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Garrett
On instinct, I slide on my sunglasses and pull the brim of my baseball cap low over my face as I make my way down the sidewalk toward Main Street. I know these roads like the back of my hand.
A few things have changed in Balsam Ridge over the past ten years. There are a couple of new restaurants; a hot dog stand in front of the arcade, cleverly named Mustard’s Last Stand; and a pottery studio named Harry the Potter, which makes me chuckle. Market Square now also has a health food store, what looks to be a soon-to-open coffee shop, and a new photography studio.
Miss Mabel added a small wedding chapel beside her Creekside Lodge, and Zemry has expanded his antique business.
I have so many memories of me and my brothers running these streets on foot and on our bikes. It’s like stepping back in time.
When I make it to Gus’s Diner, I smile. I knew it would be exactly as it was the day I left town. Some things just don’t need to be improved upon because they are already perfection.
I make my way up the steps, passing the waiting lunchtime crowd without being recognized, and slip inside. I bypass the hostess stand, where Mona is taking down a name, and head to a booth in the corner, where a busboy is finishing wiping down the old, cracked red leather seat.
Before I can get my ass in the seat, Mona is on my heels.
“I’m sorry, son, but you have to wait your turn. There are a lot of folks in line ahead of you in case you’re blind and you didn’t notice the crowd outside.”
I take my glasses off and grin up at her. “I’m sorry, Mona. I was just hoping to avoid causing a scene,” I say.
“Garrett Tuttle,” she cries.
I bring my finger to my lips and look around to see if anyone heard her.
“You ole rascal. Still trying to sneak in without me noticing,” she whispers.
“I couldn’t come to town without coming to see my favorite girl and getting some of her world-famous banana pudding,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “I’ll be right back with a menu and some silverware.”
“Now, you know I don’t need a menu. I’ll have the chicken dumplings, a side of cabbage, and a big ole glass of sweet tea,” I rattle off my favorite order.
“And banana pudding for dessert. I’ll send Terri over to discreetly wait on you,” she says.
Terri is Gus and Mona’s daughter. She’s my mother’s age, and she’s worked for her parents since she could walk.
She winks at me and scurries back off to the horde of waiting customers.
I gaze out the window and watch the people milling around the square. There are a lot of tourists this time of year who come to pick apples and view the changing color of the leaves. Truth be told, I’ve missed the breathtaking views of the mountains, alight with all the colors of fall.
Terri places a paper place mat in front of me along with a set of utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. Then, she brings over a clear plastic cup, cloudy from years of use, full of cubed ice, and a red plastic pitcher of Mona’s sweet tea—and I do mean sweet. She pours the nectar over the ice and leaves the pitcher in the middle of the table for me.
“Thank you, Terri,” I say as I grab the glass and take a big gulp.
“If I don’t leave the pitcher, you’ll run my legs off, having me bring you refills,” she says.
“You know me well.”
She grins and walks off to check on the table across from me.
I people-watch while I wait on my food. It’s not a luxury I’m afforded often.
The bell above the door grabs my attention, and I watch as in walks Ansley Humphries. My high school sweetheart and the first girl I ever loved. Although the word girl is not an accurate description of the woman before me now.
She is stunning, an unassuming beauty, with her high cheekbones, delicate nose, pillowy mouth, and long, wavy blonde locks that fall to the middle of her back. She’s taller than I remember and a bit curvier than the last time I laid eyes on her. My gaze watches her lush lips as she speaks to Mona at the entrance. Mona hands her a paper bag, and she joins a group of old codgers at the soda counter. They all greet her enthusiastically while she turns and drops her purse on the floor before sliding onto the stool beside them. My eyes fall on her delightfully voluptuous backside as she tosses her bag of food down in front of her.
She doesn’t notice me tucked into the corner, so I watch as she eats and chats animatedly with her elderly admirers.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her face since the day I left her alone in a run-down roadside motel on the outskirts of Nashville all those years ago. I can still see her standing in the doorway in a cream-colored lace sundress, feet bare and her wavy hair hanging damp around her shoulders, waving as I drove away to get us dinner.
Fuck. I haven’t let myself think about that day in a long time, but it still haunts my dreams from time to time.
I fight the urge to take my phone and snap a picture of her, so I can look at it once I head back to my real life.
Don’t be a creeper, I chastise myself.
People snapping a picture of me when I’m unaware is one of the things I hate most about being a public figure. No one respects your personal space.
About twenty minutes pass while she eats. Then, she stands and reaches down to retrieve her purse, which affords me another titillating vantage point. I do my best to tamp down my physical reaction as she turns to make her way to the door.
She’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. The spray-tanned, surgically enhanced Nashville beauty queen or LA socialite can’t compare to her understated natural beauty. The moment she walked into the room, my mind rewound to the delectable taste of her kisses and the sexy sounds she would make when I peppered those kisses down her body.
“Garrett Tuttle, it’s damn good to see you, boy!” Gus calls across the dining room as he makes his way toward my table.
At the sound of my name, Ansley stops dead and slowly turns in my direction.
She hadn’t noticed me until she heard Gus’s greeting. Before she can compose herself, I see the surprise flash in her eyes, and her chest rises and falls with the quickening of her breath as she spots me at the table. She recovers quickly as tension fills her posture, and she reaches out, steadying herself with the door handle. She covers her initial reaction with a tight smile and a swift wave, but before I can stand and say hello, she opens the door and rushes out.
She isn’t pleased to see me.
I stand and dash past a confused Gus, throwing up a finger to let him know I’ll be right back. I follow her out of the door and catch up to her on the sidewalk.
“Hi, Foxy,” I say as I fall in step beside her.
She narrows her eyes—those vivid, almond-shaped blue eyes, framed by rich, dark lashes—and snarls. That’s right; she snarls.
“Garrett, I heard you might be coming to town,” she says blandly.
I grin.
