25. Dolly
25
DOLLY
In true, over-the-top, Southern fashion, there is a temporary marker for every single lost soldier from Knox County lining the Hickory Hills town square for Memorial Day in the form of a yard sign. Doesn’t matter if they were killed in action, a prisoner of war, missing in action, or some other classification—if they didn’t come home, their name is now on a yard sign.
It also doesn’t matter that somewhere around eighty-five percent of these names were lost during the Civil War, and therefore their names are also carved into the tall, obelisk monument that is elevated by a knee-high grassy wall, sitting smack-dab in the center of the square.
They were lost, so they get a sign. That is what Memorial Day is all about.
Just ask my great-aunt Hattie—she’ll gladly give you the lecture.
“Shit, where are the Sternos? I know we packed them,” I mutter out loud. Not to anyone in particular, but if someone has the answer, I will gratefully accept it.
“Young lady,” Aunt Hattie scolds. “These men did not die for our country so you could mouth off like that.”
Pretty sure that they didn’t fight for our country so you could be first in line for biscuits and gravy either, but here we are…
“I dunno, Mrs. Burch, legend has it those were Llewellyn’s last words in the battle of Atlanta. I give my life so my descendants may cuss… ” Hux turns to me, giving me that unmistakable Hayes smirk paired with a wink, my knees going weak from the lethal combination. It takes everything in me not to giggle like a teenybopper meeting her favorite singer. “Sternos are all lit and in the chafing dishes. Nico just put the first round of food out, so you are ready to go, Doll.”
Oh, thank fuck…
Instinctively, I reach for Hux, wrapping my arms around his waist, relaxing into his chest. The hard muscles catch me in a way that only they can, as if there was a space carved out only for me, and I sigh, enjoying the feel of him pressed against me.
My best friend. The man in my life.
“Thank you.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing. “Pretty sure that’s my job.”
“Catering is far from your job.” I laugh, keeping my cheek pressed against him, inhaling that scent that is so uniquely him.
“I meant taking care of you.”
Looking up at him, I catch the twinkle in his eye. The one that makes me tingle in all sorts of places I have no business tingling at the moment.
“Careful, or you’re going to find yourself getting dragged into the church,” I remark, nodding toward Hickory Hills Baptist on the other side of the street.
Oh, shit. That probably came out wrong. My pulse skitters, my mind racing as I realize that I should have said the library. The large antebellum-style building with Roman columns is right next door and shares a parking lot with the church, and is just as good a place for a quickie, without the implication that I’m trying to get him down the aisle.
Ooops.
Hux chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”
Well then…
“Breakfast’s up, Aunt Hattie!” I announce, slipping out of Hux’s grasp. He chuckles again, no doubt noting the high pitch of my voice and the rise of my pulse when he didn’t falter at my non-implication.
“’Bout time. Parade is about to start,” she chastises.
Holding back my eye roll, I scoot over to the chafing dishes, grabbing a plate and getting her all served. Hux is right behind her, taking orders like a pro as she barks them out on how to properly fill a second plate for her mother—my great-grandmother, Amelia Phillips—the town matriarch who is safely seated with my great-uncle, the fire chief, over under the VIP tent.
A line quickly forms behind them, everyone in town knowing the routine. I smile, unable to hold back my laughter that this is all so routine that we don’t even need to announce that the food is served. Hickory Hills simply knows.
“Miss Dolly, a word?”
I look up, finding a very concerned Ken Noble, the town mechanic, standing off to the side, hands on his hips. My stomach twists, concern filling my veins on what the normally jovial older man could possibly be upset about. Because I don’t know that I have ever seen Ken Noble upset. Ever.
Truly the nicest man on the planet, everyone in town has a Ken Noble story from a time he stopped to help them out in some way. And I seem to be the one who has upset him.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, worry gripping me.
“I was looking over the new Dolly’s menu,” he starts, face still very serious. “And I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t mention turkey bacon…”
I sputter out a laugh, leaning forward and grabbing Ken’s hand. Oh, thank goodness. Turkey bacon. For the love…
“Don’t worry, Ken. I still have it for you,” I assure him.
“No, that’s the thing. I was hoping with the new menu you could just tell Kenzie that since I was the only person you were stocking it for that it didn’t make sense to keep it, so you no longer have it and now I have to go back to regular bacon.”
I blink, pressing my lips together, trying to holding in my laugh. Because it would not be kind to laugh at the man who is like a dad to everyone in this town. A man who we all rallied around a couple of years ago to help raise money for his cancer treatments. Which is why I have the turkey bacon in the first place—because his daughter Kenzie, the town librarian, requested it based on a recommendation from his doctor. Much to Ken’s objections.
“But you’re not the only one,” I whisper. “Bronwyn eats it.”
“By choice?” Ken reels backward, looking scandalized. I nod, pressing my lips together harder. I’m not going to be able to hold this in much longer. “We need to educate that child. I would have thought Lucy and Jack would have done that by now, but…”
Throwing his hands up in exasperation, he lets out a long, loud sigh. I let him, not feeling any need to comment on how the Kellers are “educating” their soon to be daughter-in-law.
“What’s up?” Hux asks, slipping up behind me, his hand finding the small of my back instantly.
“I can’t even say it out loud,” Ken mutters, waving Hux off. I shake my head, loving that the old men in this town are just as dramatic as the women, but in their own way. “I am, however, excited about your project. Job well done, Huxley. You should be proud.”
“Thank you.”
“How does Ken get to know and I don’t?” I ask, elbowing Hux. He lets out an ooof, pretending to be hurt but not backing away even an inch.
“Jack and Auggie spilled the beans,” Ken says, giving me a wink. “I think you’ll be very pleased, Miss Dolly.”
He gives us another wink, this one accompanied by a farewell nod, so he can join the food line. I watch him, moving slowly so he can talk to everyone, then stopping for a long moment to flirt with AnnaGrace Davis, the woman he “sees” every now and then, before mussing Brenna’s hair as he gives her his breakfast ticket.
“Hey Em,” I hiss, catching my friend’s attention.
Emily peers over her shoulder, trying to give me her attention while still focusing on what she’s serving.
“Give Ken extra ham, would ya?”
“Consider it done!” She laughs, giving me a thumbs-up.
“Hate to be you when Kenzie finds out,” Hux mutters, tickling my sides.
I giggle, twisting from the sensitive feeling rushing across my tummy. “You’ll protect me.”
“Will I?”
Raising his eyebrows, Hux steps into me, his hands landing on my hips. The heat from them radiates through my clothing, soothing me, drawing me to him. Despite being surrounded by a crowd, voices carrying in every direction, everything seems to fade away, leaving only him and me.
“Pretty sure you will.” I rest my hands on his chest and stare into his hazel eyes. Colorful strands of greens and yellow weave into the brown, creating a kaleidoscope I’m more than happy to get lost in. “Can I have some kind of hint about your announcement?”
“Nope.”
“Hux!” I whine.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Leaning down, he steals a kiss, brushing his lips lightly against mine. It’s a tease, one that lights me up like the runway at the airport, and something inside me clicks.
I wrap my hands in his shirt, pulling him into me. Taking his stolen kiss, I turn it into something else. Something more. Something real. Deep.
I kiss Hux like I mean it. Like I don’t care who knows it. Right here in the town square.
His hands grip my hips harder, holding on to me like I’m his. Because I am. Deepening the kiss even more, I push to my toes, finding his tongue with mine, and lose myself in him.
“Dolly Norah McLain.”
Ooops…
I pull back, my lips swollen, throbbing, and already missing Hux as I turn to find the last person I want to see. My great-aunt.
Standing there with her hands on her hips, she has the single most disapproving look anyone could possibly muster on her face. Seriously, God himself probably looked less disappointed when Eve bit into the apple than this old lady looks right now. I think I would actually prefer my father to be the one standing there watching me make out with Hux than her. Daddy at least would have some smart-ass comment locked and loaded about coming up for air or playing tonsil hockey.
She clears her throat again, pursing her lips, disapproval morphing into an expectant demand of some sort. It’s one that we both subconsciously understand, so we untangle ourselves and step back from each other, allowing room for the Holy Spirit, as Reverend Terry would put it.
“Mrs. Burch,” Hux greets, as if nothing is out of the norm.
“Huxley, make yourself useful and go help Chief Phillips with Pongo. Silly dog was supposed to ride on the truck, but the Noble boy couldn’t manage to get him in,” she tells us, her tone both gossipy and criticizing at the same time. She’s lived here her entire life, knows everyone by name and more details about their lives than she should, but will still say things like “that Noble boy” rather than using Landon’s name. As if there weren’t four Noble boys to choose from. “And now he’s bothering Mother and we can’t have that.”
I look over at my great-grandmother, who is sitting in her camp chair, the fire department’s purebred dalmatian sitting calmly next to her, enjoying the pats to the head she’s giving him. Yup, they both seem very bothered.
“And while you’re heading over there, you can bring us some extra grits,” she adds.
There it is!
Hux shakes his head, letting out a chuckle, but doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, ma’am.”
Giving my hand a quick squeeze, he plants a fast, chaste kiss on my lips before turning to go. Butterflies erupt in my chest, threatening to break through, tickling my insides. Fuck, does he make me happy.
I watch as he walks away, carrying two very full plates of grits with a couple of pieces of ham and a biscuit, knowing exactly what my great-grandmother wants. It’s way more food than she’s going to eat—especially for seconds—but I love that he didn’t think twice about it.
“What are we going to do with you?”
Errr…what?
I swivel to look at the older woman who, despite her demands for extra breakfast, hasn’t moved. I raise my eyebrows, silently asking what she’s going on about, because I don’t get it.
“Good thing my sister isn’t here to see this…” she mutters, turning to go.
“What?”
What does that mean?
My stomach lurches, her statement hitting me square in the chest. Her sister—my grandmother. Grandma Dolly. It’s a good thing Grandma Dolly isn’t here to see this. To see me.
Because she would think I was a disappointment.
“You were just left at the altar, dear,” Aunt Hattie hisses. “Now you’re already kissing someone else in public. You need to be careful. People are going to think things.”
People are going to think things…
My head starts to spin, the ground underneath me shifting. I’m vaguely aware of her muttering something else as she walks away. Something about my judgment.
My very questionable judgment.
Suddenly the air feels thick, heavy, and like it’s a million degrees. The nice breeze that was there a second ago seems to have disappeared, taking all hope of coolness with it. My heart thuds against my rib cage, solid and burdensome, each beat calling into question everything I thought I was so sure of a moment ago.
Because I’ve thought I was sure about a lot of things recently, haven’t I?
I was sure about keeping items on the menu, until I wasn’t.
I was sure about details of my wedding, until I wasn’t.
I was sure about Jeff, until I wasn’t.
Until he wasn’t sure about me either.
But Hux isn’t Jeff. Hux is different. Right?
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, acid rising in my constricting throat. Because the thought of losing Hux—of being wrong about him and me like this—makes me want to vomit. I can’t imagine my life without him. Any part of me without him by my side. And if this—whatever this is between us right now—goes sideways, I would lose him.
I can’t do that again. And I can’t do that to Hux.
I can’t be wrong about him.
My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. I stumble forward, or maybe it’s backward, I’m not really sure. All I know is that I move. But not steadily. It’s more a stagger, like I’m that toy from our childhood, the one that would wobble but not fall down. That’s me right now.
“Aunt Hattie!”
Whipping around, my great-aunt looks back at me, incredulous. Like she can’t believe that I’m going to try to get in the last word. But I am.
I survived being left at the altar and all the whispers this town had then. I can survive whatever they have up their sleeves now.
I think.
“You’re wrong.” My voice warbles, but it’s enough to poke the bear. More than enough.
“Excuse me, young lady?”
Marching back toward me, she looks like she is about to bless me out, straight out of both sides of her mouth. But I cut her off.
“About me and Hux. And it doesn’t matter what people think. They’ve been thinkin’ things about us since we were nine; they can continue thinkin’ whatever they want.”
There, I said it. All of it true too. The rumor mill in this town was the whole catalyst for our pinky promise in the first place. They were the ones trying to marry us off to each other before we hit double digits, so why stand in our way now?
Sighing, Aunt Hattie rolls her eyes. “A lady does not flaunt her rebound.”
A sharp nod of her head and an even sharper turn on her heel and she’s off again, ending the conversation.
“He’s not a rebound,” I say.
Only my voice isn’t as loud as it was before, barely reaching a few inches in front of me, much less all the way to the crowd she’s getting lost in. As if my own vocal cords don’t believe me when I say it. Don’t have the conviction to fight.
Hux Hayes isn’t a rebound. He’s endgame. My endgame.
Question is—am I his?