Chapter 6 #2
“About time.”
“Lexiiii!”
“Big Momma,” I say to the girl on Weston’s lap, unable to help the grin she pulls out of me every time I see her.
The most petite one of us, Amelia is in tiny athletic shorts, a concert tee that’s been cut, cropped to just below her chest, making me jealous of that taut stomach of hers, and she’s paired it all with black combat boots.
For such a small person, she packs a lot of punch. That’s how she got her nickname from me.
You ever meet a small dog that doesn’t know it’s small? That’s her. Personality of a Doberman in the body of a Yorkie.
Gracie, however, is built more like me. Softer, fluffier, a lot taller than Amelia’s five feet.
Her auburn hair is never frizzy like mine, no.
As a hairstylist herself, she has figured out the secrets of the universe and her waves are always straight out of the ’Gram, whereas half the time mine look like I’ve been sponsored by static electricity.
She is absolutely pulling off the maxi dress she’s wearing today, too, and I tell her so.
Ronnie’s got one arm dangling over her shoulder, a longneck hanging loosely from his fingers, permanent sunglass tan on his cherubic face. There’s nothing angelic about the guy, he’s just got a baby face.
And of course, there’s Weston, beneath Amelia, practically glowing golden in his khaki cargo pants and plain white tee, the closest thing the Heights has to a Greek god.
Although, now we might have a new contender for a Roman god in town…
No! We are not thinking about Wilder today.
Even the sound of his name in my head strikes a nerve. That’s why I break out in a chill, it’s because I can’t stand the guy.
It’s not because of his strong nose, the slash through his eyebrow, those hewn features, the endless expanse of ink along his skin or those thick, firm thighs.
Definitely not.
Gross.
So gross I might be getting dizzy and lightheaded at the thought.
“It’s so good to see your face,” Gracie croons, petting that face with the backs of her fingers.
She might already be a drink or few in, but I don’t mind her slurred affections.
Reaching out with one arm, I pinch her cute little face between my fingers and squeeze her cheeks together until her mouth pops open and then I nuzzle my nose against hers briefly. “Good to see yours, too, babe.”
“I never see you anymore!” Gracie bemoans, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walk the length of the yard, leaving the crowd behind.
She’s not wrong. The Lexi who worked four shifts at the grocery store every week and did whatever she wanted outside of there is long gone.
That Lexi has been replaced by this version of me who is trying out a new style.
Stressy messy. It’s where, for the first time in your life, you finally have a dream, you have no clue how to pull it off, but you put everything you have into it anyway, cross your fingers and hope for the best as you run full steam ahead, frizzy hair trailing behind your frazzled, gorgeous ass as you accept that working six and seven days a week is the new norm.
“Yeah, babe, I know.” My arm thumps over her shoulders, and I hold her as we walk.
We catch up as we wander the grassy lot and inspect the garden around the far perimeter. They have a sickeningly beautiful display of wildflowers that borders the woods, and my sister does nothing to this garden. It’s actually not fair.
My garden is better, don’t get me wrong, but I have to work my ass off to keep it looking the way it does. This just feels like she’s God’s favorite.
Gracie fills me in on Ronnie, the latest gossip from his job at the plant, and all the best tea she gets served at the town’s only salon where she cuts hair.
I probably get half my daily steps in as we stroll the edge of the enormous yard, almost a perfect rectangle, before we head back to the direction we came from.
“Stop avoiding the topic,” Gracie says, voice soft and blissful with just the hint of a buzz.
“What topic?”
Is innocence something I can ever pull off? Probably not. But I shoot for unaware and hope it passes.
“The diner, silly.” The word is drawn out and it’s endearing from her.
“Are you surviving? Ready for the opening? When can I come in and try this famous New York food?” Gracie leans in close, giggling into my shoulder.
“More importantly, when can my eyes come get a taste of all that man meat everyone is talking about?”
I mimic barfing into the grass and stand to face her, just out of earshot of the table. “Not you too.” Arms crossing beneath my chest, I stare her down.
“Every time I see him down the street, I think my knees give out. He looks like a gladiator.”
My best friend gives a rawr like she’s a horny tiger, or maybe an emo kid on Myspace, and I don’t even try to hold back my eye roll.
“Okay, babe. Why don’t you just use your claws on that guy you married, and we’ll just leave my chef out of the equation.”
Gracie’s green eyes float over to Ronnie and sass works its way through her features as she watches him chat with the Grady brothers.
“Hey, sailor,” she calls out, a tease in her southern lilt.
Her husband’s eyes snap up to hers in an instant, the man is whipped and whipped good.
Has he ever been a sailor? No. The only water the man’s ever been on is the Heights River that runs through this very property.
Do I want to know why she calls him that in that tone of voice? Also no. Some shit is just not my business.
Gracie mouths something at her husband, and even though the words are silent, the movements of her lips and tongue are so exaggerated I get a very clear picture of what she’s suggesting.
Ronnie’s hand dips to his fly and he readjusts himself, winking at her, and I roll my eyes.
Surrounded by three couples in sickening amounts of love is just too many. One, I could do. Two, that was pushing it, but I tried. Three, now that Weston and Amelia seem to be joining the club… I’ve met my limit.
“Save it for the afterparty,” I tell them both, pointing to my mouth like I’m gagging.
“I thought you don’t have a gag reflex?” Ronnie calls back to me across the short distance, entirely too loud.
My eyes narrow on the girl who’s been my best friend since before I ever learned that little fact the fun way and I hiss at her.
“It wasn’t me!” she says, eyes round.
“Oh, please,” Ronnie scoffs. “That’s something half the town has known since the naughties, Lex. But nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m sure your sister wishes she didn’t have one, eh, Rory?”
Because Ronnie never knows when to shut the fuck up, he leans over and taps the front of Wyatt’s pants with the back of his hand in a light slap, and the entire group goes still as Wyatt freezes for just a moment.
Then he lunges for Ronnie, and the two of them take off around the yard, Ronnie screaming as his best friend tries to murder him.
Ronnie’s kids laugh louder and louder as their dad runs for his life.
“How—” Wyatt yells the word in between panting breaths, “many—” he stops, picks up a rock, and throws it at Ronnie, hitting him in the ass and stopping his getaway. “—times?”
“So sensitive!” Ronnie falls to the ground, clutching his ass, and rolls around. “If I had a dick like that, I’d show it off!”
“Stop trying to show mine off!” Wyatt thunders, and none of us onlookers try to hold back the laughter.
“The man is obsessed,” I murmur as Gracie and I watch on.
Us locals aren’t ones to look up a gift horse’s ass. Free entertainment is free entertainment.
“He acts like his ain’t just fine on its own,” she says, tsking and shaking her head side to side. “Some of us don’t want twelve-inchers. Some of us are happy with seven.”
My head tilts from side to side, non-committal.
“Or six.”
I freeze.
“Or five inches.”
My side eye comes out to stare, and we’re definitely judging now. She can speak for herself.
Gracie’s jaw drops as she gasps, and she turns to face me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re so good at getting out of the question, Lex! I’d almost think you were the attorney in the family, not your sister. You gonna answer the question?”
My cheeks pull up in what’s hopefully a terrifying approximation of a smile. It’s all lip, no eyes.
“Is it going that bad at the diner?” Gracie nudges me with her elbow, trying to soften me up the way very few can.
Ronnie’s screams drift across the landscape to us along with the welcome breeze on this warm day.
The sounds of my sister chatting in a low voice with Amelia and Weston (completely disregarding the freak show on the lawn), and the children laughing are the only other sounds aside from the rustle of so many leaves surrounding us.
If I had an iced coffee in hand, it would be just about a perfect early summer day.
“It’s, um, a little tougher than I thought it would be,” I admit, fidgeting with a lock of hair that keeps getting blown in my eyes by this mountain breeze.
Gracie’s soft hand rests on the flesh of my upper arm, and asks, “Still a staffing problem?”
I shake my head around, but don’t know how to answer her. “No. Maybe. I dunno. I mean, do I need more staff? Yes. Another server would be great, but I can’t afford to until we have revenue.”
A word I’ve heard too many times to count from Rory’s mouth in recent weeks as she’s been counseling me in the life of a small business owner.
“Another couple staff in the kitchen would do wonders. But I’ve hired as many people as I can comfortably do for now. Not like I have anyone else applying anyway.”
Gracie’s brow pinches in understanding. The salon—and every other business in this town—has been understaffed for as long as either of us have been working adults.
We’ve had some influx in new residents with the New Heights program Rory has been heading the past year or two, but I think I’ve hired all the help I can get at this point.
Now I need to somehow turn what I’ve got into a profitable business.