Chapter Thirteen
THORN
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THE DAY FLIES by. Cheesy pickup lines and jokes continue, and so does the competition.
I wasn’t in it one hundred percent. The nagging realization that Flora hadn’t checked her email weighed heavy on me. And the fact that Dani disappeared has me pissed me off. Then, I made a few calls at lunch and turned my mood around.
When the photoshoot ends, I grab Flora’s hand. “How do you feel about a celebratory outing tonight?” I pull my T-shirt over my head and enjoy the flash of disappointment in her eyes.
“What are we celebrating?”
“Do me a favor and check your email.”
She pulls her cell out of her back pocket. “Am I looking for something specific?” Her smile quirks up with excitement.
“Yes. The response for the lead travel photography position you applied for.”
Her fingers pause, and she glances up at me. “How do you know about that?”
“Dani.”
“I don’t even want to know. Wait, did I get the job?”
The way her face lights up at the possibility confirms Dani was right—this is her dream job, and nothing I do will keep her from pursuing it. Not that I would ever stand in her way. That would be like someone taking my ranch after I spent my adulthood building into something I’m damn proud of.
“I reckon that email will tell you.” I nod at her phone.
Her head dips, and her fingers swipe and click. Her eyebrows knit together as she scrolls, and her eyes grow serious as she reads. Slowly, her mouth parts, and the more she reads, the more they curl upward until a huge smile emerges.
She looks up at me. “I got the job.”
Her feet tap like she’s ready to burst. I suspect she’s trying to remain calm in a room full of gossiping townspeople.
“Congratulations.”
“I can’t believe it.” She doesn’t contain herself anymore. “I got the job!”
She leaps up and wraps her arms tightly around my neck. I catch her, slightly lifting her off the ground, and chuckle as her energy envelopes me.
“You deserve it.”
I catch Wilma and Faye’s disappointing scowls from the stage. And finally, Dani shows up to glower at me. Hell, it feels like the whole room is ticked at me. Is my brother glaring, too? Good Lord, folks.
She pulls back slightly. “I would love a celebratory outing.”
“I need a quick shower, so I’ll pick you up at your room in twenty?”
She nods, and a half hour later, we’re in my truck, and the headlights pierce the dark evening as we drive into Rocky Ridge Creek.
“What’s the surprise?” Flora fixes the material of the floral maxi dress over her lap and straightens her jean jacket.
She’s so pretty tonight.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
She grins at me and I want to lean across the seat and kiss her so bad it hurts. Spending a day watching her laugh, giggle, and flirt between shots made it a struggle not to touch her. Not to pull her in my arms, kiss her wildly, and drag her anywhere to strip her naked.
My jeans tighten at the front, and I shift. I gotta keep my thoughts clean.
I pull onto the Main Street, and it sparkles under the glow of twinkle lights. Every storefront is adorned with holiday decorations. Wreaths hang on doors, and bright red velvet bows stand out at night. Fake snow clings to rooftops and evergreen garlands adorn the lamp posts.
I roll down the window and hear lively Christmas music from outdoor speakers.
“I forgot how beautiful it is here.” She leans forward in her seat, her eyes wide.
I drink in the sight of her joy.
Our first stop is Cowboy Cafe, a beloved local joint, where the aroma of home-cooked meals fills the air, and regulars gather to swap stories and gossip.
I park out front. “I have a pickup. You comin’ in?”
“Do they still make milkshakes?”
I nod. “Sure do.”
“How can I say no to a milkshake?”
We climb out of the truck. Matching red Adirondack chairs flank the main door, which is painted the same jam red. A life-sized metal cowboy leans casually against the side of the café, his weathered hat tipped low, adding a rugged element to the scene.
I hold open the door. “After you.”
Inside, time seems to stand still, with decor that hasn’t been updated in years. The walls are a patchwork of paneling and exposed brick, cluttered with framed rodeo photos that tell stories of the past.
“Evening Thorn. Alma has your order ready at the counter.” A waitress in a denim skirt and plaid shirt buzzes past, navigating around curved wooden chairs while balancing steaming plates of hearty dinner in her arms.
“Thanks.”
The air is filled with the rich aroma of comfort food, making every visit feel like a warm embrace from yesteryears. I see the memories flood Flora as we weave our way.
“Flora Rowe.” Alma spots us before we reach the counter. “Come give me a hug.” The older woman rushes from behind to embrace Flora.
Alma plays the local Mrs. Claus without needing to put in much effort. Her white hair is neatly styled in a bun at the nape of her neck, and she wears petite round glasses that accentuate her kind features. She’s always smiling and has rosy cheeks.
“Your hugs are as warm as I remember,” Flora says.
“Where’s the reindeer?” Alma’s eyebrows knit together.
“Reindeer?” Flora looks at me.
“She refuses to wear her hearing aid,” I whisper to Flora.
She nods, understanding, and raises her voice for the brief chat with Alma. I watch as Flora reconnects with the past she’s terrified of. When they finish, Alma ducks behind the counter and pulls out a wicker picnic basket. She places two strawberry milkshakes beside the basket, and Flora’s eyes light up.
“You remembered?” She nudges my side.
“There’s nothing about you I forget.”
Her eyes darken, and she presses her lips together.
Our second stop is Betty’s Bakeshop. She stayed late just for me, so the lights are dim through the large pastel-green window frames. The bell above the door jangles our arrival.
“I know you love her Christmas cookies, but I also ordered two of her granddaughters Dreamy Monster Cookietreme’s.”
“Those sound delicious.”
“They are.”
Betty Hill’s green eyes twinkle when she sees Flora.
“It smells amazing in here, Betty.”
“You always had a sweet tooth.” Betty has candy sprinkles in her feathered snowflake white hair.
“Some things never change because I’m popping back in when these displays are full of your baking.”
“Don’t you worry. Thorn ordered enough to satisfy your sweet tooth for a week.”
Flora dives into a more extended chat with Betty as she delves into all the details of her granddaughter returning to town and running the bakery with her.
With a box of treats in hand, we head back outside. We stop in front of the two local bars.
“Are they still bickering like cats and dogs?” Flora sticks her hands in the pockets of her jean jacket.
“I reckon that ain’t something that’s ever going to change.”
“How do we choose which bar?”
The longstanding feud between the owners is the stuff of local legends.
“I’ll tell ya what. You take Kiwi’s. I’ll take Bucky’s and meet you in the middle.”
“What does that mean?”
“Head inside, and you’ll understand.”