Page 47 of Just Business

“Mm-hmm,” Josie hums.

I roll my eyes at her, and we stand to do a little browsing.

Abby Jimenez’s newest book came out recently and I snatch it up to read the first page. But today is a window shopping only day for me. As badly as I want it, the price of a new book might mean the difference between catching up on bills or not. Plus, I have plenty on my shelf at home, and I haven’t been getting much reading time in anyway. My reading life has definitely noticed the presence of a certain country singer this summer. I usually finish two or three books in a week, but during the time Austin has been here, I’ve only finished one. So, with a twinge of disappointment, I place it back on the display.

Josie elbows me in the ribs, jerking her head to our left, where I spot Mrs. Debbie Bishop, the Baptist Church pianist, holding an armload of monster romance.

Josie edges closer to Mrs. Debbie and says, “That one there is extra spicy. It’s forked.” She spreads out her index and middle finger as a visual. Mrs. Debbie turns a bright shade of pink, but I’ve gotta hand it to her. She holds her head high and walks right up to the register with those monster romances.

When the door closes behind her, Josie turns to me. “That right there is old lady goals.”

“Lucky Mr. Bishop,” I say with a snort laugh. But can’t help but wonder what it would be like to lie in bed with the love of my life forty years from now, reading my favorite monster romance.

After an hour of browsing and chatting with the bookseller, Josie pays for her books and we walk down the sidewalk toward where she’s parked.

“Oh, wait!” Josie calls out. “Let’s go to the new record store! Have you been yet?”

I haven’t been, so I wait as Josie puts her books in her car, and we head to the record store.

It’s been open about a month. The building has a crisp white paint job, with a fun turntable mural painted on one side of the brick exterior. The interior decor is a delight to my senses, with houseplants hanging in the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and vintage concert fliers framed on the walls.

As I flip through the first case of albums, a voice I haven’t heard in years reaches my ears, and my body instantly freezes. Slowly, I turn toward the voice, thinking it’s possible I’m mistaken or someone in Singing River sounds exactly like him. But the minute I turn, I spot Eric standing at the register. And then I do what any mature thirty-three-year-old woman would do. I crouch so he doesn’t see me, but I’m not quick enough as he turns to head to the door. He stops with a look of surprise on his face.

Eric and I didn’t have a bad break up—far from it, actually. It ended with “we’ll still be friends” but then he moved away and we never spoke again. Even though our relationship had fizzled out long before, it still left a gaping hole where an Eric shape had once been. I was still left trying to figure out how to do everything as a single woman when I’d spent years being the other half of a couple.

A myriad of emotions flood my senses as I stand, and before I know it he’s in front of me, wrapping me in a big hug. One hand lies limply at my side while the other awkwardly pats him on the back.

Eric must notice I’m not hugging back because he steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The tips of his ears have turned scarlet.

“What’re you doing here?” My words come out sharper than I intend, and he rears back like I’ve physically hit him. Sure, Eric was raised here like me, but it’s been a long time since he even visited. Now he’s like an interloper in my town.

“It’s Mom’s sixtieth birthday. Dad is having a party for her and wanted all the kids home,” he replies. This softens my expression. Eric’s mom has always been lovely, even though I still play my own solo version of hide-and-seek to avoid bumping into her at the grocery store or a town event.

We continue polite small talk for a few minutes when, out of nowhere, a firm arm tugs me against him, and I smell a familiar spicy, clean smell. Eric jerks backward in surprise. A large hand shoots out to shake Eric’s, and when he opens his mouth, I hear, “I’m Penny’s boyfriend, Austin. And you are?”

My head swivels up, trying to wrap my brain around what he’s just said. “Boyfriend?”

I’ve felt many things since I’ve been here in Singing River—doubt, dread, relief, attraction, lust, but jealousy? Well…now, that’s a new one.

My morning started with a call from Mike at the mechanic’s shop letting me know that Penny’s tires came in. He said I could head over to have them mounted. I opted for a whole new set, because it’s only a matter of time until she’ll need them anyway. She always leaves her keys hanging on the hook in her kitchen, so I grabbed them and drove her car to the shop. I went ahead and asked Mike if he’d fix anything else that needs it.

While I waited, I ran to the hardware store to grab the things we’ll need for studio repairs. She picked out the paint color the other day and I handed the paint chip to the employee, telling him I’d be back soon to pick it up. I decided it was a good time to run across the street to check out the record store I’ve wanted to visit since my first weekend here.

And here I am now, looking at that familiar red mane of hair through the window. But when some fuckwad wraps his arms around her, my reptilian brain takes over. Before I have time to give it a second’s thought, my arms are around Penny and I’m introducing myself as her boyfriend.

The guy extends his hand, introducing himself as Eric. The green flare of jealousy burns even hotter at his name. This is the man who had the privilege of years—fucking years—with this woman, and he was willing to give it all up. What a stupid piece of shit. Meanwhile, I’ll take whatever scraps and pieces she’ll give me while I’m here.

On Eric’s head is a dumb newsboy cap like it's not a hundred degrees outside, and he’s sporting a ridiculous mustache that’s curled up on the edges. He wears plaid golfing shorts, looking like a total douche. I’ve never seen someone walk around in public looking so stupid, and that's not the green monster thrashing around thinking for me. Absolutely not.

“Austin, this is Eric, who I told you about. He’s here in town for his mom’s birthday.” Penny's eyes are flashing warning signs my way. If I’m reading her correctly, the look is screaming at me not to make a scene.

I grit my teeth so hard I’ve probably ground my molars to dust, but I muster all the southern politeness my aunt instilled in me and give him a curt nod of my head.

“Eric, it was great to see you. Tell your mom happy birthday, and give the rest of them my love. We need to get going.”

Penny drapes her arm through mine, and before I can stop myself, I call out, “Nice meeting you, Alec.” It comes out on a growl, and even with the wrong name it still tastes like ash in my mouth.

When we turn around, I realize Josie witnessed everything. She’s barely able to contain her laughter, her shoulders shaking from it.

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