CHAPTER TWO
W hitney had been inside pubs like The Pecan Pit before, so she wasn’t caught off guard by the noisy, or nosey, clientele when she stepped inside the dimly lit bar. She’d left her duffle and travel suitcase in the car, but she clutched her purse to her chest as her eyes adjusted to her new scenery—’90s country music droned from a classically cliché jukebox in the corner, and waitresses in denim shorts flitted between tables delivering baskets of hush puppies and greasy cheeseburgers.
Her stomach rumbled a reminder that it was beyond dinner time, so she strode up to the bar in need of sustenance and liquid courage. She hadn’t stopped in Pinegrove on accident, oh no. Somewhere between Atlanta and Columbus, she’d had the brilliant idea to head toward her hometown of Peach Springs. She hadn’t been back in over a decade, but the pull to the cozy surroundings of her youth was irresistible.
The only problem with her lack of a plan? Her beater of a car kept overheating on the backroads of Georgia, threatening to leave her stranded. A part of her lamented her maturity in returning Baxter’s Mustang—albeit in worse shape than she’d received it—but there was no use crying over spilled milk now. Instead, she flagged down a burly man and asked for a menu.
“Here you go, darlin’,” the man said, his cheeks popping with a smile. “I’m Buster, and I’ll be right back for your order.” He knocked his fist on the bar top once before sauntering off to another table.
“Thank you,” Whitney said to Buster’s back before looking for comfort food.
It was no secret that Whitney Kerr was a comfort eater. She was also a stress eater, regular eater, and occasional binge eater. Her weight was always a sore spot, but she decided to lean into who she was and try to stop fighting it. Granted, that didn’t help her own criticisms of her body, but she was too worn out to obsess over the calorie count of a double cheeseburger and fries.
“What’ll ya have, darlin’?” Buster asked a moment later, sliding a cold glass of sweet tea toward her. Whitney thanked him before sipping from the tea and savoring its sweet punch.
“What do you recommend?” she asked, tapping the menu. “I’m torn between the double cheeseburger and the fish fry.”
Buster cocked his head, studying her a moment. Whitney struggled not to squirm in her seat; she wasn’t used to strangers giving her a once-over. She liked to blend into her surroundings, but that clearly wasn’t an option now.
“I’d get the burger,” a male voice boomed beside her. “Buster should have taken the fish off the menu five years ago.”
Splaying a hand over his chest, Buster sighed theatrically. “Javi, you wound me.” Turning back to Whitney, he said, “But he’s got a point. No one in their right mind orders the fish here. I’d say the double burger, or the hot chicken sandwich are best.”
Whitney snapped the menu shut and handed it to Buster. “Double burger, medium rare, with extra pickles.”
Buster saluted Whitney with the menu. “Comin’ right up.” He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her alone with the stranger.
Whitney spun on her stool, finally taking in the man beside her. He was on the tall side, but not one of those giants she read about in her romance books. He was strong, with cords of muscles popping on his arms as he leaned against the bar. A tangle of black curls, much like her own, sat on top of his head. His smile was warm, yet promised trouble if she wanted it.
She didn’t.
“Hello,” she said, her voice sounding tired to her own ears. She wasn’t in the market for trouble, or at least not more than she was already in. At the proverbial crossroads of unemployed and single, Whitney knew she had a lot to figure out for herself before she hopped into bed with anyone, even handsome men like this.
The man extended his hand, smiling when she slid hers into his grip. He shook it gently before introducing himself. “I’m Javier Ortiz, but my friends call me Javi. And you are?”
Whitney bristled against the Southern manners she was raised with and finally gave in. “I’m Whitney. It’s nice to meet you, Javier.”
Carefully placing her hand back on the bar, he slid onto the stool beside her. “Please, Whitney, call me Javi.”
Whitney was incredulous. “I’d hardly say we’re friends.”
“But we’re no longer strangers,” he countered, the glint in his eye promising more than friendship.
Whitney had to stop her eyes from rolling. This guy was as smooth as an unopened jar of peanut butter, but she wasn’t in the mood to play games.
“I’m sure you’re a nice man, but I’m not looking for anything other than a cheeseburger and a hotel for the night.” Realizing what she’d said, she quickly amended, “To sleep, alone . I mean when I say I’m not looking for funny business.” She waggled her fingers in his direction, striving to keep her tone light.
Javier wasn’t deterred. “I hate to break it to you, Whitney, but that hotel room is going to be hard to find.”
Whitney frowned. “What do you mean?”
Javier gestured around them, to the crowded pub. “Fourth of July festivities started.” He held up his hand, counting on his fingers as he spoke. “Tomorrow is the duck race by the creek, followed by the Uncle Sam costume contest, and the pie eating contest starts this weekend. Pinegrove is the busiest place east of the Mississippi.”
She scrambled her brain trying to remember what would cause half of Georgia to flock to this small town when she remembered. “Oh damn, it’s the fireworks extravaganza.” Whitney covered her face with her hands and sighed. She’d forgotten all about festivities in her haste to get on the road.
Back when she and Winnie were girls, their parents took them a few towns over for a long weekend of fireworks, parades, games, and more food than anyone could eat in a lifetime. Part of her was pleased to see the event was still a mainstay for Pinegrove—and growing—but the other part of her was angry she’d have to keep driving.
All she really wanted right now was a warm bed, a hot shower, and a steamy romance novel. Instead, she had a well-meaning flirt and a long night on the road ahead of her. Oh well, at least a greasy burger was on its way.
“Wait, what about the Peachy Keen Resort? We stayed there once when we were kids.” She held her arms out high over her head. “That place was huge.” Granted, her memories were based on the world surrounding a young girl, but Whitney recalled the place was at least five stories high with a wrap-around porch and rocking chairs. It had felt like half the state of Georgia could reside and there’d still have been room to play.
Javier sucked through his teeth. “Peachy Keen closed years ago. The family couldn’t keep up with the maintenance and the place was shut down. There’s talk of a big corporate hotel coming to town, but nothing’s happened yet. It’s basically a couple motels on the outskirts of town and a handful of rentals. This year the mayor added some more activities, so it’s basically going to be chaos here for weeks.”
“Oh, well, damn.” Whitney couldn’t believe the old mainstay was gone. There went her plans for recreating childhood memories on a rocking chair, the warm summer breeze blowing through her curls.
“You’re familiar with the festivities?” Javier asked, inching closer despite Whitney leaning away. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and Whitney wished she was interested. He was probably just the man she needed in her life, albeit temporarily. He’d be a good time—a pleasant distraction from her solo state—and she’d be on her way, but her heart wasn’t in it.
Licking her lips, Whitney offered her nicest smile. “Look, Javier—”
“Javi, please,” he interrupted.
“Javi. I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but I’m not interested in what you’re offering.”
Voice dipping dangerously low, Javi raised an eyebrow, and asked, “What exactly do you think I’m offering?”
Whitney gestured between them, and said, “A roll in the hay and a few sweet words. I’m not in the market for a hasty sexual encounter that may or may not add to my emotional burden. I’m coming out of a relationship, and I ...” Whitney’s words faltered when she realized she was pouring her soul out to a stranger. “You know what? I don’t have to explain anything to you, or to anyone. Bye!” She pushed her stool back and hopped to her feet. Reaching out for her iced tea, she marched to the opposite end of the bar and plopped down.
Cheeks flushed with annoyance, she made a show of fumbling in her purse for her phone ... aka the international sign of Leave me the hell alone.
Javi spluttered in her wake, and she was proud she could still stand up for herself, despite the happenings of the last several weeks. A moment later, Javi took a step closer and began apologizing when another man joined him. “Whitney, I didn’t mean to—”
His excuses were cut off by another stranger. “Leave her be, Javi.” The other man’s tone left no room to argue. He glanced over to Whitney and grimaced. “We’re sorry for intruding on your evening.” He nodded once before dragging his buddy back to their end of the bar.
Whitney appreciated the man’s efforts of giving her space, but she’d be lying if she wasn’t intrigued by his wavy hair, a reddish-brown reminiscent of burnt terracotta, or the lopsided grin that made her belly flop. Throw in a chin cleft that Cary Grant would envy, and she was almost smitten.
This man was her type, but she wasn’t about to stir up trouble now that he’d free her from it. Besides, nice men like that usually were already married off with half a dozen children, gay, or absolute tools like Baxter Hollingsworth. Better to stay single for as long as humanly possible, handsome faces aside.
Buster chose that moment to appear with her dinner, and glowered at her empty seat. “Javi, did you scare away my customer?”
The other man gestured toward her and mumbled something to Buster. Just then a crash erupted from the kitchen, taking all of Buster’s concentration. “Son of a biscuit. Trevor, can you help me out here?” He shoved the plate into the other man’s hands before storming back into the kitchen.
Whitney watched in fascination as he closed the distance and slid the plate in front of her. “Sorry about that,” he said, reaching over the bar to snag her a stack of napkins and a bottle of ketchup. “Buster is training a new line cook, and let’s say it’s not going well.” He chuckled, and Whitney leaned into the sound of his warm laughter as it melted over her like caramel on her favorite sundae.
“Thank you,” she said. Unable to meet his gaze, her eyes fixed somewhere over his broad shoulder.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your dinner, and I’m sorry again about Javi.” He offered her another nod before going back.
Whitney took a bite of her burger and groaned with delight. It was perfectly cooked, still juicy, and covered in enough pickles to embarrass a normal person. While she devoured her burger, she idly scanned through Airbnb listings hoping to find an option close to where she was. The last thing she wanted to do was head back to Savannah with her tail between her legs. She was craving adventure, or at least a break from reality.
Planning for the near future was interrupted by a group of women in their forties and fifties barging into the pub. They were giggling like teenagers, a woman in the front striding ahead to a table set for ten. “Ladies, over here.” She flopped down and patted the chair to her right.
The women filed in around her, and soon, a waitress brought over a few bottles of white wine. Each of the women held a paperback novel in their hands, and Whitney recognized it. It was a new historical romance she was dying to read, promising a brooding Duke and swoon-worthy happily ever after.
Before Whitney’s curiosity got the better of her, the group’s ring leader called out to the man at the bar. “Trevor!” His cheeks flamed red as he jumped off his stool and strode toward the rowdy women. At first Whitney feared it was his wife, and she chastised herself for feeling even the hint of butterflies.
She dragged her attention away from the crowd and went back to the matter at hand—finding a room for the night. Everything else—her curiosity included—could wait.
*
“M omma, you’re causing more of a stir than usual.” Trevor greeted his mother, leaning down to kiss her cheek and earn oo s and aww s from her friends. “Y’all ready for book club?” He nudged one of the books with his finger, inwardly wincing at the image on the cover. A man with wildly long hair had a woman draped over his arm with what could only be described as a heaving bosom.
“Daisy, that boy has too many manners for his own good,” Joan announced to the table. “Why Virginia left for Scott, I’ll never understand.”
Trevor flinched at the comment, despite appreciating the comradery. “Thank you, Ms. Joan.”
Daisy sat up straight and shot a glare at her friend. “Bless your heart, Joan. Why bring up something like that now?” The other woman looked chastened, but Daisy wasn’t finished. “Would you like to bring up my late husband or Kim’s dead dog while we’re discussing upbeat topics?”
Joan shuddered, clearing her throat. “No, of course not.” She looked up to Trevor and offered an apology. “I’m sorry, Trevor. I get one glass of chardonnay in me, and I get all stupid.”
Kim, who just lost her beloved show dog, Watson, snickered. “Then what is your excuse when you’re sober, honey?” The table dissolved into laughter, all hurts forgiven.
“I’ll leave you ladies to it,” Trevor offered, attempting to pull free of his mother’s grasp.
“When will I see you this week, sugar?” his mother asked, her eyes shining.
Trevor cleared his throat, not wanting to break his mother’s heart, let alone in public. “I’ll get by soon. Work has been busy.” He nearly choked on the lie. Not only was work not busy, but it was starting to be a slog. Never had Trevor hated going into the station, but that was his current reality.
His mother couldn’t possibly understand the difficulty of seeing his nemesis sitting one seat below the chief; one seat away from his father’s spot. He couldn’t tolerate stilted conversation in the family home while his mother smothered him in love and deep-fried platitudes.
Yanking his hand so he was forced to lean down, Daisy whispered in his ear, “I know it’s been awful since you lost the promotion, but please don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not, Momma. I’ve been ...” He hesitated. He’d been what? Hiding out with Javi and drinking his feelings? “Busy?”
“Busy being sour. Now, come by tomorrow morning before work, and I’ll fix you a nice breakfast.” She squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Tell Javi I said hello.”
Trevor took his cue and left the table, striding back to Javi. “I’m telling you, man. If I was twenty years older, or had a thing for cougars, I’m pretty sure I’d have a shot at that group.”
Trevor rolled his neck, the bones popping back into place. For as much as he enjoyed his nights with Javi, the other man could be exhausting. “Need I remind you, my mother is at that table?”
Javi took a pull from his beer. “I love Ms. Daisy like my own mother, so, clearly, I was leaving her out of this discussion. Besides,” he added, signing off on the check before Trevor protested, “I’m pretty sure Chief Warren has his sights set on your momma.”
His friend’s statement brought Trevor up short, causing him to clutch the counter edge so he didn’t fall in a heap to the floor. “I’m sorry, what?”
“C’mon, man. Like you don’t see it? Chief is always swinging by Daisy’s place and taking care of things. Remember last month when you didn’t get around to fixing those loose floorboards on the porch? Chief was out at dawn on his day off with a hammer and nails. And don’t forget about—” Javi was silenced by Trevor’s hand slicing through the air between them.
“Think long and hard before finishing that sentence,” he warned, his pulse racing.
Unlike other children who lost parents who served, Trevor’s dad passed without warning from a heart attack. He wasn’t injured in the line of duty, which in some ways was a blessing. One minute his dad was laughing with the crew, leaning against the doorway into his office, and the next he was clutching his chest and falling to the floor in a sickening thud that Trevor still heard in his nightmares.
While never a prankster, his dad’s sense of humor took all forms. For an instant, everyone froze and waited for their fearless leader to pop up and start laughing. When it became evident he wasn’t about to do much of anything, Trevor called 911 while Javi performed CPR.
That was over two years ago, but the loss still felt as fresh as a brand-new paper cut. It stung when he least expected it. Swallowing down emotions that were not suited for a bar, Trevor prayed Javi let the issue drop. It was no secret that Chief and his mother were close, but any mentions of romance made Trevor’s skin prickle.
And speaking of skin prickles, the woman from the bar was packing up her bag and leaving a stack of bills next to her empty plate. Trevor watched as she checked her reflection in her compact, fluffing her gorgeous dark curls off her face. Her skin was flawless, the color of his grandmother’s fine porcelain.
She waved Buster down to pay him, holding up her phone and pointing at the screen. Buster shook his head and gestured around them before frowning. She offered a tight nod before hiking her purse up her shoulder and striding toward the restrooms.
“Buster!” Trevor shouted when she was out of earshot. “Is she all right?”
Javi perked up at his question, leaning in to hear the answer himself.
Buster shrugged. “Poor girl was looking for a place to crash tonight, but everything in a fifty-mile radius is booked for the Fourth of July.” He lifted a shoulder. “Who knew the duck race would bring in these crowds?”
“Whitney could stay at my place,” Javi quipped, waggling his eyebrows.
Trevor elbowed him in the ribs, hard enough to prove a point.
Trevor swallowed past the growing lump in his throat, struggling to understand why the thought of this woman leaving town gutted him. Before he had too much time to figure it out, Whitney came out of the restroom and stopped to chat with his mother and her ruckus friends. They could call it a book club all they wanted, but he knew a group of drunken women when he saw one.
Javi beat Trevor to the punch and practically skipped over to the book club, his smirk already in place. “Oh boy, here comes trouble,” Daisy announced to the group. “Javi, dear, what are you up to?”
Trevor sprinted faster than a summer Olympian track star to catch up and was greeted to a shy smile from Whitney. “What’s going on?” he asked, winded by his sprint.
“Did you know that Miss Whitney here has read all of Darla Champaign’s books?” Daisy asked, as impressed as if she’d witnessed Whitney walk on water.
“Urm, no?” Trevor said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Javi, sensing an opening, stepped closer to Whitney and beamed. “You don’t say? You read all of Ms. Champaign’s catalog? Why, that must be close to a dozen books.”
Joan had either sobered up from her chardonnay haze or was already tired of Javi’s bullshit. She reached out and pinched his bicep between her gnarled fingers until the he whimpered. “Javier Ortiz, I won’t have you interrupting book club with your flirting and nonsense. We all know Darla Champaign has written over forty-five novels. Now mind your business and find another pre-menopausal woman to flirt with.”
The mere mention of menopause was enough to send Javi scampering back to his perch at the bar, but Trevor was rooted in place. Daisy and Whitney were talking in hurried hushed tones, and it brought the hairs on the back of his neck to rising.
“Everything okay?” he asked, his attention locked on his mother. If anyone at that table had answers, it was Daisy Mays.
“Yes, of course. I was figuring out the logistics of Whitney staying with me.”
Now that knocked the wind from Trevor’s sails. “Staying with you?”
Whitney interjected, a lovely flush crawling up her cheeks. “Your mother was very kind to offer her guestroom, but I really don’t mind looking for a hotel.”
“Which you won’t find anywhere near Pinegrove this time of year, especially since Peachy Keen closed and the mayor and city council added the new events. Pinegrove is as busy as Atlanta when it hosted the SEC championship. Rooms booked up months ahead of the Fourth of July festivities,” Kim said, quickly becoming Trevor’s favorite person for reasons he wasn’t ready to explore.
“Oh.” Whitney sighed, her shoulders slumping so low, her purse slid off and onto the floor. Before she stooped down to grab it, Trevor was on the move. He’d crawled through burning buildings and climbed into infernos with less grace than he displayed in that instant. He was determined to help this woman in some way, even though he didn’t understand why it was important.
“Here you go,” he muttered, placing her purse into her waiting hands.
“Thanks.”
His mother’s gaze drilled a hole through his back, but he pretended to be oblivious. “You can trust my mother,” he insisted, feeling as awkward as his teen years.
Joan threw in her two cents. “Of course you can. Daisy is the late fire chief’s wife, and she’s been a staple of Pinegrove since she was born.”
“I’m also good at reading people,” she said, holding up her book, “and reading books. If you’re a fan of Darla Champaign, then that’s all I need to know.”
Whitney was incredulous. “Ma’am, I really do appreciate the offer, but we’re strangers. How do you know I’m not an ax murderer?”
Kim leaped out of her seat in excitement. “Are you? That would certainly liven things up around here.” She turned to Daisy. “Although I don’t want to see you get murdered, honey.”
“Thanks for that,” mother and son said in unison, earning a smile from Whitney.
“My son is a firefighter, and he won’t let anything bad happen to me,” Daisy assured Whitney, who was still looking more worried than relaxed. “And besides, it’s too late to drive around looking for a hotel. Follow me back to my house, and if you’re not happy with what you find, you can try somewhere else.”
Whitney nibbled on her bottom lip a moment before nodding. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to take a look.”
Daisy clapped. “Wonderful. I’m glad that’s settled. Ladies, the meeting is adjourned. Next time we’re reading that book with the hockey players.”
Kim scooted out of her seat and gathered her book. “Is it spicy?”
Trevor was afraid to ask but couldn’t hold his curiosity at bay. “Spicy?”
Daisy chuckled. “She means smutty. Yes, Kim. This book is five out of five chili peppers.”
Kim fanned herself with her paperback and grinned. “Good Lord, I better prepare myself.”
“In more ways than one,” Joan muttered, following the other woman outside.
That left Daisy, Whitney, and Trevor, the other readers had abandoned ship a half hour ago. “Whitney, would you like to follow me to the house? I’m out back in a blue pickup.”
Whitney fiddled with her purse strap a moment before agreeing. “Sure, but, Ms. Daisy? Please don’t let me put you out. I’m a stranger, and you don’t—”
“You’re hardly a stranger. You’re from Peach Springs, so we’re practically neighbors.”
Trevor’s ears perked up. “You’re from Peach Springs?”
Whitney finally met his gaze, and it was like a punch to the gut. Her eyes were troubled, yet he didn’t believe she was a bad person ... more likely a good person in a bad stretch. Lord, he related to that.
“Yes, I grew up there with my parents and older sister. I haven’t been back in ages, and it felt like the right time to ...” She didn’t finish her thought, her gaze now off in the distance meeting an old memory. “Anyway, I really don’t mean to cause any trouble.”
For reasons he couldn’t explain, Trevor needed to hear his name on her lips. He extended his hand, fingers itching to touch her, even for a heartbeat. “I’m sorry, we weren’t properly introduced. I’m Trevor Mays.”
His mother gathered the last of her things and chuckled. “I’m sorry, Whitney. I raised my son to have more manners than that.” She flicked his arm and tutted.
Covering the spot with his hand, he chuckled. “It’s hard to introduce yourself when Javi’s got his flirt on.”
“Trevor, it’s nice to meet you,” Whitney said, finally placing her hand in his. A bolt of heat surged up his arm and through his core. This woman was a walking matchstick. “Your friend is certainly charming, but I appreciate you intervening.”
“Javi means well, but he certainly is a ladies’ man.” Lowering her voice, Daisy said, “Not my Trevor though. He’s like his daddy—loyal, sweet, and totally devoted.”
A flush crept up Trevor’s neck, and he wanted to crawl under the table and die from embarrassment. Instead, he let go of Whitney’s hand and tried to hide how much she affected him. “Thank you for the glowing testimonial, Momma. I sound like a golden retriever.”
Daisy was undeterred. “Well now, since we’re all friends, can we head out?” She craned her neck and sighed. “I think your ride is leaving, sugar. Care to snag a ride with me?”
Trevor turned to see what had his mother’s attention. Javi was propped up against the bar, giving his A game to a pair of tourists in high-waisted shorts and sparkles in their eyes. He’d be in no mood to drive Trevor home now. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take that ride, please.”
“And you’re sure this isn’t too much?” Whitney asked, flapping her hands between herself and Daisy. “I really don’t mind finding something outside of town.”
“Sugar, you’re coming back to Casa de Daisy.” His mother looped her arm through Whitney’s and led the way outside. “You head to the truck, Trevor. I’m going to walk Whitney to her car.”
And with that, Trevor watched his mother walk Whitney to an old beater that had seen better days. Whitney glanced back at him once and smiled before turning her attention back to her vehicle. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but suddenly life in Pinegrove was a lot more interesting.