2. Paul
Paul
It was a quiet Saturday morning on the mountain, and I was just killing time before helping a friend out. I rounded a bend and glanced over at the side of the road as it came into view.
The Briar Patch stand was sitting there, exactly as it had been for the last forty years.
Just seeing the old building brought back memories of being ten years old, sweating in the back of my dad’s station wagon on the Fourth of July, waiting for a slice of Etta’s blackberry pie and a cold glass of lemonade.
It had been a landmark on Red Oak Mountain for years. It was sad that old Etta had died. Then shortly after, her husband Henry had too.
They hadn’t run the roadside stand in a few years now, but it still sucked seeing a brand new for-sale sign stuck in the ground out front.
Wait a minute. Who’s that?
There was a gorgeous woman standing behind the worn wooden counter, clutching a red and white cloth tightly to her chest. She was just standing there, looking as if she was lost in a memory.
I hit the brakes and pulled in before I could talk myself out of it.
Her head snapped up as I parked. Our eyes locked through the dusty windshield, and my stomach dropped right out from under me.
She wasn’t just gorgeous. She was soft curves and sad eyes, standing there like every bad idea I’d ever wanted to make.
I gripped the steering wheel, telling myself to hold my horses.
I was a steady man. Dependable. I cut down trees, patched roofs, and kept my head down. I wasn’t the kind of guy who got knocked off balance by a pretty face.
But staring at her, something shifted in my chest.
Hot damn. She was the kind of woman who could make me want to give up the single life.
I slid out of my truck and walked slowly over to her.
She stayed frozen behind the counter as I walked up. She looked like she might bolt if I moved too fast.
“Afternoon,” I said, stopping a respectful distance away. “I’m Paul.”
She blinked, her chest rising with a sharp intake of breath. “Georgia.”
“Nice to meet you, Georgia.” I gestured around the stand. “I remember this place from when I was a kid. Didn’t know it was opening back up.”
She let out a soft exhale, setting the gingham cloth down on a stool. “Just for the weekend. One last hurrah for the Fourth of July, if I can manage to get it cleaned up in time.”
A sudden gust of wind caught the old, painted sign hanging above us. It let out a metallic creak as it swung in the air. One of the rusted chains had snapped entirely, leaving the sign dangling sideways and squeaking on its one good hinge.
We both looked up at it.
“You want some help with that, Georgia? I could probably get it fixed right up in a couple of minutes.”
She bit her bottom lip, a slow smile breaking through the tired lines on her face. “Um, actually, that would be great. You really don’t mind?”
“Naw. I’ve got time.”
I headed back to my pickup and grabbed a pair of heavy pliers and some spare chain links from the toolbox in the truck bed.
When I walked back over, she pointed to an aluminum stepladder leaning against the side of the building.
“That might help.”
“Yup. It sure will.” I glanced at her again. Yep. She was still fucking gorgeous.
But this close, I could see that she was a lot younger than me. She had to be in her twenties, and I was deep in my thirties.
I had no business looking at a fresh young thing like her.
The sun beat down heavy on the back of my neck as I climbed up the rungs and got to work. I didn’t need to make a production out of it. It was just a busted link.
“My family used to stop here every summer,” I told her, keeping my voice level as I wrestled the old metal into place. “Etta made the best pie in the county.”
“She was my grandmother,” Georgia said softly.
I paused and looked down. She was staring right at me, watching my hands work. “Is that so? So you’re from around here.”
“Oh, not anymore. I moved away when I was a teenager. I’ve only been back to visit a few times.”
I nodded and pulled off the broken link. “No wonder I haven’t seen you around before. I heard about Etta passing, and then old Henry. Sorry about that. The whole town misses them something fierce.”
She gave me a wobbly smile. “That’s nice to hear.”
“You want to hear a funny story?”
She looked up at me quizzically. “Sure.”
“Every Fourth of July my mom always bought a blackberry pie from this here stand. My family’s really big and there were five of us kids, plus our parents, and we always fought over who’d get the last slice.”
I glanced back, and this time it almost looked like she was checking out my ass. I suppressed a chuckle and turned back to the sign.
“When I was twelve, I felt smarter than I actually was and concocted a plan to finally get my fill.”
She laughed lightly, the sound carrying through the breeze. “What was your big plan, Paul?”
“Well, the rest of the family went down to the swimming hole for the afternoon.”
“You didn’t go?”
“No.” I clamped the pliers down hard, securing the new metal link. “I knew that pie was sitting in the fridge, waiting for dinner to be served up, so I told them I was tired and wanted to stay behind.”
Georgia was smiling now. “And?”
“They came back three hours later.” I tested the weight of the sign to make sure it would hold. “I was covered in purple blackberry stains from my chin all the way down to my elbows. Had a bellyache so bad it hurt for two days.”
“You ate the whole pie?”
“The whole damn thing.”
“Serves you right,” she teased.
“It was worth it.” I climbed down the ladder and folded it up, leaning it back against the wall. “Best pie I ever had.”
I stood there for a second, wiping the rust and dust onto my jeans. The job was done. I should get back in my truck and leave her to it.
But I didn’t want to, and for once in my life, I listened to that inner voice. It was the same one that had caused me to eat the whole pie all those years ago. A little devil inside me that didn’t come out to play much these days.
I took a slow look around the stand. It was on its last legs. The shelves were mostly bare, and the paint was flaking off the support beams. It didn’t look ready to open, even though I saw some product sitting out.
Leaving her here alone to deal with this mess felt wrong.
“Anything else I can help with?” I asked.
Georgia crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. Her grin returned, a little more confident this time. “Well, since you asked. I’ve got a cooler issue. Are you any good at electrical wiring? You look like a man who knows how to use his hands.”
“I can fiddle with some wires. What’s it doing?” I asked.
“Humming, mostly.” She grinned at me. “But not actually getting cold. I’ve got goat’s milk in there that’s going to turn into cheese if I don’t get it sorted out.”
I dared to take another glance at her.
Her faded cutoff shorts showed off a strong pair of thick legs. Her lips were full and slightly parted, and her breathing was just a fraction too fast.
She felt the spark, same as me. No question about it.
The trouble was whether I should act on it or not. I was at least ten years older than her, and based on the for-sale sign out front, she wasn’t planning on sticking around long.
I was all about a sexy romp with a stranger, but those days were done for me. I wanted the next woman I dragged to bed to be my future wife. Sex wasn’t enough anymore.
Although for her, I might allow myself to be talked into making an exception.
I was probably staring too hard, but she held her ground, looking right back at me with wide, dark eyes that told me she wouldn’t mind a romp in my bed, either. I hadn’t felt this much heat with someone in years, maybe ever.
“I can fix an old cooler,” I rumbled, my voice coming out in a rough drawl. “But I’m supposed to meet a friend up the mountain right now. Can I come back this evening? Say, six o’clock?”
“Six works.” She reached into her back pocket. “Let me pay you for the sign, at least. I don’t want to—”
“No.” I cut her off gently. “I’m just being neighborly.”
She frowned, pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Paul, I can’t just let you work for free. I’m capable of paying you.”
“I get it, hon. But I’m not going to take your money.”
She hesitated, her eyes searching my face. Then slid the money back into her pocket.
“Okay. You want to be my hero today? I’ll let you.”
“That’s the spirit. I’ll see you at six.” I turned and walked back to my truck, my pulse hammering a slow, heavy rhythm in my chest.
And I knew I’d have Georgia on my mind until I got back here later on tonight.