Page 81 of More Than My Hometown

“There’s a hitch in your giddyup,” she comments, not skipping a beat, leaving my compliment untouched. So much for that worry.

“Just tired, that’s all.”

Her brow knits and I can’t tell if it’s concern or she’s getting ready to scold me. “This is why I told you to take the boot. Muscle fatigue is a real thing. You could reinjure yourself. And then where would we be?”

“You did such a good job of nursing me back to health this last time,” I quip, tugging her into me again, expecting a laugh. Or maybe a smart-ass comeback about how I’ve met my quota.

Only, I don’t get either.

What I do get is a forced, half-hearted smile as she wiggles out of my arms, turning back to the stove. My heart sinks, the overwhelming feeling that I did something wrong taking over. Because something is suddenly…off.

“What about Auburn?” she asks, changing the subject.

Right…

“Remember how I said I had some irons in the fire about expanding the tour part of The Booby Trap?”

She nods, not looking away from the skillet. I hold on for a moment, waiting for more of a response, but get nothing. Not even a glance. To be fair, she’s cooking, with hot oil at that, so keeping her focus on that rather than me isn’t an indicator of anything.

“One of those things was a potential partnership with some of the local universities. Well, I got a call from Auburn today. Their Wildlife Enterprise Management program is looking for outdoor companies to partner with to give their students real-world experience.”

“Oh…wow…”

Wow is right. In fact, it was the exact word I’d used in my head when the call came through this afternoon.

“So…what does all that mean?”

“Details are TBD,” I say, leaning back against the island, needing to get my weight off my foot. “But the idea is that as part of an internship or some program like that, they would help provide me with students who are looking to work in the outdoor excursion space. So, tour guides for camping, fishing, hunting trips. Maybe a booking and admin person? There’s a lot to figure out, but it’s the first, big step.”

“Ewan…that’s…massive! Congratulations!”

She smiles, everything about her expression looking like it’s supposed to, but somehow still wrong. Put on. Like a recording instead of a live performance.

Disappointment washes over me, all of my excitement about coming home and sharing this with her flowing right down the drain. Maybe I built up this moment too much in my head all day, but I expected more out of her reaction. One of her cute little squeaks. A squeal. Hugs, kisses, her jumping into my arms all excited that our future was coming together like we’ve talked about.

“Maisey…”

I reach for her, my hand grazing her hip, and she flinches. Snapping backward, I freeze, worry starting to replace my disappointment. Maisey has never flinched from my touch. Never.

What is going on?

“Dinner’s ready,” Maisey says brightly, looking back over her shoulder at me as if nothing happened.

Yeah, something is definitely wrong. Not just off, but wrong.

“Country fried steak, mashed potatoes, collards, and fried okra…” I repeat, watching as she pulls the battered steaks from the skillet and places them on a serving platter. Another item I was unaware I owned.

It’s an entire feast. A full-on, traditional Southern Sunday dinner feast. One that has every potential to put me into a food coma. Part of me wonders if that’s her goal.

“Yeah. I…errr…needed to think…” Beaming even brighter, she swivels, holding up the platter, showing off the beautifully golden-brown battered steaks. My mouth waters, the smell almost too much. “And so I thought, why not try cooking?”

Why not try cooking? Oh boy. This doesn’t sound good.

Fuck.

“Maisey, what’s going on?”

Maisey swallows, the muscles in her neck contracting slowly, like a snake moving its prey through its body. Trepidation creeps through me, moving faster and faster the longer she’s silent, standing in the kitchen, holding a plate of skillet-fried meat.