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But in the end, I wasn’t sure if the words were just another piece of my dream.
Chapter Thirteen
CHARLTON
When I woke up the next morning, Hunter was gone. I found a note on the nightstand explaining he’d been required to chauffeur his mother and sister Black Friday shopping at o’dark thirty and would probably be out most of the day.
I blew out a disappointed breath. I’d hoped for a lazy morning with him, for more kisses and smiles, for more heartfelt conversations that might or might not be foreplay for something hotter… or, at the very least, would help me decide my future.
Instead, I pulled on my clothes, hopped in the side-by-side, and headed back to Amos’s house for a Nutter family walk of shame. What was that old expression? Let no nice deed go unpunished?
But when I pulled open the side door and stepped into the kitchen, the place was surprisingly deserted. No raucous teasing cousins. No meddling aunts. Only my mom, Amos, and Emmaline remained, drinking coffee around the big table while discarded remnants of the newspaper took up most of the rest of the large wooden surface.
“Hey,” I announced to the silent room. “Good morning.”
All eyes swung toward me, and I tried very hard not to duck my head and blush like a person who’d snuck out in the dead of night for a private post-Thanksgiving rendezvous with a sexy local nursery owner.
I failed.
“Did you sleep well, Charlton?” Mom wondered. She looked me up and down with twinkling eyes. “You look remarkably well rested. I think the fresh Thicket air must be good for you.”
“I did, thank you.” I cleared my throat. “Where is everyone?”
“Up and out shopping since before sunrise, sweetie,” Emmaline said. She stood and opened the cabinet. “But I saved you some breakfast. Sit down, and I’ll make you a plate.”
I slid into an empty seat between my mother and Uncle Amos, but despite the curiosity coming off them in waves, I avoided looking at either one. “So,” I said brightly, nodding at the flyers. “What’s on sale in the Thicket today? Any deals worth standing in line for?”
“Oh, plenty.” Amos pulled one of the pages toward him and tapped his middle finger on it. “Two-for-one table saws over in Dooberville, so I sent Jaden and Jory to pick us up a couple. You need one?”
“Tempting,” I said. “But I think I’m all set.”
Emmaline handed me a plate of breakfast casserole, along with a perfectly doctored cup of coffee. “Down at the Wool You Be Mine, they’re offering half off their entire stock of black yarn. But if you’re interested, you best get over there before the Thicket Mourning Glories buy ’em out.”
“The Thicket…?”
“Mourning Glories,” Emmaline repeated with a wink as she took her seat. “You know, the local bereavement group?”
“Right. Of course.” I darted a glance at my mom, who had pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh while pretending to be completely absorbed in her own sales flyer.
“You know, Emmaline, I think they’ll probably make better use of the yarn than I could, but I appreciate the heads-up.” I took a forkful of my breakfast and groaned. “This is amazing.”
Emmaline blushed happily and turned back to perusing the flyers. A moment later, she gasped and covered the sheet with one hand. “Mercy!”
Amos glanced up. “What’s that?” He grabbed the paper away from her. “Mpfh. Rite-Quick Pharmacy’s running a sale on the ultra-mega pack of condoms. Good deal too. But I gotta say I’m glad we don’t need those anymore.” He dropped the page and turned to the sport section.
I continued to eat through the awkward silence, which, in hindsight, was a mistake. I should have taken the opportunity to change the subject.
“Although,” Amos said, looking back up and tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I can ask your cousins to stop at the Rite-Quick for you, Junior.”
I choked on my casserole. “Er… no, thanks, Amos,” I croaked. “I’m good.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You remember what I told you about bulls, right, son?”
“Yessir.” I squirmed in my chair and added in a mutter, “Though I’ve tried hard to forget.”
“And you know I weren’t talkin’ ’bout no bulls neither. That was what you might call a metaphor.”
“I… yessir. I got that. I believe you were referring to particularly aggressive men.”
My mother snorted her coffee.
Amos’s cheek went pink. “Just so. Which is why you should think twice about passing up this deal, now that you’re…” He looked at my mother, then waved his fingers at me in a vague gesture. “Bein’ nice with that Jackson boy.”
I shot my mother a look that said, plain as day, This is your fault, and she gave me a beatific smile in return.
“That there’s another metaphor,” Uncle Amos went on relentlessly. “For sex.”
I buried my face in my hands. “Yes. I got it. Dear God,” I mumbled between my fingers.
