Chapter 11
eleven
JOAN
Candace and Mercer were getting married in three weeks, just before Christmas, and, as the maid of honor, bachelorette party planning had fallen to me.
The other bridesmaids had given their input. Bonnie had suggested a paint and sip event up in Asheville. Becca had thought a grown-up slumber party would be right up my sister’s alley. And Mac had insisted on male strippers.
I’d taken matters into my own hands.
We’d just finished up dinner at Boards and Bubbles, where we’d ordered and consumed multiple themed charcuterie boards and several bottles of sparkling wine. It was cold, but we were now walking the three blocks over to 6th Street.
Hometown Holler was the country western bar in downtown Kirby Falls, and Candace had been dying to try it out since it opened last month. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.
But before she’d even made it to the front doors of the establishment, the food truck parked outside caught her attention.
“JOANIE!” she squealed loudly, making me wince. She’d had an entire bottle of sparkling wine all on her own. “Did you seriously get Bev’s Sno-Kones truck to come to my bachelorette party?”
“You’re the bride,” I answered by way of explanation.
My very tipsy sister launched herself at me. Laughing, I stumbled back, squeezing her tight.
She pulled back immediately. “I’m sorry. Was that too much?”
Shaking my head, I pulled her in for another hug. “Happy bachelorette.”
“Thanks, Joanie. This is the best.” Then my sister skipped away to order her favorite shaved ice in the middle of winter.
Bev, the owner, had been pretty agreeable to my request. She usually closed up shop after the Orchard Festival in September and only opened back up when the Spring Fling rolled around in March.
I was grateful that she’d been willing to do me this favor and let me rent the truck for one early December evening to sit outside the bar, with her teenage grandson inside, taking orders and running the machine.
Candace loved Bev’s Sno-Kones, and I wanted her night to be perfect.
“That was very thoughtful,” Bonnie told me as she walked by to join Candace, Becca, Larry, and Corie.
Larry—short for Laramie—was Mac and Bonnie’s cousin.
She also worked at Grandpappy’s farm and was part of our book club.
I’d known her for years. Corie was Larry’s new girlfriend.
She was going to be Candace and Mercer’s wedding photographer, and she seemed like a very sweet person.
We hadn’t all scared her off yet, in any case.
Chloe, another book club friend and a Grandpappy’s employee, was sitting out our celebration. She was newly pregnant and sick all the time. She’d called the restaurant ahead of dinner tonight and had a bottle of champagne delivered along with her well-wishes.
Mac, the final member of our party, came to stand beside me. “Now, don’t be mad.”
I turned to look at her. “MacKenzie Eloise, I swear, if there are half-naked dancers inside that building, I will—”
“Oh, come on. They’re not half naked.”
My eyes bulged.
She snickered. “I’m just kidding, Joan.” Quickly, she added, “Calm down.”
“Famous last words of many men, I’m sure.”
Mac laughed. “Probably. No, I didn’t hire any male exotic dancers. Even though I wanted to. But you did let me handle the invites, soooo . . .” She trailed off, attention slipping over my shoulder.
I followed her gaze to see none other than Dorian Masters, crossing the street from the parking lot, wearing cowboy boots, jeans that stretched indecently across his muscular thighs, and a plaid western long-sleeved shirt with pearl snap buttons.
Completing the look, he had a pale-gray cowboy hat perched on his head.
Jesus, there was even a navy-blue bandana around his neck.
“What the hell is he wearing? Is he going to rob a train?” I hissed at Mac.
She laughed giddily and clapped her hands, shouting, “This is going to be amazing,” as she ran toward the others.
Ian met the ladies in front of the food truck and said, “Let’s go, girls,” like Shania Fucking Twain. I closed my eyes, thinking this was going to be a long night.
Squeals erupted as everyone crowded around Ian. He gave hugs to Candace and Mac and shook hands with the women he hadn’t met before.
Resigned to my fate, I went and joined the others.
“Joanie, why have you not hit that yet?” Candace asked.
Bonnie nearly spit out her fruity-looking cocktail, and Mac cackled maniacally.
I shot my drunk-ass sister a glare. I should have made her switch to water an hour ago.
The rest of them were watching Ian and Becca two-step around the dance floor.
“What?” Candace asked dramatically as she pushed dark strands of hair away from her sweaty face.
It was nearly one in the morning, and she and the other women had been dancing and drinking nonstop.
This was the first time more than two people had been sitting in the booth at the same time.
Ian twirled Becca while she laughed, and I heard several awws from my side.
Of course, Ian was good at dancing. He’d been boot scootin’ boogying across the shiny wood floor all evening. After the other patrons’ initial shock, they’d pretty much given him space. Plus, Larry and Mac were good at scaring away unwanted attention from our in-house celebrity.
He’d insisted on buying the drinks tonight, his present to Candace and a contribution to her celebration.
And, honestly, the cowboy getup wasn’t even a turnoff. He may have surprised me, but he owned it. The jeans alone were a work of art, accentuating the muscles in his legs and the unfairly generous curve of his backside.
I knew it was just attraction—something simple and biological, primitive even. On a fundamental level, my body recognized that Ian was big and strong and capable of providing. I knew all of this even as a modern, self-sufficient, independent woman. I was being controlled by my baser instincts.
But it didn’t stop my eyes from seeking him out, from lingering and appreciating his beauty. I’d seen him on the television in my living room and at ten feet tall in the movie theater. He was handsome, striking—beautiful in a way that was undeniable, that set him apart from regular people.
And for the first time in my life, I was just like everyone else, unable to look away. It was frustrating and infuriating to realize that I was not immune to Ian’s face or his body or his charm.
I watched him spin Becca again, making her laugh, and felt my own smile threaten.
“Yeah, I’m with Candace on this,” Bonnie said suddenly, jolting me back to the conversation. “He is so obviously smitten with you. Why don’t you go for it?”
I didn’t know what the hell she meant by that. Smitten? Hardly.
Ian and I had mostly argued tonight. He’d tried to get me out on the dance floor for the “Watermelon Crawl” and “Cotton-Eye Joe,” but I’d declined both attempts.
“He is not smitten with me,” I insisted.
But Ian chose that moment to look our way, shooting me a grin and a wink. He may as well have called me a liar in bright neon lights.
“Uh-huh,” Bonnie said, before slurping the last of her cocktail.
“He’s after a challenge. Or he’s bored. I still haven’t figured it out,” I grumbled.
But what he hadn’t done was try anything. Ian hadn’t brought up his crush—or whatever it was—since that day weeks ago when we’d gone running. He hadn’t hit on me or asked me out. There had been no moves whatsoever.
Even with our Turkey Trot training complete, he still ran with me when his schedule permitted. And he joined George and me for lunch when he could, too. He played poker with my dad, worked out with my brother, and texted recipes back and forth with my mom.
He was everywhere, even infiltrating my limited social life. Hell, he’d probably be at our next book club meeting.
But currently, he was at my sister’s bachelorette party, getting under my skin.
“So what if he’s after a challenge?” Mac said. “Give him one. Make him earn it.”
“Yesss,” Candace slurred and tried to give Mac a high five. Spoiler alert: She missed and whacked me in the shoulder.
“Y’all need water,” I murmured. “And Jesus.”
“And you need to get laid,” Mac offered. “Let that hot celebrity do dirty, dirty things to you, Joanie.”
I looked around, but the music was too loud for anyone to hear what my friends were practically shouting.
“He’s twenty-nine,” I hissed.
They all stared at me.
“Twenty-nine!” I shouted, as if that might drive the point home.
“So? You’re thirty-six, not dead and buried,” Mac replied.
Candace nodded emphatically.
“Joan, I’m going to be real with you,” Bonnie said. She was typically very soft-spoken and supportive. But her divorce this past summer had really taken a toll. I wasn’t sure what advice she was about to lay on me, but I definitely didn’t expect “Don’t look a gift penis in the mouth.”
My eyes widened as my sister choked on her laugh and her margarita.
“No!” Mac practically hollered. “PUT a gift penis in your mouth.”
At this, all the women erupted into laughter. Candace was bent over, clutching her side. Bonnie had a hand over her mouth as her eyes watered.
I wondered what I’d ever done to deserve these chaos monsters.
“I’ve yet to meet a man that can outperform my favorite vibrator,” I told them seriously. “So, no, I don’t have any interest in taking the Hollywood actor for a spin.”
Their cackles tapered off as they looked at me.
“God, that’s bleak,” Mac said, frowning in disbelief.
“That’s so sad,” Candace wailed, tears filling her eyes.
Bonnie winced.
Luckily, Becca chose that moment to slide into the booth and distract everyone from my depressing sex life. That was, until she said, “Whew, Ian wore me out.” She used a napkin to blot the sweat on her neck and hairline. “He’s a machine. I bet he could go all night.”
Mac shook her head fast, biting her lip.
Bonnie just laid her face down on the table.
Candace’s tears flipped from sadness to hilarity.
I stood up abruptly and sighed.