Page 39 of Just Say When


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I scowled at him as I racked my brain. “What are you talking about?”

“You never told me home renovations could be so fun.” He waggled his brows and made me laugh. “Which room should we hit next? This place is really starting to feel like home.” Abe ran his hands over my chest. “We didn’t christen the kitchen. Should we go back in there now or tack it on to the end of our cabin assessment?”

“It can be the grand finale.”

We talked a big game but mostly kept touching and kissing as we walked from room to room. We weren’t as young as we used to be and recovering between rounds of sex took a little longer. By the time we finished, it was approaching dinner.

“You want to head back or stay here tonight?” Abe asked.

“Stay. I’ll order subs and fries from Terry’s and pick them up. Why don’t you see if Barbra knows an organization or charity that might need the stuff you want to donate.”

“That’s a good idea. I can find out if there are any updates about what’s going on around here.”

I placed our carryout order, grabbed my keys and jacket, then headed out the door, knowing our food would be ready by the time I got there. When I was a few miles from the restaurant, the low-pressure warning went off for the rear driver’s side tire.

“Damn, I hope I didn’t pick up a nail.”

Terry’s was built to look like an old-timey general store, but they had several gas pumps in front and a full delicatessen and pizzeria inside. Their sign claimed they had the best subs and pizza in Georgia, and they weren’t lying. Just thinking about my Reuben on pumpernickel was enough to make my mouth water, and I was sure more than a few french fries wouldn’t make it back to the cabin.

The general store was on the main road going toward the lake and was the only place to get fuel and food for miles. The place was always busy no matter the time of day. There were only a few vehicles at the fuel pumps, a black SUV with blacked-out windows and a red Dodge Challenger with matte black racing stripes. Another dozen cars were parked near the general store’s entrance. I bypassed the parking area and drove to the air compressor. I grabbed my tire gauge from the glove box and fished around in the console until I found some quarters.

The air pressure in the filling station compressor was lower and slower than mine at home, so it felt like I squatted next to the rear tire forever. Pump the tire. Check the pressure with the gauge. Pump more and repeat. Most of the vehicles had cleared out by the time I was satisfied. The bells over the door jingled as I replaced the tire cap, and I turned my head in time to see Dylan Eads step out of the general store. He wore camo from head to toe, including his boots. Eads looked like he’d just returned from hunting. He glanced in my direction as he walked, did a double take, and stared at me with his mouth open. He recovered quickly, his lips forming an ugly sneer.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “What do we have here?” Eads didn’t advance on me or make any threatening moves. He just held my gaze and continued smiling. “It’s weird,” he said. “I just stopped here for gas, but a feeling came over me while I was pumping. I can’t describe it. Just felt like my luck was about to change. I bought one of those lottery scratchers. Don’t know why. I never win.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out some bills, but I was too far away to determine the denominations. “I just won five hundred big ones, and here you are.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yep. My luck is turning for the good.”

He gave me a mock salute, then continued toward the black SUV at the pump. I waited until Eads drove off before I moved my truck to a parking spot and went inside the general store. Eads hadn’t said anything particularly threatening, but the encounter made me uneasy. Why did he think running into me was good luck? Because he got to brag about his lottery win? Was that even the truth?

Terry’s employees hustled behind the counter, filling orders and cashing people out. I got in line at the pickup counter and noticed some of the customers were buzzing with excitement and talking animatedly about Eads’s lottery win, so he hadn’t been lying about it. I tuned out the conversation and forced myself to think about something happier than Dylan Eads. Or should I say someone. I let my thoughts wander to the weekend I’d spent with Abe—first with Alex at my place, then the hours we’d passed at his cabin. I couldn’t wait to share my design ideas, though I wanted to tweak them slightly to keep the braided area rug in the living room. The carpet burn on my knees reminded me of how it felt when Abe claimed me with unbridled passion.

“Can I help you, sir?” the young lady behind the counter asked. I was surprised she was talking to me. I’d let my mind wander so far that I hadn’t realized I was next in line.

I smiled and stepped up to the counter. Her name tag read Reba, and I wondered if her parents were huge country music fans. I didn’t ask because she’d probably fielded the question multiple times a day since she was old enough to answer it. “I have a carryout order for Mendoza.”

Reba turned and looked at the receipts stapled to the carryout bags until she found mine. “Here we go.” She rang me up and had me out the door in no time.

The hot banana peppers from Abe’s spicy Italian sub, the tangy sauerkraut from my Reuben, and the Cajun seasoning on the fries created an odd bouquet of aromas that filled the truck cab and tantalized my senses. As I’d predicted, I was reaching for a fry before I made it half a mile down the road. My phone rang through the truck speakers, and Abe’s name appeared on the radio. I hit the button on my steering wheel and answered with a mouthful of scalding hot potato.

“That better be food in your mouth,” Abe growled.

I blew out the steam, then swallowed. “What else would it be?”

“Dick?” Abe suggested.

I snorted. “The only dick I saw was Dylan Eads, and I assure you, nothing of his is ever going near my mouth.”

“Where’d you see that asshole?”

I recounted the incident for Abe and reached for another fry. I brought it toward my mouth just as a massive buck ran into the road and stopped in my path. “Fuck!”

“Lio, what’s wrong?”

“Deer!” I slammed my foot down on the brake pedal, and the back of the truck fishtailed. The deer leaped out of the way seconds before impact. When the truck stopped, I stared at the empty road, trying to calm my racing heart. “That was a close one,” I said, sounding like I’d just finished a marathon. “I thought for sure we’d be eating venison stew.”

“Rutting season,” Abe said. “The horny bastards are on the run.”

I lifted my hand to my mouth, then realized the fry was gone. “The damn buck made me drop a french fry.”

“That’s coming out of your stash along with the other ones you’ve eaten,” Abe said.

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