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“Anyone not employed by Coldwater Cabin Resort must vacate the premises immediately.” Voice tight, Velma glares at the top of everyone’s heads, and points at the door.
“I guess that means us. I have to get back to work. You be good, babygirl. And Georgie, please try not to tease Velma too much.” Bear chuckles. That name does suit him. He’s about as big as one.
I nod at Georgie and Tacie then follow him out. But before I exit the door, I toss out a few parting words.
“I’m coming back for you, Velma. A smart man would never let a gorgeous woman like you slip through his fingers.”
I was valedictorian in both high school and college so she better heed my warning. Because when I make my brilliant mind up, I’ll stop at nothing to make sure she knows that I’m keeping her.
CHAPTER3
VELMA
Saturdaysat The Last Stop are always buzzing with activity, stuffed full of customers speaking over half-eaten plates and yelling greetings to those grabbing their orders to go.
This diner and its excellent food is a staple in Coldwater Ridge, owned by the O’Neal’s, a family mine is privately feuding with— same as the McClains. I say privately because neither family is aware of the feud. They treat us as they would any resident of Coldwater, with kindness and respect. Mine, on the other hand, spend most of the evening comparing our accomplishments to theirs and gossiping about their children.
My mom hates the comfy down-home vibe of The Last Stop, calling it tacky and cheap. The holiday decorations are her least favorite.
The O’Neal’s always go overboard with lights, multicolored tinsel, and big fluffy bows. Right now, the walls are so heavy with paper snowflakes they almost completely cover the pictures of the town’s residents hanging there.
It’s a tradition to bring in a new picture every year and major event. Weddings, babies, birthdays, anything they chose to bring in. The one thing they all have in common is that they’re candid casual shots— except the Freeman’s. Ours are staged, a smiling family set against a beautiful backdrop. Appearances are everything and yesterday I let myself and my parents down.
The nerve of that man coming behind my counter and grabbing me like that! And the nerve of my body for responding. Although it has been years since I’ve been touched. I probably would’ve acted that way with anyone.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that until you believe it.
“Tell me again how he kissed you,” my lunch companion dreamily sighs, pulling my focus back to the table. “Was it full-on open mouth or just little nibbles on your bottom lip?” A glob of ketchup goes flying by my head, smacking the back of the booth I’m sitting in. I’m not surprised. Ivette gets very animated when she talks.
She mumbles, “Sorry” as I scrub the black cushion clean, then shovels the fry in her mouth, eyeing me expectantly.
I stare at my overly eager friend from across the booth, debating if I should answer her ridiculous question or ignore it —and her— altogether.
When I asked Ivette to meet me at The Last Stop for lunch, my plan didn’t include delivering a play-by-play of the disaster that was yesterday. I figured I’d give her a high overview, breezing past the embarrassing bits, like how my body reacted to his voice and how out of control I felt when his lips touched mine. None of that is important. What is, however, is CJ’s unacceptable behavior.
But apparently, my best friend of three years didn’t get the memo. She’d rather discuss how much pressure he used or where his hands were. Way too invested in the how and not the big question—why?
Maybe I didn’t explain it well enough and that’s why the poor thing is confused.
“Ivette, focus please,” I hiss. “A man younger than you assaulted me yesterday!”
She’s only twenty-five and still thinks love will conquer all.
How we even became so close with our ten-year age difference is a mystery in and of itself. I’ve known her for years due to her friendship with my sister and somehow along the way we connected. It’s nice sometimes to have a younger perspective on situations. But this is not one of those times.
“Last time I checked, a kiss isn’t an assault, sweetie.”
Okay, maybe I was being a little harsh. It wasn’t actually an assault in the strictest sense of the word.
“And what does his age have to do with anything? If he was older, would it have been okay?” she challenges me.
That’s a good question and one I don’t have an immediate answer for. I mull it over as I poke at my sandwich.
Men haven’t been on my radar for years so I’m not sure how I’d handle an age-appropriate one. What I do know without a shadow of a doubt is that CJ Jacobs is too young and too virile for me. He probably thinks with my advanced age I know a trick or two. Well jokes on him. I’ve only been with two men in my life and I’m not too keen on making the third some stud who believes in the power of a one-night stand.
“Well?”
“Well, what, Ivette?” I snap. “Once again you’re missing the point.”
