Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Silas
“Folks! It’s time for food and dancing!”
The stragglers left in Harp and Hemline at six o’clock let out a cheer, most of them getting in line to pay for the purchases in their hands.
Betsy and I work like a well-oiled machine to get them checked out and on their way.
When the last one walks out, I lock the door and flip the sign to closed.
“Did they like the clothes that much or did we get them schnockered?” Betsy asks, collecting all the empty, used champagne glasses.
I rush over to help. This woman has been a godsend, a big-hearted workhorse with a surprising gift for fashion and charming people with her deadpan delivery.
When I told Birdie at the beginning of summer that I needed help, I hadn’t imagined she’d pick someone so opposite of what I thought I needed.
Funny how life has a way of bringing just the right people into your life at just the right time.
“I think it was both. We might want to serve champagne all the time.”
Betsy swats my hand away when I try to steal a chocolate-covered strawberry. “No way! It’s gotta be seasonal. That’s what makes it special.”
“Speaking of special,” I mutter, sneaking a strawberry the second her head is turned.
I crowd her until the bow on her back comes in contact with the mirror hanging on the wall.
She looks up at me with a spark of irritation that quickly turns to a lazy smile.
God, I love that I can put that look on her face.
My pelvis holds her locked in place. I slide the tip of the strawberry against her bottom lip.
Her tongue darts out to lick in its wake.
Everything below my belt tightens in response.
“I think it’s time for some of your reward, storm cloud.”
I slip the strawberry past her lips and hold it while she bites into it. She chews slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. Fuck, she’s hot when she eats. I feed her another bite, taking my time and ignoring the sounds of a party happening out in the Square. In here it’s just her and me.
I can’t take it any longer, I need a taste.
Bending at the neck, I lay my mouth on hers, my tongue sliding across her lip and tasting chocolate.
She whimpers in the back of her throat, making me forget about the rest of the strawberry and kiss her like I mean it.
Her hands slide around my waist and pull the hem of my polo shirt out of my pants.
Her palms are cool as they press along my back.
I don’t want to mess up her pretty dress, but if I can just maneuver us into the storage room, I’d love to get her out of it entirely.
A loud bang on the front door has us jumping apart. The mirror clangs against the wall with the movement. I shift to the right so a rack of clothing hides my indecent erection, but I see that it’s just Deuce. Betsy flips him off, which makes me laugh. I’d like to flip him off for interrupting too.
“Stupid friends,” I mutter, which makes Betsy laugh.
I head over and unlock the door to let him in. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face which makes me scowl even more. He knows what he interrupted.
“Forget cleanup. It’s a party out there!” He marches past me and grabs Betsy by the arms, steering her out of the boutique. “Lock up, would you?” he calls over his shoulder at me.
I glare at the back of his perfectly coifed hair as I quickly lock up and follow after them down the walkway. “Would you kindly let go of my woman?”
Deuce looks down at Betsy. “Do you hear a caveman behind us?”
“Nope. I just hear some grunting.”
“Ha ha. You’re both real funny,” I answer as they stop at the periphery of the party happening in the Square.
The catwalk has been taken down to make way for a large wooden dance floor and stage for a local band that’s currently tuning their instruments.
Lines have formed for each of the food trucks and kids are running around with melted snow cones running down their arms, safe and happy in their little hometown.
White string lights form a canopy over the Square, lighting up the night and making the evening seem magical.
I don’t know if it’s the Battle of the Boutiques win, the mad rush of sales this afternoon, or the way my heart feels about Betsy, but tonight feels like the best night of my life.
Betsy leans into my side and I wrap my arm around her waist. Her head rests on my shoulder and we both just take it all in for several long moments.
“I like it here,” she whispers, as if she’s afraid to be happy.
“Our town slogan isn’t A Little Slice of Heaven for nothing, honey.” I drop a kiss on top of her head. “But I certainly like this town better with you in it.”
Her hand tightens on my waist.
“Are you two going to canoodle all night or can we get to dancing?” Deuce interjects as the band starts up their first song.
Birdie, Mr. Barrett, and Betsy’s nana walk by as a geriatric pack as scary as any gang I’ve ever seen. Birdie’s eyes light up as she takes in Betsy and me with our arms around each other.
“Just the two I wanted to see! Somethin’ about a kiss heard ’round the world?” She looks between us expectantly.
“Oh Lordie,” Betsy mutters. “Excuse me, Birdie. Mr. Barrett and I were on our way to the dance floor.”
“We were?” he rasps, louder than necessary.
He must have turned off his hearing aids due to the band starting up.
He doesn’t hesitate to go with Betsy, though, when she puts her hand on his elbow and pulls him in the direction of the dance floor.
He shuffles slowly, but Betsy stays with him, leaning over to yell in his ear.
We all watch them go, amazed Mr. Barrett is having anything to do with the party.
They appear to have an argument right at the edge of the dance floor.
Betsy points to the dance floor. Mr. Barrett stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest, staying right where his orthopedic tennis shoes are planted.
Betsy puts her hands on her hips, leans in real close, and says something none of us can hear.
“Oh boy. That man is the grumpiest person I’ve ever met,” Nana says.
I’m about to go out there and rescue her when Mr. Barrett throws his arms out to the side, then marches onto the dance floor, leaving Betsy behind.
But when he spins back around, he holds his weathered hand out for her.
She takes it and the two begin to shuffle in a circle, right there on the dance floor.
“Well, I’ll be…” Birdie whispers in awe.
Betsy yells something in his ear and Mr. Barrett’s face cracks in the middle.
It takes me a second to realize what’s happening, but then I hear it above the music.
A boom of laughter that seems to surprise even the old man.
Heads turn and more than a few people gape at the sight of Mr. Barrett dancing. And laughing.
Betsy’s nana turns and pats my chest. “My granddaughter is one of a kind.”
I put my hand over hers and squeeze. “That she is.”
“So, what are your intentions, young man?” Birdie interjects, eyebrows drawn together as she studies me like an insect under a microscope.
Deuce whistles low and slow. Normally, I’d be nervous with the town gossip pinning me down with questions about my love life, but there’s not one bit of me that wants to hide how I feel about Betsy.
“My intentions are very serious. I intend to make her fall in love with Heaven, Mississippi, and with me. Then I’m going to show her how much I love her until I take my dying breath, hopefully right by her side.”
Birdie smiles proudly, like I gave the right answer. Betsy’s nana sniffs and wipes at her eyes. Deuce snorts. I smile ear to ear, watching my girl charm the grumpiest man in town. I know what’s happened to Mr. Barrett. It’s the same thing that happened to me when I met Betsy. She charmed me.
When the song ends, Mr. Barrett tucks Betsy’s hand in the crook of his elbow and lifts his head high to walk her off the dance floor. His usual limp is nowhere to be seen.
“Take good care of her,” Betsy’s nana says as she pats my cheek.
“I will, Mrs. Pemberton.”
She pats my cheek one more time. “It’s Nana now.”
For some reason that makes the back of my eyes burn. My voice is rough when it finally comes out. “Thank you, Nana.”
When Betsy and Mr. Barrett rejoin our group, she sidles up to me, a warm little sigh on her lips. I look down at her, seeing all the changes since she first came to Heaven, and I don’t mean the physical. She looks happy now. Like she finally feels safe.
The older set move on, leaving us to the dance floor.
Betsy and I dance through several songs until we’re both wiping sweat from our brows and begging off in favor of a cold drink.
Deuce is flirting with one of the women that modeled for Mary London and doesn’t even lift his head when we tell him we’re headed to the food truck area.
“What’ll it be? Champagne, spiked lemonade, or a frozen margarita?” All the available adult beverages look amazing in this heat. Even with the sun down and the breeze created by all the fans, it’s still eighty degrees and humid out.
“I think a margarita,” Betsy says slowly, her arm around my waist and mine over her shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I have every intention of addressing our “just fucking” agreement at the soonest available opportunity. I feel like we’re so far beyond that it’s almost comical we thought we could keep our relationship to that level.
“Always doing things opposite of what’s expected, aren’t you, boy?”
My father’s deep drawl has my spine stiffening.
We pivot to see him and a few of his old cronies with flasks in hand.
Dad’s never been a drunk, but when he gets with his friends, they like to overindulge on fancy scotch.
I can tell he’s past the point of a real conversation by how unclear his eyes have gotten.
There for a few months after Mama died, his eyes were always that hazy by the time the sun went down.
“I guess so,” I say noncommittally, turning Betsy and me away. I hope he’ll just keep on walking, but no such luck when he bumps my arm with his flask.
“Got yourself a girlfriend?” He scoffs and it’s not a nice sound. “She’s not even from around here.”
I turn back to him, but push Betsy mostly behind me. “She’s no concern of yours. I suggest you and your friends keep walking.”
I catch Richmond’s eye and he steps up to Dad’s side. Of all his friends, Rich has always been the most levelheaded. But Dad’s not done ruining every good thing of mine.
“You doing that just for my sake? To piss me off?” He makes a noise that has my hackles rising. “Your mama would roll over in her grave if she saw the way you conduct yourself.”
I step right up to him, toe to toe. I used to keep my mouth zipped just to keep the peace, mostly because I had it engrained in me that children are supposed to respect their elders.
But life has taught me that not every parent is deserving of that respect.
Betsy’s taught me that sometimes the best thing to do is to flip the person off.
“Funny to hear you criticize my behavior when you’re the one drunk in public. I think you need to take yourself home before you say or do something you’ll regret.” Then I break his gaze to pin Richmond with a glare. “Help your friend home, would you?”
Rich motions for the other guys to take my father somewhere less public, but he hangs behind to speak to me.
“Hey, I just want you to know what your father is asking me to do with the loan is unethical. I’m aware of it, and even after decades of friendship, I won’t do it.
Just so you know, Silas.” He shakes my hand, grip firm.
“And for the record, Lia would be damn proud of you, son.”
He leaves, dealing with my father, which I’m grateful for. Betsy steps right into me and folds me into a hug. The top of her head doesn’t quite come to my chin but I feel her hug everywhere.
She lifts her head, her big eyes shining up at me. “And I’m proud of you too. Takes a lot of courage to speak up for yourself.”
When I lean down to kiss her, somehow all the stuff with my father fades away. His opinion of me doesn’t matter nearly as much as Betsy’s.