Chapter 1 #2
“All I asked was when her first day is,” Owen tells her, the mix of nonchalance and impishness in his voice rather impressive.
As is his commitment to getting under my skin this morning.
Especially for someone whose job is to maintain order across the land.
Or whatever the creed of a state trooper is.
“Do you not know? Or do you just not want to admit that you have the date circled in a heart on your calendar?” Dolly quips.
Wow, Dolly’s playing dirty this morning.
“Don’t know, don’t care.”
That’s a lie. At least partially. Because while I don’t actually know the exact date, I most certainly do care. And if there was anything I could do at this point to make it not happen, I would. But I’ve used all my resources and tactics. Hell, I even resorted to begging at one point.
That got me nowhere.
Actually, what it got me was some serious shit from my brothers.
“High school was a long time ago, Jace,” Owen says. “Things change. People change. Maybe she’s an entirely different person now.”
Doubtful…
I glare at him, wondering why he’s taking her side here.
He’s not wrong—high school was a long time ago, and people do change.
Neither Owen nor I are the same person we were back then.
But at the same time, a tiger never really loses its stripes.
Leading me to believe that she’s still the same overcompetitive know-it-all that she was back then.
Here’s hoping she’s not as pretty as she was then.
“Maybe,” I acquiesce. “Doesn’t mean I want her working for Hayes.”
“Way to be a grown-up.” Dolly slaps me on the shoulder, giving me a look that makes clear she is not impressed with me at all in this moment.
Too bad.
Ignoring her, I pull out my wallet and tap my card against the machine.
Time to go, hopefully leaving this whole subject behind.
The machine beeps, the screen flipping over to ask me how much tip I want to leave.
For a split second, I think about not leaving one, but then I see the mean-mug that Dolly is giving me.
As if she can read my mind and knows that I’m considering it.
I tap my way through the rest of the prompts, leaving a more than appropriate tip. Winking at me, Dolly leans down and kisses my cheek, the sweet peck of a sister-in-law who knows that she has the entire family wrapped around her little finger.
“Ready?” I ask Owen.
He nods, standing up and heading for the door. I follow, ready to see what’s what at the market and who has managed to outdo themselves decorating their booth.
Our small-town farmers’ market runs every year from early May to the last weekend in September.
Most towns would simply close down, filling the air with “see you next year” and “it was a great season.” But not Hickory Hills.
We turn the last market of the season into a thing.
Everyone decorates their tents and booths with a theme, hosting giveaways and raffles, and there’s a contest for the best decorated booth.
How the tradition started, I have no idea, but it’s been going on so long that no one questions it anymore.
All I know is that Owen and I both landed on the committee this year to judge the booths.
A member of the Hayes executive board—a.k.a.
my siblings and me—always serves as a voting member for this, and this year I drew the short straw.
So naturally, I roped in my best friend.
Because if I’m going to deal with all this nonsense, I’m going to have him with me.
Although, if he keeps pushing me about her, I might come to regret that.
“Seriously, dude, I know you’re not thrilled she’s coming back,” Owen says, climbing into the truck.
“And I get it, I do. I wouldn’t want to see the person who ruined my senior year in high school either.
You know, if such a person existed. So, if you need to rage about it, I’m here. Safe space, and all that.”
I look at him, the sincerity rolling off him making it hard to stay annoyed.
It’s one of the reasons he’s so good at his job and is so well-loved over at EmpowHER.
Because he’s honest, trustworthy, and sincere.
He’s also easy to talk to, helping the women seeking shelter there by being an ear.
The fact that he’s built like a brick house from spending all his spare time in the gym doesn’t hurt either.
“Thanks. And she didn’t ruin senior year, she just…”
I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
She just…what? Made my life hell? Stole the thing that I had been working toward for years?
The thing that no one else in my family had been able to accomplish—even Mr. Perfect himself, my oldest brother, Gus.
Kept me from getting the credit I deserved?
Stole the spotlight and hearts of all our teachers?
All while rubbing it in my face.
Okay, maybe she did kind of ruin senior year.
“I get it, man.”
I put my truck into drive and flip on the radio, hoping we can end the conversation now.
We have bigger things to worry about. Like all the small-town politics that go into voting on the best dressed booth at the farmers’ market, and avoiding the wrath of those who don’t come in first. Things that are more than enough to occupy my mind. Which is exactly what I need.
Because the last thing I want to be thinking about is Presley Callahan.