Chapter 6
Oz and I went way back so when he suggested I hand deliver Fancy’s beer, I eagerly agreed. I did not expect my waiter role to grant me a seat at the table and my heart rate spiked sitting across from her. No one would classify me as a ladies’ man. I didn’t have quippy pick up lines or the machismo required to land this plane. She was offering up her attention, but before long, I’d say something stupid. Then she’d remember why she never gave me a second glance in high school.
“So, Oz sent you over?”
“Good old, Oz.”
“You know you didn’t need an invite. You’re always welcome.”
Let’s form a prayer circle and ask the good Lord for a healthy dose of audacity because what I was about to attempt would require balls of steel. Up until this moment, I was content with my life. But sitting across from the woman I still had dreams about at night, I was second guessing all my life choices.
“I’m a gentleman. I always need permission.”
She brushed her curls from her line of vision. “Did you want something in particular?”
There were so many ways to answer that question. I wanted Tennessee University to make it to the NCAA Final Four. I wanted the reclaimed wood flooring I’d ordered six months ago to finally get delivered. Most of all, I wanted Francesca Palmer to sing my name soft and low while I rearranged her guts. “Honestly, you were over here all alone deep in thought, and that didn’t sit right with me.”
“So you came to rescue me.”
“I don’t save women anymore. I learned my lesson.”
“And what’s that?”
“That most women are more than capable of saving themselves. If they want my help they’ll ask.”
“If I grew up with Dial for a sister, I’d probably feel the same.”
“Dial definitely doesn’t need saving. My sister is a savage. She will break the best of men.”
“She broke Oz’s heart.”
“I have my thoughts on that, but I’m not sharing.”
“All I know is they have broken up and got back together more times than I can count.”
“Yeah, well I think this time it’s going to stick.”
“What do you know about breakups? I think every woman you’ve ever dated dumped you.”
“Correction, I’ve let those women dump me. There’s a difference.”
“So now you’re too much of a gentleman to break a few hearts?” She twirled her hair around her index finger.
“I prefer for the women to think it was their choice. Splits are cleaner that way.”
Fancy had always been a shameless flirt. I’d never been on the receiving end of the batting of her long, curled lashes or biting down on her plump lips, so this was uncharted waters for me. But my instinct told me I was in a category five flirting storm. The only thing missing was an unprovoked touch to my person.
“Is that your first?” I asked, gesturing to her glass.
“My second.”
I hoisted my beer bottle. “This is my fourth. Which explains the karaoke.”
“Shit, I have some catching up to do.”
“I got you covered.” I licked my lips and stuck my thumb and index finger in my mouth producing a shrill whistle. It was loud enough to catch the attention of one of the bartenders. I mimed pouring a pitcher and Hubbard, the bartender, nodded his head in understanding. In short order, a tall pitcher and two frosty glasses were delivered to our booth.
Fancy’s face lit up. “I feel like I’m in VIP,” she teased.
“Only the best for our hometown hero.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that term.”
“I know you do and that’s exactly why I said it.”
“You’re a brat.” Fancy finished off her bottle before pouring us both fresh glasses. She looked back at the crowd before turning her attention to me. “Hey, who did Margie get married to?”
“Joshua.”
She slapped the table. “Margie married Joshua Leftfoot? Is this the fucking twilight zone?”
“They fell in love. The wedding was nice.”
“Wait, you went to the wedding?”
“I did.”
“You hate Joshua. He was a bully with an undeserving heaping of bravado.”
“Water under the bridge.”
Her face sparked in remembrance. “He literally threw you off of Golden Pass bridge.”
“Well, this parts going to shock you, I actually consider him a good friend now.”
“Joshua Leftfoot?” Her face was a puzzle.
“Yeah, one night he pulled up to my table at The Drunken Zombie and we got to talking. He apologized for the shit he did in high school. You know, saying it was never really about me, it was more about him.”
“Pigs are flying. Pigs are sprouting wings and flying across town.”
“Stranger things have happened. Look at you … you left town and moved to California with Darla of all people.”
“My best friend.”
“Your number one hater.”
“What?” Her head flinched backward. “Darla’s always had my back.”
“Yeah to your face.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t know, maybe she’s changed. It’s been a minute.”
“Darla’s my best friend. We are good. Inseparable. So let’s just drop it.”
Raising my hands, I capitulated. “I’m letting go and stepping away.”
I guess some things never change. Darla was the type to preen in your face, but all the while she was tossing daggers in your direction. She needed to be the prettiest, smartest, funniest woman in the room, but if that room included Fancy, it was an impossible feat. Fancy had a way of pulling people in, and Darla and I were not immune.
Shit, I met Fancy when I was five. We were in Mrs. Noone’s kindergarten class together. The second week of school I came home and announced I was changing my last name to Pat because seating was assigned by last names and since my last name was Birch and her’s Palmer, we were situated on opposite sides of the classroom. At five I didn’t have the words to express what love was, but I knew Fancy made me feel good. When she smiled at me or shared her fruit snacks at lunch, it made me feel special and I wanted that feeling to last forever.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to. You work at Figs and Twine. What else?”
I scratched my chin. “I work at Figs and Twine, I bought the old Castle place a year back.”
“Did Mr. Castle die?” She looked distressed.
“No, he’s alive, the farm just became too much to maintain on his own, so he moved in with his daughter.” I’d looked for a suitable place for a while, going back and forth over whether to buy an existing property or build something new. One thing Hume doesn’t have a shortage of is land. On a random Thursday, I was driving home and spotted a for-sale sign outside the Castle Farm. Shit moved pretty fast after that.
Fancy peeled the label off one of the empty bottles. “What about a girlfriend or kids?”
“Nope.”
“So you’re telling me no woman in all of Hume has swooped up Edison Birch?”
“You make it sound like I have tons of options.”
“Sir, looking like that … your options are limitless.” My eyes settled on her face, slowly trying to process her words. Before I could respond, she pivoted the conversation.
“What about Dial? Does she have a fella?”
I screwed up my face at the question. “Come on. Dial is hella picky and she is not lowering her standards for a ring. But lots of guys have tried.”
“Okay, so you run Figs and Twine, you bought a farm, and you’re single. What else?”
“Honestly, that about covers it. My life isn’t that interesting. Not like you.”
“I think it’s interesting. From what I can tell, the nursery is bigger than when I left. And you own the creepy Castle Farm.”
“He left all his shit. I’m still sorting through the mess. He said if he needs something important, he’ll just swing by.”
“See there’s another interesting fact: you run a small storage company in your free time,” she teased.
She made me smile. She always had. “What about you? How’s Los Angeles?”
“Crowded with piss poor air quality.”
“Is it everything you thought it would be?” I averted my gaze, not looking forward to her response. The last thing I wanted to hear was how leaving Hume was the best decision she’d ever made. Or how she couldn’t imagine building a life in this podunk town. Occasionally people would leave this small town and when they returned for the holidays or a funeral, they’d have nothing but negative things to say about the town and the people who remained.
Her smile faltered. “Sometimes. Mostly no.” Fancy’s phone rang and she quickly concealed the screen, but not before I spotted a picture of a man with blue eyes and a cowboy hat. Her expression turned sour as she silenced the call. I knew all about unanswered calls. I’d ignored my share of calls from Willa in the past few months.
“Do you need to get that?”
“No, what I need is another drink. I’m still behind by one.”
“Two, you’re actually behind by two.” I pointed to my half-filled glass. “This is my fifth.”
“Damn.” She poured herself another. “Tell me about your momma and daddy.”
While she nursed her glass, I brought her up to speed on the happenings in the Birch clan. Fancy’s family and mine were fairly close. I grew up idolizing her big brother, Oz, who to a scrawny kid like me, was a King. He was a few years older and Cy’s best friend. I desperately wanted to be a part of their crew, but Cy didn’t want his kid brother hanging around. And Dial … Dial adored Oz. Shit, she still did if you’re asking my opinion on the matter. But don’t tell her I said that.
As I retold the mundane comings and goings in Hume, Fancy’s face lit up like I was a master storyteller weaving a tell of times long ago. I don’t know how she was capable of making me forget the others in the room. Well past midnight Tipsy was standing room only, but in our booth it was like we were in another universe. The clanking of glasses and boisterous chatter all fading away. Fancy’s light, melodic laughter trilled in the air. The soft touch of her hand resting on my arm caused a flood of goosebumps to pebble my flesh. And the overhead lights which helped to conceal imperfections in the decades-old tables and booths seemed to shimmer against her sepia skin. Her breast rising and falling with each intake of air. While her full curls framed her face drawing me to her mink eyes.
Fancy was stalled on her beer while I was five beers in and well past the limit to safely drive home. “I think I need to call it for the night.” I slid from our booth and staggered to catch my bearings.
“How are you getting home?”
“Looks like I’m hoofing it. The fresh air will do me good.”
Fancy stood and with a tug of my hunter green T-shirt, she pulled me close. Her lips were inches from mine. If I puckered, I could steal a kiss. “Do you want me to drive you home?”
Hume didn’t have car services you could call for a ride. I’d practically drunk myself under the table and was more than willing to stretch my legs. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I’m offering all the same.”
“Do you know how to drive stick?”
She flashed a goofy expression. “Do I know how to drive stick? Come on, you’re talking to Ernest Palmer’s daughter.”
“Fair.” I smiled, tipping my ball cap. “That would be very kind of you.”