“I was thinking we could grab breakfast.”
“Why?”
Another little chuckle, and my heart does that weird thing where it turns over in my chest. Stupid heart.
“I assumed you would need to pick up your car, and I’ve been dying for some pancakes.”
I want to say no, because I am not ready for him. But am I ever going to be ready for him? That would be a big nope. And, besides: PANCAKES.
“Okay. When do you want to go?”
“Thirty minutes give you enough time?”
“Yeah.”
“See ya then.”
We hang up and I sigh. This is a stupid idea. Going out to breakfast like old times. That’s probably part of his plan. Ease his way back into my life, get me to agree to come back to the show, then go back to being a complete asshole. I know it would be a big mistake.
My phone vibrates with an alert from the Express.
-That Lula Mays is creeping back into her house through her bedroom window.
Ms. Beverly
Jesus. Gone are the days that you could sneak around this town at night. There are issues, don’t get me wrong, but our town is damned safe. I know that Syd and I, along with Travis at times, were out at all hours. Granted, if I was a parent, I would probably feel differently. It doesn’t matter, thanks to my cousin Jon. That app is a nightmare for the teenagers of this town. If I wasn’t irritated with him, I would definitely warn him before he comes back for Estella’s birthday next month. That is if he doesn’t skip it again. He’s the only cousin I have who is like me. Having the trust money is nice, but he’s a super genius and doesn’t need it. Truth is, it isn’t on purpose. He gets lost in his work—whatever that is—and forgets about things. Like eating, his family, showering.
I glance at the clock and decide to get ready. If I’m going to deal with Travis, I need to be battle ready.
By the time Travis arrives, I’m dressed and ready for the fight. I know that this is part of his charming me back to the show. I’m not going to fall for all the usual devices he uses. He plays on my emotions, whether he realizes it or not. I hope that he doesn’t realize he does because that would make it worse. He would know exactly how much I love him. Ugh, that would be the worst thing in the world.
There’s a sharp knock at my door, and I look at myself in the mirror one last time. He’s a little early, which is unlike him, but the sooner we get this over with, the better. I need space to think and I refuse to give him an answer today. I make my way to the front door, trying to calm the nerves in my stomach. Crazy butterflies are circling, leaving me a bit unsettled. I ignore them and open my door.
He smiles that sweet smile that first captured me, and millions of women across the world love. It’s the one that shows his dimples the most. I fight the need to sigh. His dark brown eyes are untroubled.
My gaze takes in the rest of him. As usual he’s wearing a t-shirt—this time with Quinn Hawthorne’s graphic novel series Wanted. It’s old and soft, and tight. So fucking tight. My gaze dips down to the worn jeans that mold to his hips. He’s wearing a pair of old work boots. As my gaze moves back up, I note a paint stain, along with the way he shoves his hands in his pockets. I try my best to ignore the bulge behind the zipper. Let’s just say that Travis has big hands and feet, so you get the drift.
“Morning,” he says once we make eye contact again.
“We already said that on text.”
“This is in person.”
I roll my eyes and grab my purse off the hall table and step out of the door.
“Uh, are you forgetting something?”
I look at him. “What?”
“Alarm.”
I want to roll my eyes again, but I don’t. Barely. I set my alarm, then join him outside and lock the door.
“I have a feeling this is going to be reported in the Express,” he murmurs.
I look at him and notice that his attention is across the street. I don’t have to look to know that Mrs. Peterson is watching us. I ignore her and climb into his truck. We’re on our way to the diner as I text my cousin.
Me: You might want to lay low when you come into town next week.
Jon: Why? Why are you texting me this early?
I smile. I always forget he lives in California, and he tends to work through the night.
Me: Because I live in Juniper and that fucking app has made my life a nightmare. FYI: Lula Myers might be out for blood when you come here.
“Chatting with Syd?”
I shake my head. “Jon. Just giving him a heads up about Lula Myers.”
“Oh, yeah I saw that. Thank god the Express wasn’t around when we were teenagers.”
That surprises a laugh out of me.
“What?”
“I was just thinking the same thing this morning.” I turn my head to look at him. “We did have fun though.”
“I guess it’s a good thing if you have kids though, right? I mean, we didn’t have any issues, but you never know. Juniper has grown a lot in the last ten years.”
It has. We have always had a steady stream of visitors who stop off for the springs. They—meaning all the hippies who run our town—claim that the springs have healing properties. Not sure if they can prove it, but it does feel good to sink into the warm water. I always feel better after I visit them.
We were featured on The Travel Channel a couple years ago and the tourism exploded. We are in the perfect position between San Antonio and Austin. There are always rumors about production companies checking us out for a movie location, but nothing has come of it that I know of.
“Yeah, I don’t even want to know what might be waiting for Jon when he arrives,” I say. “Seriously, he’s in some trouble, I’m sure.”
“He’s coming next week?”
I shrug. “It’s Estella’s birthday. No one really misses it.”
Not even me. I hate going because the entire family will be there, and I’m not interested in seeing my parents. That won’t be fun at all. Add in the fact my grandmother will probably bring men in for me to meet. Why is she being so weird now? She’s never pushed me to get married, but for some reason, she’s decided that I need to get married.
“What’s up?”
I glance over at him. “What?”
“There’s something you’re thinking about.”
I shrug. “Estella showed up at my house demanding I get married.”
There is a beat of silence. Then, “What the actual fuck?”
I blink and look over at him. He’s paying attention to the street, the little bit of midmorning traffic we have. There’s not much, but I can tell a lot of it is tourists. He’s frowning, angry even.
“Why are you so pissed about it?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think it’s right that she can tell you to get married.”
Rage drips off each word. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he was jealous. Can’t be. His worry is all about the show. “Uh, she suggested it. I’m not gonna get married.”
He relaxes a little bit as he pulls into Mitch’s garage.
“Why don’t you go to the diner and I’ll meet you there. You know what tourists are like this time of year.”