3. Eloise
3
ELOISE
The sun hangs low in the sky as I drive down a narrow road, grass fields stretching endlessly on either side. The colors of the evening are soft, the light melting into shades of pink and purple, casting a warm glow. It’s nice on this side of Oak Creek. Not much smaller than Avalon Falls, but somehow, it feels completely different.
Or maybe that’s just my perception. It’s such a funny thing, tinting our view and tarnishing memories. Avalon Falls represents a lot of things for me, and I have to remind myself that not all of them are bad.
For every shitty memory I have with my mother in my hometown, I have ten more good ones. With my sisters, my friends, even Seven Pines—those assholes throw a mean barbecue.
Born and raised in Avalon Falls, I used to dream about leaving it all behind for a big city. When I was younger, I had grand plans of moving to New York City and having some fancy life. But that was probably a byproduct of too many episodes of Gossip Girl . I thought of myself as a Serena—charismatic and free-spirited. But somewhere along the way, I realized I’m actually a Jenny. The girl who fights tooth and nail for everything, who’s never had anything handed to her.
Margot is a total Serena though. And Vivie’s too young yet.
The air is thick with the hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of a breeze pushing through the fields. I roll my window down a little more, the scent of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers filling the car.
I pass another sun-bleached sign for the Oak Creek Drive-In, and a moment later, the road opens into a huge clearing. A giant outdoor screen takes up one side of the clearing, plenty of space for cars to park in front of it, and a smattering of food trucks and a diner on the opposite side.
There’s a decent crowd—more cars than I expected. Lots of pickup trucks, people setting up the beds with coolers and blankets. I whistle under my breath in appreciation when I see one couple fitting an air mattress into the back of their black pickup. Other people unfold lawn chairs in front of their cars and set up little card tables for food and drinks.
I slowly cruise down the aisles, scanning for the perfect spot. My blacked-out Mitsubishi garners some curious glances, even a few sneers, and for a single second, I feel a little self-conscious about it. But then I remember that this is the only thing I have left of my father, and I’ve spent too many years worrying about other people’s opinions about women in fast cars.
I’d be out of here and in the next county faster than the gaggle of men sneering at me can shotgun their beers. I catch the eye of one guy in particular and shoot him a smirk and a finger wave. His scowl melts into a smirk and he tips his chin up at me in that universal way men do. Some things never change, no matter what town you’re in.
I find an open spot next to a metallic navy blue truck, angling my car so I have the perfect view of the screen. I park and roll my windows down fully, letting the warm air in. A smile tugs at my lips when a light breeze wraps around my hair and drags it across my face. The faded peach color of the box dye my sister talked me into last month temporarily blinds me, but instead of pushing it off, I just close my eyes. Letting my head fall back against the seat, I let the sounds of Oak Creek surround me.
Nearby laughter and engines rumbling. Cicadas singing and birds chirping. The sun’s fingers reach through the open window, caressing my eyelids with warmth.
And my heart feels lighter than it has in months. Years maybe.
When I open my eyes, the sky has darkened into shades of indigo. Streaks of dusky pink and fiery orange cling to the edges, fading but not gone as the first stars begin to blink awake. I must have drifted off for a bit, exhaustion pulling me under the moment I dropped my guard.
The scent of popcorn and burgers wafts through the open windows, and my stomach grumbles.
Popcorn. Burgers. Frozen Coke. Not necessarily in that order. I might even splurge and get some fried pickles or something, too. Oh god, now that I’ve started thinking about food, I realize just how hungry I am. I don’t think I’ve had a proper meal in twenty-four hours, and I’m famished.
I roll up my windows and toss my crossbody purse over my head as I get out of my car. I flick the locks and bump the door closed with my hip. The gravel crunches under my boots as I head toward the little semicircle of food options.
I’m so focused on the food truck in the center that I don’t see it coming. I collide with something hard, the impact jarring. My purse swings wildly against me, and I stumble backward, blinking too fast and shaking my head a little.
Strong, warm hands circle my biceps, steadying me. “Careful now.”
“Shit—sorry.” My eyes widen as I look at the owner of such a deep voice.
He’s tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders that fill out a faded navy t-shirt like it’s his goddamn job. Tattoos swirl down both of his arms, drawing attention to his forearms. I don’t know what’s hotter: those veins popping in his forearms or his big hands. Dark blond hair sticks out from beneath a backward blue baseball cap, and when he grins, dimples crease his cheeks. My stomach does a little flip.
My lips part on an exhale, a breathless curse falling free. “Shit.”
He chuckles, his lips twisting to the side a little. The sound vibrates through me—lazy, deep and rich, like that organic maple syrup I bought when it was on sale last month. It drips onto my skin and sends an unfamiliar awareness down my spine.
“You good?” he murmurs, his thumbs sweeping over the sensitive skin of my inner biceps.
My lashes flutter too many times for it to not be noticeable, and my cheeks heat in response. I feel silly now. It’s not like I’ve never seen an attractive man before. I probably just need food or something.
I clear my throat and take a step back, and when his hands fall away, I feel like I can take a breath again. I nod and glance toward the right. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t see you there.”
He grins, flashing those dimples at me again. “No worries, I wasn’t paying attention either.”
“Right, well . . .” I trail off and step to the side, ready to be done with this awkward exchange. Apparently, we’re on the same wavelength, because he moves to my left too. Then we both shift to the opposite side. Despite myself, a small laugh puffs out at the ridiculous sidewalk shuffle.
“You go,” I say, motioning him forward, running my hand through my hair and tossing it over to one side. My cheeks still feel warm, but I’m going to blame it on the lack of food and the hot streak we’re currently having.
“My mama would have my ear if I didn’t show some manners.” He steps back with a mock bow, sweeping his arm out wide. “Ladies first.”
Is his mom here? I give him a half-smile and shake my head, stealing a couple of glances around. “Thanks.”
I get into the line for the burger truck, and a moment later, I hear low whistling behind me. I don’t understand what this strange phenomenon is, but somehow I just know that the same man is now standing behind me. Close enough that his nearness prickles against my skin, but far enough away to be polite.
His presence is like an itch begging to be scratched, and I’m embarrassed that I cave after one measly minute.
I steal a glance over my shoulder—sure enough. Tall, tattooed, dimples. The heat of him radiates toward me, and I catch a hint of his scent on the warm breeze. Soft notes of leather and pine, with an undercurrent of something warm and masculine. It’s an intoxicating combination that makes my stomach flip again in a way that has nothing to do with hunger.
I fix my gaze straight ahead, studying the chalkboard menu as if it contains the secrets of the universe.
There’s a buzz of excitement in the air—families chatting, couples laughing, engines revving lightly in the background. The line moves slowly, but I still have plenty of time before the movie starts, so I’m not too stressed about it.
“Have you been here before?” he asks casually, like we didn’t just bump into each other two seconds ago.
I look behind me, catching the way his blue eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
“No,” I murmur, facing forward once more.
“If I can make a suggestion, The Guac burger is the best thing on the truck.”
My gaze flies to the menu again, zeroing in on the item in question. Angus beef, pecanwood-smoked bacon, sharp cheddar cheese, Sriracha garlic aioli, and house-made guacamole. Damn, that sounds delicious.
I nod, a few dips of my chin.
“But you can’t go wrong with The Classic either. Even The Hawaiian if you’re into fruit on your burgers. What kind of person are you, hm? Spicy or predictable? Or maybe you’re the spontaneous sort?”
He says the word like he’s saying a whole damn sentence, but I don’t really understand the language. I don’t need to be fluent to recognize it though. It’s the same kind of energy that dozens of guys from home dish out.
Disappointment fizzles in my gut like carbonated water. I’ve had enough of the small town playboy types to last me ten lifetimes.
I honestly don’t even know why I’m disappointed. Except that maybe I was thinking about taking Margot’s crazy advice and going home with someone tonight. Really letting my hair down just for a night. And for some insane reason, I thought this handsome stranger would be the perfect contender for a one-night stand.
I realize now how ridiculous that was. And presumptuous. I drag my hand over my face, annoyance with myself flaring hot in my chest.
I’m saved from replying when the line moves, and I step up to the counter. I place an order for The Guac, fried pickles, and a frozen Coke. I swear to god I can feel his smirk pinned to the back of my neck, but I don’t check as I pay for my food.
I don’t look at him when I slide a few feet over, to the window at the end of the food truck. I don’t look at him when he steps up next to me, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes mine.
“So, what movie’s playing?”
I give him my attention, a frown tugging down my brows. “You came to a drive-in without knowing what movie was playing?”
He grins, a full-on dimpled smile. “Sure did.”
I arch a brow, curious now despite myself. “Why?”
His brows mirror mine, his smile widening. “Why not?”
I bet he gets whatever he wants when he flashes that smile. My lips tug down in the corners, and I glance away. What would it be like to be that free? To go to the movies on a Wednesday night just because? To live without the crushing weight of responsibility?
I hear the call for my food, and I reach up to grab the bag before turning back to him. He’s watching me, but there’s no pressure in his gaze—just a quiet interest that makes my heart beat a little faster than I’d like.
“Enjoy the movie,” he says, his tone a little softer now.
“Yeah, you too,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral.
I walk back to my car, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder at him. It’s better not to. The absolute last thing I need is to get involved with a man while I’m technically on a job.