lives entwined. Neighbors who brought chicken noodle soup over when the flu was going around. Friends who would pick you up and drive you around when your car was in the shop. They’d spent all week together. Working, raising kids, shopping. And they chose to spend their Saturday having a good time.
I spotted June and George on Opal Bodine’s—no relation—deck. June was sitting with her feet in his lap, a book cracked open in her own.
While the others busied themselves tying off the deck to the two closest ones, I sidled up to Shelby. She looked like a kid on Christmas morning.
“This. Is. Amazing,” she breathed.
“I had a feeling you’d like it.”
“I can’t believe a place like this exists. People like this.” She shook her head in wonder. She was wearing cutoffs and a pink tank top that said, “I Have No Life. I’m a Psychology Major.” Her dark hair was tied in its usual tail and fed through a ball cap with her brother’s football number on it.
She was cute. Like friendly, girl-next-door, “always has a nice word to say about everyone” cute. I was surprised by the urge to reach out and wrap my arms around her, to make her laugh.
I hadn’t felt that urge in a long, long time.
I remembered the plan and schooled my features into a disgusted sneer.
“I’m glad you came,” I said.
She lowered her sunglasses and glared at me. “I am, too. Thanks for asking me.”
“They’re all looking at us,” I said quietly, doing my best to look defensive.
“Of course they’re looking at us. Their plan is about to blow up in their faces. Mass casualties. Oh, the humanity,” Shelby said, jutting her chin out.
“Should we fight now?” I asked her, suddenly a little anxious to get the fight scene out of the way so we could kick back and possibly even enjoy the day together.
“Let’s give it another half hour. We need to time it just right,” she reminded me.
“Fine. If that’s the way you want it,” I said, raising my voice.
“If I had my way, I’d be enjoying this day without someone being a giant turd!” she snapped.
I had to turn away and bite the hell out of my lip to keep from laughing. “Giant turd?” I whispered.
“Shut up. I spent a lot of time working with kids. The swearing vocabulary went to my brother.”
“Heeeeeey, guys,” Leah Mae said, easing between us. “So, Shelby, I love your shirt. Let’s go show it to Nicolette way, way over there. She loves funny shirts.”
Devlin wandered up when they left. “I’ve been ordered to keep you under control. You’re making my girlfriend nervous.”
I snuck a peek at Scarlett who was watching us like a hawk.
“What a shame.”
“I assume there’s a spectacle coming?”
“Twenty-eight minutes and counting.”
He nodded. “You coming to the Cockspurs game next week?”
I played nice for the next half an hour. Making small talk and taking a turn at the grill. Between the partygoers, there were hot dogs, hamburgers, chicken breasts, and even a few grilled pizzas. It was a beautiful early summer day with a soft breeze and cloudless blue sky mirrored on the lake.
The music was upbeat and country. I’d never listened to country music before moving here. Now, I was half considering buying a pickup truck to haul my boot camp and training gear. There was something contagious about this town, these people.
The whine of a boat motor carried over the Chase Rice song. Hell, I could even identify the artists now. I needed an urban vacation somewhere before I was completely absorbed into country culture. Sheriff Harlan Tucker and his wife, Nadine, approached in a small fishing boat. Cassidy waved to her parents and guided them in.
“Are those pepperoni rolls?” Devlin asked, scenting the air.
While the sheriff eased the boat alongside, Nadine handed over the container of what indeed was fresh, hot pepperoni rolls. Devlin, his love for the West Virginia specialty wider and deeper than the lake, nearly shoved Gibson overboard in his quest to get the first one.
I spotted Shelby, and she nodded. It was showtime.
We met halfway.
“You are the worst human being I’ve ever met,” she shouted.
“Right back at you, sweetheart,” I countered. “At least I’m not an opportunistic bottom-feeder.”
“Opportunistic?” Her gasp could have filled a sail. “You are irrational, unreasonable, and downright misogynistic. You hate women!”
“No, I just hate you,” I roared.
13
Jonah
“Well, go screw yourself then!” She shoved me as hard as she could. Which moved me not an inch. I realized it was the first