4. Sylvie
FOUR
SYLVIE
The July heat was oppressive, and I wiped a small bead of sweat from my hairline.
Beyond the quaint downtown area, a side street was alive with the pulsating rhythm of the weekly farmers’ market.
It was a big moneymaker for the Sugar Bowl, as tourists and townies alike were drawn in by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee intermingling with the intoxicating scent of warm cinnamon pastries.
I loved working at the farmers’ market, since it was an opportunity to meet and mingle with lots of new faces. To them I wasn’t a King but simply a soft smile behind their favorite bakery. It seemed coffee and carbs made everyone’s Saturday better.
It was also an opportunity to sneak glances across the market at the Sullivan Farms booth.
Duke was in his stall, where he sold blueberries by the pint alongside various jams and jellies, all while looking like his typical grump-ass self and glaring at customers.
I stifled a giggle as I packed up an order and handed it across the table.
Two weeks had passed since the scuffle in the parking lot of the Grudge, but tensions were still at an all-time high.
After that night, Duke and I hadn’t talked about it again, and I tried to ignore the uneasy feeling I got whenever I thought about an actual fight between my brother and Duke.
I was ashamed to admit that the abrasions on Duke’s knuckles were kind of hot, especially since they were the cause of my brother’s bruised ribs.
Of course, no one was taking any responsibility for what happened.
Depending on who you overheard, blame was laid squarely on the shoulders of the offending family.
I heard Lee had tossed a martini in Royal’s face, or Whip had slapped Wyatt, or Duke had rammed his truck into Royal’s in an attempted murder.
Each story was more ridiculous than the last.
I sighed and stared into the bright midmorning sun, hoping the vitamin D would boost my mood. Today was also the sixth and final date of the Outtatowner date auction.
I had come up with a ridiculous excuse that I needed to work the booth for the Sugar Bowl while Huck and Casselyn enjoyed the market. Truth was, Rebecca could have more than handled it.
“Hey, Sylvie!” Stepping forward, Annie Crane held me with her bright smile.
Her unruly red curls bounced with the lake breeze as she scanned the table.
Annie was a Sullivan by association. She’d been practically adopted by the late June Sullivan as a kid and had fallen into a close friendship with Lee Sullivan—though the fact Lee was staring at her ass told me it was likely the rumors were true and they were finally an item.
Despite the King–Sullivan rivalry, Annie and I were a part of the Bluebird Book Club. The club met weekly, and despite family ties it was a place for the women of Outtatowner to come together in secret to gossip, solve problems, and maybe even just be ourselves.
No doubt, the Bluebird Book Club was my happy place.
“Good morning. What can I get you?”
Her blue eyes danced across the table of pastries. “A couple of coffees.” She leaned in to whisper. “Are there any Junkers left?”
The small scraps of homemade biscuit dough discards were rolled in cinnamon sugar, then baked. They were Annie’s favorite and a bestseller at the bakery.
From behind the table I pulled a small white bag I had stashed earlier and handed it to Annie. “If you tell Ms. Tiny I sold these to you, I’ll deny it.”
Annie grinned and moved one finger over her lips in a zipping motion.
“I won’t say a word.” Annie rifled through her oversize purse to pull out cash for the coffee and pastries.
Behind her, laughter blended with the hum of our community and the rustling of paper bags.
The farmers’ market was a patchwork of bustling stalls and smiling faces.
A happy bark echoed through the air, and I allowed the sunshine to warm my face while I waited.
After she paid, Annie paused. “No date today?”
I blinked at her, unsure of how to navigate the conversation. While I was relieved to no longer be paired with Stumpy Larson, the last few dates with Charles had been... underwhelming. Sure, he was cultured and charming and accommodating, but something was missing.
I was self-aware enough to know I came across as cold, but deep down I had been actually hopeful about the date auction. Turns out it was just another pitiful check mark in the disaster that was my dating life. Plus, at one time, Annie and Charles had been on a few dates.
I swallowed. “Um... I’m working the stall while Huck and Cass enjoy the market. He’s taking over in about ten minutes, and Charles is meeting me here.”
Annie smiled with no hint of jealousy or judgment. “Nice. Have fun!”
Relief washed over me, and I offered a small smile. “Thanks. You too.”
I watched her curls sway as she bounced away, and my eyes flicked to Duke, who was standing with his brother Lee at his booth.
His gaze immediately fell, and I was interrupted by the next customer.
I shook my head, not knowing what was worse—Annie’s leftovers or secretly lusting after her surrogate older brother Duke.
He was broad and commanding behind his stall.
Women flocked to him for the opportunity to flirt with the broody farmer, I had no doubt.
Had I had a different last name, I might have done the same.
Instead, I learned to school my features and fade into the background.
Unlike my little sister, MJ, who flounced up to my table with sunbeams practically shooting out of her ass.
“Good morning!” she singsonged.
I smiled at my little sister and immediately began making her favorite coffee. MJ propped herself up on a stack of milk crates beside the booth. She scanned the crowd, and her eyes stopped. “How’s your secret love affair going?”
My eyes sliced to hers. “Shh! Cut it out.”
MJ giggled and swatted the air. “Whatever. You might say you’re just friends, but there’s no way that man can be friends with a woman.” She gestured toward Duke, but I refused to give in to her. “Just look at him.”
My face warmed as I shoved the paper cup into her hands. “I regret ever telling you.”
She grinned, knowing it was actually true. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing, you know.” She lifted a slim, hopeful shoulder.
“Are you kidding?” I struggled to keep my strained voice at a whisper as I smiled and worked my way through another customer’s order.
“It is the definition of the worst thing. What am I supposed to do, ride off into the sunset with Duke Sullivan? Come on. I’d be a pariah.
The boys would never speak to me again. They would kill him. ”
MJ chewed her lip and sighed. “It would be weird, but they’d get over it eventually.” She shrugged. “Probably.”
I shot her a bland look, because even she knew it was a stretch of the imagination to think my brothers wouldn’t hold on to a grudge, especially if a Sullivan was involved.
“Did you hear Royal duct-taped a harmonica to the underside of Duke’s truck? I guess Duke took it to a mechanic to get it looked at with concerns of a ‘whistling noise’ when they found it.” MJ snorted.
I clenched my jaw to keep from smiling. It was ridiculous to think I was relieved that things were going back to normal. The pranks were dumb and childish, but sometimes even I had to admit they were pretty funny. “I bet he was pissed .”
MJ nodded. “No doubt, but at least things seemed to have settled back to harmless pranks. It’s been weird lately, right?”
I nodded. My sister wasn’t wrong. The Kings and Sullivans had always fought by way of pranking each other, but after the fight, things seemed to change for the worse.
Even my brother JP had been more secretive than usual.
I’d caught him in more than one hushed conversation with Dad.
Plus, Kate Sullivan was acting a little strange at book club, and there were whispers she had uncovered something during the renovation of Tootie’s farmhouse, but no one was really talking about it.
All around it really was weird .
Regardless, it all added up to anything between Duke and me being completely unrealistic.
A tiny ripple of sadness washed over me. I looked at MJ. “And what about Dad?”
MJ’s smile faltered. When it came to Russell King, no one crossed him and survived it. Even precious little Mint Julep understood that. “Dad’s not that bad. With you and him, things are just... complicated.”
I scoffed. Complicated didn’t even begin to describe the relationship between my father and me.
Duke and I weren’t even supposed to be friends . I gritted my teeth to hold back the sting of tears and continued smiling at patrons who passed the booth.
When it was clear I wasn’t going to talk about it anymore, MJ hopped off the crates and wrapped me in a hug. “Gotta run. Lunch tomorrow?”
I nodded, but then she looked over my shoulder and squeezed. “Incoming.”
Following her gaze, I watched Charles walk up to the booth, lost in friendly conversation with Huck. His smile was easygoing and bright. I tried to search his face for something —any kind of more than friends feeling—but came up lacking.
He was just so clean and, god, I wanted to get dirty.
A low flutter erupted in my belly as my mind flickered to Duke’s wide stance and deep scowl.
I sucked in a breath as Charles approached, and I plastered on a fake smile. Huck took over filling orders for customers, thanking me as I slipped out of my white apron and balled it up behind the table.
“You look lovely.” Charles’s eyes respectfully moved over me, never dipping too low.
“Thank you.”
He held out his elbow. “Ready for the final date?”
A small flicker of relief hummed through me. Perhaps Charles had no intention of asking me out beyond the auction dates— thank god —and I wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse to let him down gently.
I gave him a tight-lipped nod and slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow. Charles set a steady pace, and together we walked down the rows of the farmers’ market. He was an expert at small talk, and though I tried, I couldn’t find anything between us.
Not a single spark.
As we made our way up the opposite side, my shoulders stiffened when I realized he was headed straight for the Sullivan Farms booth. My heart stuttered.
As we approached, Duke’s eyes zeroed in on Charles and, more specifically, my hand tucked into his elbow. Subtly, I dropped my hand from his arm and shifted the tiniest step away from Charles.
Duke’s eyes were dark and penetrating, a stark contrast to the easygoing, friendly smile Charles wore. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
Duke’s response was akin to a grunt as he held Charles in his stare.
My heart wedged into my throat. It was rare I was ever this close to Duke, and my senses were on overdrive.
Mixed with the warm, sweet smell of ripe blueberries was the unmistakable, masculine scent of him .
Tiny hairs on my arms stood on end, and I averted my eyes, looking at the berries, jams, and jellies—literally anywhere but the intense face of my secret friend.
When I dared to look up, Duke’s eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second before looking out beyond the stall and into the crowd.
His jaw was flexed, nostrils flared, shoulders pulled back tight.
He was like a warrior, ready for battle.
Heat tingled and pooled between my legs at the intensity radiating off him.
Seemingly unfazed, Charles let Duke’s cold and dismissive attitude roll off his back. Once we’d finished our loop of the market, I thanked Charles for the small bouquet of flowers he had insisted on, and we parted ways.
On the drive back home, I couldn’t get Duke out of my head. The harsh reality settled over me: in a small town, royalty was everything, and I was a King.