Then I thought about the kiss, how it had been ... good. Great, if I was being honest. Even with the fine hairs of his failed mustache. I remembered the sounds he’d made, needy and eager. His touch was gentle but determined, like I was delicate but he remembered at the last moment exactly who he was dealing with. There had been something desperate in his touch. It was as if he just couldn’t help himself. The way we’d caught flame from a tiny spark. I could still feel his hand on the back of my neck urging me closer, the way he’d bitten my bottom lip and then soothed it with his tongue. He’d tasted like citrus, like the orange Tic Tacs he used to crunch all the time.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
“Mac,” he said impatiently, and I got the sense it wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get my attention.
I’d been too caught up in replaying what had happened.
Dear God, I wanted to do it again. I wanted to climb across the center console, straddle his lap, and have him make those hungry sounds all over again. I wanted to feel his hand stroke down my neck to other more interesting places.
With a jolt of gutting awareness and sudden panic, I straightened. “No. No, we are not going to talk about it. We shall never speak of it again!”
At my admittedly forceful declaration, something complicated happened to Brady’s face. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said he looked hurt or disappointed.
But then he nodded stiffly, just once. “Good to know. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home.”
Swallowing hard, I climbed out of his truck on unsteady legs. I left without my answers or another word, wondering what the hell I’d just done.
six
BRADY
The crowd in the main dining room of Carter Bistro was loud for a weeknight. Folks sat along the bar that curved through the center of the space. All the booths that lined the perimeter were full of people I didn’t recognize. Servers dashed in and out, balancing glasses of wine and trays of pasta, steaks, and Southern staples with a twist.
The restaurant probably had reservations until closing time for the next two weeks. But that was prime tourist season for you. The leaves were nearly at their peak, so visitors to Kirby Falls would be plentiful for the next little stretch, eager to take in our famed foliage.
Abby had a front-of-house shift at Carter Bistro tonight, and he’d told me to stop by for a drink. I planned on at least begging an appetizer off him. His chef made the best hush puppies and served them with this amazing chipotle honey butter.
Carter Bistro was just one of Cole Abernathy’s many business ventures. He had his hand in stuff all over town. But this restaurant was the first one he ever opened, and it probably meant the most. It had a prime location, smack-dab in the middle of Main Street, just across the way from the municipal courthouse. You could sit on the bistro’s rooftop deck and watch the Orchard Festival parade, the annual Christmas tree lighting, or someone you went to high school with reporting for jury duty.
Tatum Willis, Abby’s longtime manager and right hand here at Carter Bistro, waved me back as soon as she saw me elbowing my way through the leafers gathered in the restaurant’s narrow foyer. Tatum was in her mid-forties and terrifyingly capable. She’d helped Abby open each new restaurant, trained the staff, and then came back to handle her domain here at the bistro.
If she was here, I wondered why Abby had needed to come in at all.
I said hi to a few more servers as I walked back toward the office.
Abby was seated behind his desk in the small space. He was typing on his laptop, but there were two beers and a plate of hush puppies already waiting next to his keyboard.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” I said as I shut the door and slid onto the only other available chair in the tiny room.
“Well, hello to you too,” Abby murmured without taking his eyes off the computer screen.
“I was talking to the hush puppies, Abigail.” I popped one of the delicious morsels into my mouth.
Abby snorted but finished up whatever he was typing and then closed the laptop. “Nice to know where I rank.”
I grinned. “I saw Tatum out front. Why are you on the schedule tonight?”
He took a sip from the glass that was already half empty. “She has to leave in thirty for her daughter’s dance recital. I told her I’d cover for her.”
“Gotcha. I’m working late tomorrow, too. Candy is organizing this paint-and-sip event at the orchard after closing. People apparently pay to drink wine and paint pumpkins. I told her I’d stay and help her close up.”
Abby nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“Yeah. She’s been a big help bringing in customers this season. All of her ideas have been a hit so far, and this thing is already sold out.”
“You don’t mind the extra work?” Abby asked, eyeing me curiously as he reached for a hush puppy.
My sister’s plans for generating more profit at the farm had caused a bit of a stir. Joan had been grumpy about Candy’s involvement, but I’d support the new stuff if it made our parents more money and took some of the pressure off them.
