Page 11 of Pretty Wild

“We’re headed to the cabin for the weekend,” Logan informs me. He owns the lumberyard and hardware store in town, and his future wife is a preschool teacher.

“Great weekend for it,” I say, leaning against the doorframe.

“We’re planning to fire up the grill tomorrow evening. Blair and Gabe, TD and Ellie, Gavin and Ava, and all the kids are coming over. You’re welcome to stop by. Should be tons of food,” Logan says.

As if on cue, my stomach growls, reminding me I barely ate anything for lunch today. I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I’ll try to swing by. We’ll just have to see how busy it is,” I state.

Logan nods, understanding what I mean. “We’ll be there, and everyone else is coming any time after four. Maybe we can wet a line at some point.”

I happily agree to that. Fishing is one of my favorite pastimes, though I don’t get to do it nearly as often as I’d like.And don’t get me started on taking the old Jon boat out for a cruise. That’s even fewer and farther between.

“I’ll do my best,” I tell him as the baby starts to holler in the back seat.

Hallie reaches back and strokes her infant daughter’s foot. “Hopefully we’ll see you tomorrow, but if not, we understand. If you text us, we can run you over some food to your cabin.”

Wouldn’t be the first time someone has dropped off food from a barbecue at my place. I have good friends, even if I don’t get to hang out with them as often as I’d like.

“Later, Marcus,” Logan says, preparing to pull out of the lot.

“See ya.”

“Oh, and Marcus?” Hallie says, stopping me from walking to the truck. “Feel free to bring someone with you. There’s lots of single ladies in town for the weekend.” She grins and winks before they drive away.

Shaking my head, I make my way to the tow truck and climb inside. My mind immediately conjures up the image of Ryan, standing on the porch in that damn blue sundress and weird shoes. Her blond hair was down, looking soft and luscious, and all I want to do is run my fingers through it.

I blame Dale for this.

He wouldn’t shut up about how pretty she looked, and now it’s all I think about.

What I need to do is put her out of my head for good. She’s not my type, that’s for sure, and it’s not like we run in the same social circles. She’s here for vacation, and I have to work.

I probably won’t even see her the rest of the time she’s here.

4

RYAN

Iset my bags in the booth and slip onto the bench beside them. My eyes scan the diner, looking for a camera, a look of recognition, something to tell me I’d been found, but I don’t see any of it. Not one person pays attention to me.

Well, that’s not true. When I entered the diner in the early afternoon, several sets of eyes all turned to check out the newcomer, but no one appeared to have recognized me. It felt good, honestly. This is exactly why I chose this place. It’s not named on any top destination list for its exotic blue waters and white sandy beaches, and frankly, it’s in the middle of nowhere. I had it narrowed down to two places: here and a cabin in the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee. But the idea of driving up and down the mountains didn’t really appeal to me, so here we are.

From what I’ve seen in a short time and from what Dale said this morning, the cuisine is homemade, home-cooked, and delicious. I splurged on a cinnamon roll from the bakery this morning, enjoying it with a sugar-free iced salted caramel latte with skim milk. The friendly woman at the counter told me calories don’t count on the weekend, as she plated me the biggestroll in the display case. I felt a little guilty as I ate the entire treat, vowing it would be my one opportunity to indulge while in town.

Then I arrived here.

Normally, I’d skip lunch altogether, even a late one like today, but as I was walking past the diner, I caught a whiff of something delicious. Like a moth to a flame, it drew me in. I try to keep my eyes cast downward, while still taking in the ambiance of the diner. Several booths are filled, as well as some tables in the middle of the room and barstools at the counter, despite it being midafternoon.

“Good afternoon,” a polite woman wearing a warm smile says as she approaches my table and places a small stack of napkins and a menu on the table. “I’m Ellie, can I get you something to drink?”

I scan the list of refreshments, noticing immediately the lack of sparkling water. “Ummm,” I say, recalling the water situation at the cabin. “Is your water bottled?”

“Sorry, it’s not. It’s tap water.”

I swallow and return my eyes to the menu. There’s a lot of soft drink options, but that’s never been my thing. There’s lemonade listed, and when I open my mouth to order that, Ellie says, “May I make a suggestion?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Sweet tea. It’s like it has crack in it or something,” she says with a chuckle.

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