Chapter 2
Hallie
Brooke and I sit at our favorite table inside Gloriana’s, the clatter of plates and murmured conversation creating our own little bubble of bestiehood. Adrenaline still hums in my veins, every muscle buzzing from our quarterly visit to the Rage Cage, a local smash room here in Stone Ridge.
Our hometown sits in the Texas Hill Country, about an hour away from Austin, just on the other side of Indigo Peak. The natural beauty of the area makes Stone Ridge a popular tourist destination, so we benefit from a variety of recreational activities. We’ve both found that busting up a bunch of items is a great way of keeping our excess rage energy in check.
The best part of going to the smash room is naming each item after whatever’s been eating at us up since our last visit. Today, Brooke named the old television Dunderhead Dutton. I didn’t know that glass could shatter into that many pieces.
Our server brings our mocktails along with the queso. I load up my plate and grab a chip still warm from the fryer, swirling it in the cheesy goodness.
“Do you want to talk about the TV?”
She plays with the stem of her mocktini, her face twisted into a half grimace. “Nothing to talk about.”
“Okay.”
I wait my bestie out, knowing she can’t go more than ten seconds without indulging me. That’s what Rage Day is all about. I crunch my chips and inwardly count.
“What was he thinking?!” It’s a rhetorical question, so I say nothing. No girl likes rhetorical questions answered by anybody. Ever. “I guess I just thought he’d work at the table with me this year.”
“Maybe Gentry is tired of waiting for you. He wants the same things we do: a family, kids. He’s thirty-one. If he’s not gonna get that with you, then he needs to start looking at other people.”
A server swoops past with a tray of frozen margaritas and chips, weaving expertly between the tile-topped tables.
“Ouch,” Brooke says, her face scrunching like she just ate a whole lemon.
We live in the same duplex, which is how we met five years ago. We became fast friends and earned the title of besties after two hard breakups and a small kitchen fire that I refuse to discuss. We rented a two-bedroom apartment while the restoration crews cleaned everything up, and that cemented the deal.
I hadn’t known Brooke back in high school. She’s a year older than me, and although we knew of each other, we never hung out. I was a drama nerd, and she was a driven STEM girl.
Now we’re practically inseparable.
Fiddling with a strand of hair, Brooke changes the subject. “Do you want to talk about the mirror? I believe you named it Old Thoughts?”
I look at my bestie, unsure if I should open up about my high school crush on her brother. It’s not something I’ve thought about since he left for the rodeo circuit. But seeing him todaymade my stomach flutter, like that split second on a roller coaster when you’re about to freefall. I can still smell the faint scent of his cologne, a mixture of leather and sun-warmed soap, threading through my thoughts like a ribbon I can’t untie. I hadn’t expected that physical of a reaction.
So I’m a liar. I knew there was a good chance that would happen. The night she told me he was moving back to town, I had a vivid sex dream about him. The way his body hovered over mine, his blonde curls damp, his brown eyes heated with need… when I woke up, my sheets were tangled, and I could still feel his calloused hands on my skin. But I don’t keep things from Brooke. So, I decide to lay it all out there.
“Old Thoughts refers to my high school crush on your brother.”
“So you bashed a small bookcase to smithereens because of old thoughts about him?” She dips her chip into some salsa. “Must’ve been one heck of a crush.”
“Every girl crushed on your brother.” What I don’t say is that his being around him flipped a switch that lay dormant for years.
“True. You didn’t stand a chance back then anyway. He had a thing for Liz Beck.” She signals to our server. “We’re going to need more chips.”
Liz Beck is my nemesis. Should a woman of twenty-nine even have a nemesis?
Absolutely not.
But I have one. And not because of anything related to Colt Sawyer.
Liz runs The Tea Spot here in Stone Ridge. When I opened my bakery, The Kindly Crumb, she accused me of stealing her customers, which is the opposite of the truth. She serves quiches and sandwiches along with a variety of coffees and teas and hosts special events in the evenings. The only sweets on her menu are butter cookies and vanilla or chocolate cupcakes. Ioffered her a business deal to make exclusive cakes and pies, but she refused.
I had a hard time getting customers to stop by the bakery when it first opened due to her badmouthing me around town. Luckily, a lot of people took a chance on me. My business thrives despite her early efforts to ruin me. There’s quasi peace, but I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. And I was never good at softball.
“I sat next behind him in tenth grade, so I had a front-row seat to his cuteness. What was I supposed to do?”
