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She swallowed and willed her fast-beating heart to slow the hell down.
“She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
The woman’s tragic end was a story Honey knew well. And it was tragic. A life cut short because a drunk driver crossed the road and hit her head-on. Even more tragic, her son, Wyatt, was in the car with her. The boy survived, but the heart of their family had been taken away. At least, that was the story Honey heard.
She cleared her throat and nodded. Angel Blackwell had been a beauty.
“I didn’t deserve her, of course.” John Blackwell spoke quietly. “I didn’t deserve any of them. I still don’t.” He turned to her then. “But I’m an old man, and I’d rather forget the dark things because I can. Age does allow for that. In spite of the past.”
Honey fought to keep her emotions at bay. But it was hard. She felt like she was standing on the other side of the room watching herself have a conversation with him. A man she’d felt nothing but ill will for since she’d first learned about him.
“I know who you are.”
His words jerked her head around so fast, it would be a miracle not to end up with whiplash. Her gaze collided with the old man’s as she blew out a long breath. “You do?” She felt faint and tugged at the edge of her coat. It was so damn hot.
He smiled, the transformation unnerving. “You’re Nash’s girlfriend. I met you at Hudson’s.”
Like a balloon that had been deflated, the heat left her, along with pretty much everything else. She hadn’t prepared for this. She needed to leave. Needed more time.
“No,” she replied. “We’re not…we’re just… He’s…” She made a gesture with her hands, and John laughed. The sound echoed in her head. Sawdust filled her throat.
“The more one protests, the more one should be aware of the fact they’re trying to convince themselves of the opposite.” John winked. “I’ve known Nash Booker my entire life, and he’s a fine man.” He leaned forward. “It’s about time he settled down.”
Everything about this was bizarre. Surreal.
“You’re waiting for Hudson, I presume?” He coughed and reached into his pocket for an inhaler.
“I am,” Honey managed to say, noticing the lines around his mouth.
“Seems I’m always waiting to see my children. I shouldn’t complain. I’m an old man with a lot of time.” John Blackwell got a faraway look in his eyes, and Honey took the opportunity to put some distance between them. A few moments of silence passed, and Honey couldn’t help herself. Her eyes were drawn to the portrait once more.
They all looked so damn happy. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes as an image of the one family portrait she’d ever sat through clouded her mind. She’d been four. Her mother had dragged her to Walmart for a sitting. Honey’s bright orange dress was two sizes too big, and her pigtails were lopsided. Her shoes were scuffed, her knee scabbed. But her mom had been happy. And so Honey had been happy.
“You from the South?” John asked, moving to the desk and leaning heavily against it. “I detect a slight roll in your words.”
She kept her eyes on the portrait and didn’t dare look at him. She was confused and off-balance and a bunch of things she couldn’t articulate. Didn’t he know?
Now. Do it now!
The words whispered through her brain, and she tore her gaze from the photo. Suddenly, her chest was tight, and her mouth filled with all the things she wanted to say to him. All that anger came bubbling to the surface, and she damn near choked on it.
Honey nodded slowly, trying to organize her thoughts. “Yes, I’m from Louisiana. Small town called Hillsville.” She offered a tight, fake smile. “Silly name, really, considering there are no hills or mountains to speak of. Nothing much but trailer parks, gators, bogs and—"
The door to the office flew open, and Hudson Blackwell walked in. He had his cell pressed to his ear and an iPad in his hand. He didn’t notice them until he tossed his jacket on the desk and paused. His eyes passed over his father to land on Honey. She saw the questions there. She also saw something else. It was the something else that made her uncomfortable.
Hudson Blackwell was a smart man and didn’t miss much. She’d need to be careful with him.
His gaze never left hers as he set his phone down and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his navy slacks. For a moment, he said nothing. He looked at his father again, and then back to Honey. His eyes narrowed, his thoughts shuttered. There was no welcome there. His radar was ramped to ten, and he was letting her know.
“You mind telling me why you’re here?”
Honey didn’t skip a beat. She kept that fake smile in place and told him exactly why she’d come.
10
Nash was in a mood. He’d reamed out the kitchen staff for putting too many garnishments on the burgers—how in hell were the customers supposed to eat the damn things when they couldn’t open their mouths wide enough? The grease needed changing in the fryer, and the damn dishwasher was running half-full. Whatever happened to conservation?
> He’d also had a word or two with Tiny, who he’d caught free-pouring whiskey like it was Kool-Aid. If his staff kept this up, he’d be out of business before Christmas. On top of that, Honey hadn’t shown for her shift. She’d given it to Susie, a girl who had no bartending experience and who had only just started serving.
