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When she swung around to face him, he picked up her shirt and tossed it to her. “Don’t cause an accident.”
…
“What can I do for you lovely ladies?”
Roxy watched the blue-eyed bartender switch his gleaming smile from Addy to her.
Addy dropped her oversize purse on the wood bar polished by years of elbows, forearms, and probably a hanging head or two and then tipped a hand to Roxy in a you-first gesture.
“I’ll have a sweet tea.”
“You got it. White wine, Ads?”
“Thanks, Jeb. How’s your daddy?”
“Still kicking like an ornery mule,” he replied as he took a bottle from the fridge below the bar. “How’s your mama?”
“Better every day. Thanks for asking.”
Roxy had heard enough of Addy’s story to know she’d come home from Atlanta almost six months ago when her mother had suffered a stroke. Surgery, medication, and physical therapy had left her mom with an excellent prognosis, but she still had a ways to go. Addy had taken over most of her mom’s duties at DeShay’s, as well as some of the other family interests. There was a guy in Atlanta, but they were having a hard time making the long-distance thing work.
Jeb poured Addy’s wine and returned the bottle to the fridge before filling a mason jar with tea, adding a straw and a wedge of lemon. He placed it in front of Roxy. “Here you go, Miss…”
“Roxy Goodhart, Jeb Rawley,” Addy supplied. “Roxy’s filling in at the diner while Lark’s out.”
He leaned on the bar and refreshed his smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Roxy.”
“You too,” she said and watched his eyes cruise all over Addy, from her smooth, shoulder-length hair to the modest amount of skin displayed by her emerald green sundress.
“Anything new in Atlanta?”
Addy shrugged and reached into her purse. Her placid smile never faltered, but she dodged the question by holding her phone out to him. “Can I trouble you for a charge?”
“Sure.” He straightened and took the phone. “Back in a sec.”
When he moved away, Addy resumed a topic she’d raised on the drive over. “I know you’re on the schedule Saturday morning at the diner, but if you’re looking for some extra money, the Riverview Inn needs a few more people to work catering at a wedding reception Saturday evening. They pay a good rate. Give them a call if you’re interested and speak to Sarah Whelan. She’s their event manager.”
A girl saving up to put distance between herself and a questionable decision didn’t turn down a chance to earn extra money. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”
“Say nice things about Kenny. He’s her baby.”
“Will do.”
“And now”—she dug into her bag and pulled out a large, hardbound book—“I’ve got a surprise for you.” She flipped the book over and placed it on the bar in front of Roxy.
Embossed silver letters and a stylized buffalo head glowed against an electric blue background. Roxy’s heart sped up as she read the title. Bluelick High School Yearbook. A series of purple tabs stuck out from the pages, marking certain ones.
She ran a finger over the tabs. “Your mom’s yearbook?”
“Almost. My mama was a few years ahead of yours, but my aunt DeeDee was in the same class. DeeDee and Mama took a trip down memory lane this afternoon and flagged the pictures they thought you’d like to see.”
“That was awfully nice of them.”
“They had fun. Drinks were served. Stories swapped.”
“Good for them.” She flipped the book open to the first marked page. From a sea of wide smiles and overwrought hair, her mom stared back at her—big eyed and impossibly young in her senior portrait. “Oh, wow. People always said we looked alike, but—”
“I know. You don’t really see it for yourself until you stare at a picture of your parents around your age. Don’t you have any photographs of her from these days?”
