Page 7 of Seein’ Red

Can you grab another box of matches? We’re down to the last couple

Also, a Diet Coke for Bronwyn. I thought she was bringing one, she thought I was…and here we are…

I chuckle, shaking my head at what a panic my brother must be in. His fiancée, Bronwyn Ainsworth, is a Yankee who moved to town last fall to be the director of marketing for Hayes Industries, the Fortune 500 company Willa’s family owns, and might as well hook herself up to an IV of Diet Coke. Which is ironic, since she complains that sweet tea has too much sugar.

Flinging the door open, I don't bother stopping as I reply.

Sure thing. I’ll make sure our girl gets her fix

“Nash Keller!”

Oh fuck…

I freeze. The syrupy southern accent calling out my name sends a chill through me, and not the good kind. Not the kind I get when Willa runs her nails along my scalp or whispers something dirty in my ear. No, this one is enough to turn my blood to ice.

“Mrs. Chamberlain!” I greet, forcing my own Southern charm out. She is the last person I want to see right now. Or ever, really. “You’re looking lovely. Where are you off to on this fine evening?”

My former math teacher, and the town gossip, titters. “Mr. C has a shift over at the firehouse. I’m just bringing him some dinner. Did you just come out of the bank?”

Busted…

Despite the fact that Pitman Dean National Bank closed the Hickory Hills branch after they bought out Middle Georgia Bank and Trust years ago, everyone in town still refers to this building as “the bank.” Even after the Hayes family bought it, renovated it, and attempted to change it to the Llewellyn building, named for their ancestor who died in the Civil War. It’s simply “the bank.”

Situated on the corner of Broad Street and Depot Road, the old brick building was built in the late 1800s right in the center of town. Making it easy enough to look like I belong here—just a hometown boy about his errands.

I smile, turning the charm up even more, and start to reply. Only, I’m cut off.

“Nash!” Willa hollers from behind me. The door slams, a loud angry noise, echoing the look I’m sure is on her face. “What the hell are you doing? We’re late!”

I swallow hard, turning as she appears by my side, ready to scold me some more. She comes to an abrupt stop, eyes going wide as she sees the reason for my detainment.

“Mrs. Chamberlain, hi!”

“Willa Hayes.”

The excitement dancing in the older lady's pupils is too much. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head. It won’t be long before the whole damn town knows I was seen leaving Willa’s place just minutes before Willa. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked if Mrs. Chamberlain was telepathically alerting Mrs. Burch—her rumor mill partner in crime—and activating the whole damn phone tree as we speak.

I’ve got to figure out something to say. Something that will put her off the trail of whatever dots she is trying to connect. Doesn’t matter how right she is, she can’t know. No one can know.

Because Willa would kill me.

“What are the odds seein’ you two coming out of the bank at the same time.”

“Well, I do live here,” Willa replies, her trademark sass on full display.

“But Nash doesn’t. Unless there’s something I’m missing?” The upturn to her voice like she’s onto something grates at me. This woman needs a better hobby. “Or was he just visiting?”

“We were working on wedding stuff, Mrs. C,” Willa explains. Yes, good answer! “Just over a week ’til Kenzie and Dustin finally tie the knot!”

“Oh, I can’t wait. I must say, I am a little disappointed that this won’t be the star-studded event, but I can respect that Kenzie wants to keep it private and intimate. Woulda been nice to also get an invite to the Nashville party though.”

I keep my mouth shut, since both Willa and I have an invite to that one as well. Our whole group does, Kenzie insisting we all make the trip so that she would have a small piece of Hickory Hills there. If it had been up to her, they would have kept everything local. But Dustin’s manager and record label insisted that there be some kind of event where they could invite the press and others in the industry. Neither loved the idea, but when the label promised it meant they could keep the ceremony and reception here in Georgia completely off-limits to the outside world, they both agreed.

“All the good stuff’s happening here in Hickory Hills, Mrs. C. Promise,” I assure her.

“Well, let’s hope so. This wedding has been a long time coming. I knew the two of them were made for each other since y’all were in class all those years ago. I know how to pick ’em, you know. It’s a gift. I can tell which ones of the couples have staying power and which don’t.”

I nod as she prattles on, listing example after example of couples who have made it and who have gone bust, and what they were like back in high school. To be fair to her, she does have an impressive “record” for determining who has staying power. That is, if everything she’s saying is true. Which I give a fifty-fifty shot to.