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I hope I’m not blushing, but my cheeks feel hot.
“You new here?”
“Yep. Crossed the town line about four hours ago.”
“My condolences.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is that your idea of a warm welcome?”
“You’ve been staring at the cereal display for the past ten minutes like it’s out to get you. And this is the worst day of your life. I’m assuming the move wasn’t your idea.”
I blow out a breath. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Wanna talk about it? I’ve been told I’m a so-so listener.”
Without really meaning to, I smile. “As ringing of an endorsement as that is, there’s not much to talk about. My mom left my dad for someone she works with. Leftmewith my dad and a note sayingsorry. He’s not handling it great, ergo the move to cheese country. My dad grew up here, but he and my grandfather aren’t all that close, so this is my first visit.”
His eyebrows are somewhere up in his hairline. “Wow. If that’snot much to talk about, I’m worried what you consider a crisis.”
At that, I actually laugh. It’s been a while since I did. The feeling warms something in my chest, something unfamiliar and cozy. Melts some of the resentment and anger that’s been lingering there for the past few weeks, since life as I knew it imploded.
“That shirt looks good on you.” He nods toward the Johnny Cash T-shirt I paired with jean cutoffs this morning.
“I have a boyfriend,” I blurt.
The statement is clunky. It doesn’t fit with the flow of our conversation, but all of a sudden, it seemed necessary to say. Maybe because I can’t remember the last time Ricky made me laugh. Maybe because I’m reminding myself, not just telling this stranger who doesn’t really feel like one for some unknown reason.
He smirks, not appearing offended in the least that I basically just accused him of hitting on me. More amused. “You got a name or just a boyfriend?”
I hold a hand out. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Sutton.”
He grips it. “Teddy.” Shakes it. “I lived in Kingsland for a while, you know.”
My forehead creases with confusion. “What?”
Teddy looks down at my shirt. Or my C-cups. I’ve had guys compliment my “shirt” before.
“Fake fan, huh?” He smirks at what I’m guessing is a blank expression. “Johnny Cash was born in Kingsland, Arkansas, just like me. My middle name is Johnny, in tribute.”
I blink at him. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. Why?” Now, he’s the one who looks unsure.
“My middle name is June. After my grandmother, but just like…”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret saying them. I don’t normally blurt my middle name out to strangers. He told me his first, I guess. But it’s more than that. I’m searching for some small way to justify how he doesn’tfeellike a stranger.
“June Carter,” he finishes.
“Yeah.”
I change the subject. “Why did you move?”
“My mom died, and my dad was—is—in prison. So, I ended up here, living with my Grams.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is.”
