Page 41 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"One and the same," Spud said, like she was finally catching on.

"So there's one stoplight in town and two bars?"

"Seven churches too. Now pay attention. If you want to be treated like one of us, you need to know the history."

"Should I take notes?"

"I would." He gestured to her clipboard and handed her a pen from behind his ear.

"There used to be one bar, but the sisters had a falling out. Haven't spoken a kind word to each other since. That was thirty years ago."

She looked up from writing. "Let me guess. It was over a man?"

"That's not very female-forward of you," he chastised. "It was over the Summer Sunflower Spectacular chili contest. The year after their dear mama, Mable, passed. Bless her every loving heart. Anyway, both ladies laid claim to the secret family recipe that went back six generations. Since it was the same recipe and neither would pull out, they were both disqualified.

"They divided the bar down the middle and pitted townspeople against townspeople," he continued. "It was like our own Civil War until the mayor came up with the idea of taking turns. Every other night we switch bars. Split the holidays fair and square too."

"And today is Lottie's day."

"Yup. And you'll be happy to know Lottie is a bubbles-and-stems kind of bartender. A man can't get a drink that doesn't have a garnish or an umbrella."

Excitement raced through Vivi's veins at the thought of making new friends and becoming a small part of Bridlewood's history. "Sounds like my kind of place."

"Speaking of the Summer Sunflower Spectacular, I'm actually glad you stopped by," Spud said, his voice tight and uneven. "I need a favor."

"You look unusually nervous," she said, amusement creeping into her voice.

"I heard you're a matchmaker," he mumbled, running a hand down his ruddy cheeks.

"Not a matchmaker. I help people showcase the best sides of themselves," she explained.

" I need a date."

Vivi blinked. Her brain short-circuited for a second, then she snorted—because of course he did. Spud, broad-shouldered, beard like a lumberjack with a keg for a belly, asking her for dating help? It was absurd. And adorable.

"You want me to help you find a date?"

Spud cleared the embarrassment from his throat. "I mean, if you're willing. If not, I can figure it out myself. Probably. Maybe."

Vivi let out a bright laugh. "You're in luck, I happen to be excellent at this sort of thing. We'll build you a profile and sell you properly to the town. I'll take all the good parts.”

“What would those be?”

She patted his shoulder. “Your rugged charm, your work ethic, your tragic loneliness, and package them in a way that won't scare anyone off. Trust me, I'm practically a professional."

"That's great. But first you've got to know the context. Otherwise, women will think I'm normal. And that won't do."

Vivi blinked at him, trying not to laugh hard enough to snort into her coffee.

He was the opposite of normal—more like a walking headline nobody could quite believe and somehow hearing him say it out loud made her heart roll over a little. She was supposed to be helping him find a date, but all she could think was that this man—crass and impossibly big-hearted—was already impossible to forget.

"Context? Okay, I'm listening."

He took a deep breath. "Alright. First story. I once drove twelve hours to deliver eighty thousand dollars to a stripper. Her mom needed medical care in Russia. I didn't ask questions, just did what needed to be done."

Vivi choked. "You what?"

"Noble, right? Sort of heroic," he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.