Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
Erica
P aul’s pickup is gone when I return from my run. Part of me wishes he would marry Ms. Dot and move in with her. Then again, that would lead to him either selling this duplex or renting his side to Lord knows who.
I take a quick shower, which is long enough to spark an idea. Carla Mayberry will be at the ice rink today with her newest cookie creations. I could go sample some. She normally sticks with sugar cookies since hers are decorative, but she’s known for giving them a little something extra like fruit or chocolate flavoring.
I get dressed and drive to the other side of the county, Wisteria. It has some nice houses and farmlands, but no downtown area like Apple Cart. It’s mainly a Dollar General, gas station, and the school.
Every year, they convert the practice field into a skating rink. It’s totally redneck, with box fans blowing to keep the ice cool and a tractor nearby to smooth the slush every few hours.
But it’s not near as redneck as the cow-patty drop that takes place on the actual football field. That’s the main attraction—a fundraiser that involves taking bets on where a cow will poop.
Carla’s creations are so cute and delicious that she can make you want to eat anything, including a cow-butt cookie. She even had her own reality TV special about baking cookies, making her our biggest contender.
Thanks to her, the bake-off will be filmed as an update on her life. If we can beat her, it will lead to tons of publicity.
I pull into Wisteria High School and have to park near the road, so I assume the cow-patty betting has started. I’m halfway to the practice field when someone calls my name.
“Hey, Erica.”
I turn to Daisy Duncan, holding a clipboard.
“Hey, Daisy.”
“Want to bet on Mullet?”
“Mullet?” I wrinkle my forehead. Last I checked, that was Daisy’s pet goat.
“Yeah. The cow-patty drop was due for a changeup to keep it exciting. Kyle suggested we turn Mullet out on the field and have a separate bet for him. If anyone were to guess where both animals poop, they win really big.”
I raise a brow. “Tempting as that sounds, I’m actually looking for Carla’s cookies.”
She smiles. “Right this way.”
I follow Daisy to a small tent near the entrance to the football field. A large banner with “Cookies by Carla” hangs beneath the opening.
Daisy’s boyfriend, Kyle, stands nearby with his own clipboard, smiling.
“Hey, Erica. You want to bet on the cow?”
“No thanks.” I wave a hand. “I’m just here for some cookies.”
“Okay. Let us know if you change your mind. Mullet’s out there too, and it’s for a good cause.”
“I will.” I smile back at him.
He and Daisy arm up and walk toward the field. They’re an unlikely pair, but somehow perfect for each other.
I guess that’s how it works when you grow older in a small town. You start pairing up with unlikely people since there aren’t as many options. Especially when you’re really old and widowed, which would explain Dot dating Paul. I shudder at the thought of ending up with someone like him.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I focus on the elaborately decorated cookies in front of me to clear any mental images of dating a younger version of Paul.
Carla has everything from cow rears to goat heads to cowboy Santas. Each one is equally cute, and they smell delicious. Maybe the contest won’t grade on appearance.
All our pies are uniformly attractive, but mundane compared to her intricately iced edible cartoons.
“Hello,” Carla greets me.
I greet her back. I’m not certain she knows my name. A lot of Wisteria people in her generation know me as one of the apple orchard granddaughters, which is fine.
“Your cookies are beautiful.”
“Thanks.” She points to a tray of ice skates. “These are a new mint flavor for winter.”
“What do those taste like?” a man’s voice asks beside me.
I turn to Ryan, the guy I ran into earlier—literally.
“Hey again.” He grins.
“Hi.” My face heats up, and I drop my gaze to the cookies.
“Those are red velvet. One of my favorites,” Carla says.
Also, one of mine. I reach for a Santa and take a bite. Velvety and delicious.
“Is it good?”
I slant my gaze to Ryan and nod.
He bites into a Santa and makes a noise that causes me to blush. His free hand hovers over the plate. “May I try another?”
“Help yourself.” Carla smiles.
He chooses a reindeer in a sweater and bites into the antlers. “Perfect mixture of nutmeg and cinnamon.”
She smiles wider. I narrow my eyes. Who is this attractive man from out of town with a keen sense of taste?
“Did you find your room?” I ask.
He snaps out of his cookie trance and cocks his mouth into a grin. “I did, then decided it wasn’t for me.”
I lift my chin. He stacks the two half-eaten cookies on his palm and picks up a cow butt.
“Thanks.” He nods to Carla. Then he turns and bites into the cow.
I watch him start to walk away as I select a reindeer, then catch up to him. He stops, as if expecting me to join him.
“I’m waiting to meet a guy with an Airbnb,” he offers.
“Too bad Gamer’s Paradise is booked up, or you could get a room there.”
“Isn’t that a hunting place? It came up on Google.”
“Yeah, but they have a luxury lodge. It’s really nice. A lot of weddings take place there.”
I know it better than most, since I considered getting married there a few years back.
“Oh.” His brows pinch together, and he eats the tail of the cow. “Do a lot of tourists come to town this time of year?”
“Typically, no. But a few people are staying at the lodge to help film the bake-off, and the other rooms are booked by those attending the Southeast Regional Milk Goat Show.”
He chuckles. “Sounds like something from my area.”
I laugh. “It’s at the 4-H building, and I can’t say I’ve been.”
“What’s with all the fans?” He tilts his head toward the skating rink.
I roll my eyes. “Makeshift skating rink. They do it every year.” I hook my thumb behind us. “And you saw the cow on the main field, I assume.”
“Cow-patty drop?”
I smile. “They do that in Tennessee too?”
“Oh yeah. We also have milk goats. There’s a good chance some people from my state are at that show.”
Now I’m even more intrigued by this Ryan. He smiles, and his eyes travel up and down, as if committing me to memory. My face and neck heat up when his eyes land on mine.
“You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
“Not that you didn’t earlier.” He grits his teeth.
“I didn’t take it that way,” I correct, then laugh.
A phone rings. He drops the cookie he’s holding on top of the others and reaches in his back pocket. He stares at his phone, then answers it.
“Okay, I can meet you there, thanks.” He ends the call and looks at me. “That’s my Airbnb host.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and extends a hand. “It was nice seeing you again, Erica.”
I take his hand. Instead of shaking it, I grip it casually. “You too, Ryan.”
He stares into my eyes and smiles. My hand warms, and I remember it’s still locked to his. I drop it and smile. “Yeah, I should go. Hope to see you around,” I say.
“Me too.”
I watch him hurry toward the parking lot, then I bite into my reindeer. It’s every bit as good as the Santa. My mom and aunt better bring their A-game.
Ryan
T he camper looks exactly as portrayed on Airbnb. Plus a few hundred Christmas lights, flamingos with reindeer antlers, and a giant blowup Santa. I hope there’s one main kill switch to all these lights or I’ll never sleep.
A middle-aged man holding two small dogs comes out the door soon as I park. The dogs are wearing Christmas clothes, and he’s in a Santa hat. Quite the festive bunch.
“Woody Miller.” He shuffles the chihuahuas and extends a hand. “And before you ask, I’m no relation to Nate ‘the Great’ Miller.” He winks. “I did that whole spit-in-a-tube thing to check my DNA and see.”
“Ryan Lewis.” I shake his hand. “Thanks for meeting me so soon.”
“No problem. I would’ve been here sooner, but I’m working swing shifts.” He drops my hand and holds up the dogs. “This is Taco, and this is Belle.”
I nod. “Pleased to meet them.” I glance toward the RV, anxious to get inside.
“Oh yeah. Come on in.” He turns and hurries up the steps, holding the door open for me.
“Thanks.”
It’s small, but clean and neat. Which is a big relief since I verbally committed.
“The missus and I lived here a bit, then needed more room since we’re expecting another kid.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” He pets the dogs. “Thanks to these two rascals, we’ll be puppy grandparents any day now.”
I get a closer look at the dogs. That must mean the fat one is pregnant.
“We’re expecting anywhere from one to three, so we went ahead and bought a double-wide.” He clears his throat. “Everything is hooked up and ready to go. If you want to pay me, you can skip the online fees.” He winks.
“Great. How should I pay you?”
“Cash, Venmo, or lottery tickets.” He laughs.
“I’ll Venmo.”
He laughs harder and slaps my back. It catches me off guard, and I stumble toward the sink. After regaining my balance, I get my phone.
“It’s DogDad47.”
I type in the handle and a photo of Woody snuggling a chihuahua appears. No question that’s him. I Venmo the amount equal to the nights I plan on staying.
He checks his phone and grins as a money sound rings.
“Nice doing business with you.”
“You as well.” I sigh and put away my phone. “You saved me from a stay at the inn.”
He shakes his head. “You’re safe here. My in-laws live across the drive.” He points to an older home across the road. “They can be of service if I’m at work, and my mother-in-law will probably invite you to dinner if she sees you out.”
I half smile. That’s the sort of stuff I like about small towns and hope to convey on my blog.
“Before you go, Woody, do you mind telling me where I can turn the lights on and off?”
“Sure.” He steps toward the door and flips the light switch off, then on again.
“I mean the outside lights.”
“Oh yeah.” He flips the switch beside it and a porch light comes on.
I chuckle. “And for the decorative lights?”
He fans a hand. “Oh, those are on a timer, so you won’t have to worry about them.”
“Okay.” This isn’t getting the result I’d hoped.
“Anyways, I’ll get out of your hair. You temporarily own the joint.” He opens the door and climbs down the steps. “Belle has her vet visit soon to make sure the baby is healthy.” He lifts his brows. “Or babies. You never know with pups.”
“I guess not.”
Woody wiggles his eyebrows. “Take good care of the place.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks again.”
He salutes me, then opens the passenger side of his truck. I watch him set the dogs in a tiny seat and buckle them before he gets in and drives away.
I go to my own car for my bag and stare at the many lights. This has to be a fire hazard. First order of business after I settle in is to find that timer and turn it off immediately.