking at him, watching him, appreciating his every move.
To my surprise, he sets the drink in front of me without asking. A little wedge of lime floats in it, and the glass is already beaded with condensation.
He remembered my drink order?
A handsome older man in a wheelchair nears Sean behind the bar. “Who’s this, then?” he asks.
“Dad, this is Kayla Carville. Tripp’s cousin and the new owner of the Mudflaps. Kayla, this is my dad, Danny O’Shannan. My mom, Cheyenne, is in the kitchen.”
“It’s so good to officially meet you, Mr. O’Shannan,” I say, reaching across the glossy counter to shake his hand. “I love this place. Even if it doesn’t always love me.”
Danny laughs and pats my hand with his free one. “Please, call me Danny. But don’t you worry. The town is pricklier than a porcupine, but you keep showing up, and they’ll change their tune.”
I settle back into my seat. “I hope so. I think the church ladies may come around thanks to your son, but Mayor Kent seems none too happy that my family bought the team.”
“He’s a stickler for the old ways,” Danny says.
“Heisthe old ways,” Sean says, and I laugh.
“I wish everyone could see I’m not looking to make waves, just friends.”
“The right people will see it,” Danny says. He gives me a smile and then goes to help a customer, leaving me and Sean.
Sean leans back, gripping the counter behind him and smiling at me. He looks so comfortable in his skin, so steady and reassuring. Even when he moves, Sean has a calmness, a stillness to him. Like a babbling brook. A human anxiety buster.
He’s impossible not to watch.
And to be frank, a big part of that is how unbelievably handsome he is, with his wide jaw, thick beard, piercing brown eyes, and gorgeous dark hair. And his absurdly broad chest and biceps …
Whew.
If he didn’t have a mullet …
