Page 78 of Sundown Somewhere

“I clean the griddle, Gus!” Dolly snaps, shutting him down.

He holds his hands up in surrender, Margeaux elbowing his side, silently chastising him. Not for the first time, I’m grateful she found her way to Hickory Hills and into our family, and that someone on this planet is willing to put up with his ass.

“Now that we’ve established the griddle is clean,” Willa snarks, sneering at Gus in a way only a little sister can get away with, “please tell me that the frittata is staying put.”

“Kinda. I’m replacing it with what I’m calling the Willa.”

“Please don’t,” Nash mutters.

I about choke on my beer, his comment so perfectly timed that it couldn’t have been scripted better. He’s also the only person in the world who could make it. For all the power that Willa holds in this family—getting away with her sass by being not only the baby but the only girl—Nash Keller is the only person on this planet able to call her on her shit. The one human being who can give it to her right back. Why it took them so long to realize they belong together I will never understand.

“You’re naming it after me?”

“It’s your version of the dish. So, the zucchini and mushrooms will be replaced with asparagus and bacon, and of course, the Swiss cheese stays. A lot of people actually modify it that way since they’ve seen you do it, so it makes more sense to simply offer it that way,” she answers. “And don’t worry, Nash, there’s an item on there for you too.”

“Ha!” he exclaims, winking at Willa as if he were rubbing it in her face. She rolls her eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but I know she loved it. He does too, grabbing ahold of her and stealing a kiss.

“So, is that the new theme? Naming all the items after townspeople?”

“No, it’s not about a theme per se, but an overall simplification, if that’s a word,” she says, pursing her lips. She looks at me, a little unsure if she’s explaining this right, but I have nothing to add. This is her world; I just live in it. “Dolly’s has been this weird, all-encompassing thing to a lot of people over the years—a greasy spoon, a meat and three, a breakfast joint…”

Her face lights up again, stars filling her eyes, that glittery aura taking up even more space around her. The food in front of us is forgotten as she starts to ramble, talking about the testing of the menu items over the last couple of weeks, and how she knew immediately what to nix from the offerings. Her excitement is not only palpable, but contagious.

Or maybe that’s my own pride in her. In seeing her bounce back from everything and find herself again. Because this, the bouncy, sassy, gorgeous woman sitting across from me right now, is my Dolly. The real Dolly.

The Dolly I love.

“What I do know is,” she continues, “when Grandma Dolly opened it, she wanted to create a place where people could come, hang out, and have a good meal. And that’s what she did. I want to continue that—want to honor what she created. But Hickory Hills has changed, so Dolly’s needs to change with it. Make sure that what I’m offering is what the town really needs.”

“It’s going to be perfect,” I tell her, pushing the plate of fries closer to her. Just like you…

Dolly giggles, as if she heard my unspoken addition, taking a ranch-soaked fry and biting into it. Pink crawls up her cheeks, upping her cuteness level to eleven and fuck, it’s a damn good thing there is a table between us. Because right now, I want to kiss her so fucking bad.

Shifting my weight, I try to figure out how I maneuver to get us closer. To rearrange the seating chart here without causing a massive scene. It’s not like we’re seventeen and I can shout “Chinese fire drill!”—a term that I’m pretty sure is offensive on all kinds of levels—and expect the group to get up and switch places so that I can steal a kiss in the chaos. No, that won’t work at all.

I’m a half heartbeat away from doing something drastic, like reaching over this table and hauling her across it as if I were some kind of caveman. But Dolly beats me to it. Sort of.

The move catches me off guard, my hackles going up for a split second from the brush of her foot across my ankle, my brain taking a second to catch up. When it does, my dick joins in, stiffening from the brief contact. I glance up at her, our eyes meeting, locking on one another as she does it again, another bolt of desire running through me. All she does is smile though. A very coy, knowing smile. She’s playing with fire and she knows it.

That’s my girl…

Gus clears his throat, pulling us from our trance. My head whips toward him, ready to backhand him into the middle of next week, but his cautious eyes remind me that he was only doing what I asked. Helping me keep the promise to Dolly that we would keep this between us.

“Anyway, yes, Margeaux,” Dolly says, as if she didn’t miss a beat. “To answer your question, if it’s okay, I do want Papa Duck’s gumbo recipe. I know your brother is really tightfisted about sharing all that, so I totally understand if it’s not, and I’ll absolutely acknowledge that it’s Papa Duck’s.”

“One, David doesn’t solely control the interests of the restaurant, even if he thinks he does. I’m the intellectual property lawyer, so I’m the one who handles that part of things. Two, I also know all the recipes, so…” A devious smile creeps up Margeaux’s cheeks, her red hair reflecting the light in a way that makes her look like someone I wouldn’t want to cross. Dolly gives her a matching look, the two of them now speaking in some silent girl code, making plans that I have a feeling it might be better if I don’t know about. “Not to mention that his thing has always been that we have to keep it in the family, and lending a recipe to Dolly’s would be just that.”

“Dolly’s isn’t a Hayes asset yet,” Gus mutters.

The world stops. Did he really just fucking say that?

“What do you mean yet?” Willa questions.

Oh fuck. Have we told Willa? I know one of my brothers mentioned it after that day in the peach grove, but I don’t know if we ever actually got to that point. She and I haven’t had a conversation, but Willa also isn’t stupid. Anything but, actually.

I glance back at Dolly, who seems unfazed. At least one of us is.

“Hayes can’t own everything, Gus,” Dolly claps back.