Page 18 of Sundown Somewhere

Fucker…

Dolly throws me a confused look over her shoulder, silently asking me what the hell he’s talking about, but I shake my head, answering her unspoken question with my own telepathic answer of ignore him. After this many years of friendship, we have our own language.

“I will, however, just help myself to one of⁠—”

“No!”

Dolly slaps Anton’s hand as he reaches for a cinnamon roll, as if he were a cat that hopped up on the counter he didn’t belong on.

“Are you telling me that I don’t get one?”

Turning to face him, my sassy little blonde cocks her hip out, firmly planting one hand on it, pointing the other straight at him.

“Anton Wright Hayes, if you for one second think that I didn’t already account for y’all…” The brother right above me in line has the good sense to look sheepish, his cheeks tingeing, noticeable even in the dark. Serves him right. “There is a container over there that has rolls all boxed up and labeled for each one of y’all. In fact, why don’t you just take the box and hand them out.”

“On it.”

Good to see Dolly woke up with her sass intact…

It’s been two weeks since Jeff decided to play runaway groom, and three days since Dolly opted to sleep back at her apartment, rather than my place. I tried hard not to object to her going back—even offered to sleep over so that she didn’t have to be alone—but she insisted that it was time to get back to normal. Or at least “find her new normal.” Whatever the fuck that means.

Despite picking her up in the wee hours this morning, and getting everything loaded into my truck to get over here before the crowds, I haven’t had a chance to check in with her. To see how she’s feeling—really feeling—about her first town event post catastrophe. She shrugged off the question last night, but then left early before I could catch up with her again. Not a good sign. Going off the tension in her shoulders, we’re in much the same place.

“What do you need, Doll?” I ask, coming up behind her, kneading my thumbs into the muscles at the base of her neck. She’s tight, but relaxes slightly under my touch for a brief second before turning to me, her blue eyes dimmed.

“Make yourself useful and help with the coffee? We’ve got a bit of a lull right now, but judging by the check-in line, it’s not gonna last long, and they’re all gonna want coffee.”

“No problem.”

I press my lips gently to her forehead, letting her know I got this. I might be in charge of lumber and paper for a Fortune 500 company, but when you’re the man of honor for a woman who runs the town’s greasy spoon, you also happen to know a thing or two about serving coffee.

“And Hux?” She grabs my wrist as I step away, stopping me and giving it a squeeze. “I know you, like, just fixed it, but the spout on that one dispenser is acting up again.”

For fuck’s sake…

“I’ll get it working again. And then first thing Monday, we’re ordering you a new one and tossing this damn thing.”

“Not in the budget.”

I open my mouth to ask whether or not she got the refund for her honeymoon, but stop myself, not wanting her to know that I was behind that. Too late though. Dolly’s one eyebrow quirks upward, challenging me, and instantly, I know she knows. And now she’s just waiting for me to say something so she can give me shit about it. Not going to happen. I regret nothing.

“Then this one is going to conveniently get damaged beyond use while we’re here today so that Hayes has to replace it,” I say instead, knowing that there isn’t a way for her to argue with that.

A mouthed thank you is the response I get—one I accept graciously. Take the win when you can.

An hour later, all ninety-four teams are out on Silver Lake, a buzz still lingering in the air, even as quiet takes over the docks and parking lot. One last cinnamon roll sits on the table, an orphan left behind in the chaos, begging to find a home. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t calling my name, even though I’ve already had two.

“D’you eat?” I ask, side-eyeing Dolly as she fiddles with the coffee filter.

“I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

“It’s all yours,” she insists.

“Still not what I asked.”

Sighing heavily, she rolls her eyes, grabbing the plate and handing it to me. “We can go halfsies. I should at least try to keep off the weight I lost for the wedding.”