Page 8 of Small Town Firsts

I drive home without really being aware of the trip. Highway Hypnotism, they call it. Y’all know what I mean? One second, you’re starting the car, and in the blink of an eye, you’ve reached your destination with no memory of the trip?I know you do. I’m too busy thinking about Mr. Good Eyes with that deep voice and luscious curly hair.

Once I get home, I lug my groceries up the porch stairs and into the house, where I get to work making that BLT. The scent of the bacon as it pops and sizzles in my cast iron skillet has my mouth watering. I step away to grab a plate from the cabinet and get sidetracked wondering how the kitchen walls would look painted a deep shade of . . .dammit, I’m picturing my walls the color of his eyes. Absurd . . . and I overcooked the bacon. I will away those foolish thoughts and finish preparing my dinner, burnt bacon and all.

After rinsing my plate and collecting the bacon grease, I go through the motions to get ready for bed, removing my makeup, changing into my PJs, and making sure my alarm is set for tomorrow. I skip my bubble bath. I’mthattired.

As I drift off to sleep, my thoughts turn back to him. I imagine what it would be like to have him here, in my space.With me, with his strong arms wrapped around me. I imagine running my fingers through his loopy curls as he kisses my neck.

And just like that, I’m wide awake, because get real, Myla Rose. What man would be interested in a pregnant woman? I must be exhausted to be having those kinds of thoughts. Maybe I’ll take that bubble bath after all.

CHAPTER 5

CASH

Goddamn,it’s been a long day. It’d be one thing if I had been doing actual work, but I spent the day in the workshop office, hunched over my desk, sending invoices and emailing potential clients. My legs and back ache, and all I want to do is head home, shower, and call it a night. That’s not in the cards though—it’s Family Dinner Night.

"Crap, that was the street," I gripe as I hit the brakes and pull a U-turn. These back roads can be downright tricky at night. I haven't lived in Dogwood since my dad's job brought us here when Jake was thirteen and I was three, so it's for sure been an adjustment.

We were only down here for two years, but Jake always remembered it and loved it. A couple of years ago, he was offered a job in the area, and that was the catalyst for our momfinallyleaving our piece-of-shit dad. She’d stuck it out for so long because she didn’t feel like she had any options. But when Jake announced that he and his wife and their twin boys were moving, she was all about it. She hired a lawyer, packed her shit, and moved with them before the ink on the papers was even dry.

After everything went to shit with Kayla, I asked Jake and my lifelong friend, Drake, to put out some feelers on some work inthe area, and the response was fan-fucking-tastic. I packed up and moved down here just shy of four months ago, but already, it’s quite possibly the best decision I’ve ever made. My business is taking off, and Carson’s Custom is quickly becoming the first choice for contractors in the area for woodworking.

I’m pulling into the Piggly Wiggly parking lot when my phone vibrates against the cup holder, rattling the loose change lying at the bottom. Grabbing it, I swipe my thumb across the screen to answer my brother’s call. “Hey man, what’s up?”

“Mom wanted me to make sure you remembered to bring a bag of ice,” he tells me in a bored tone. This is a common occurrence. We all have to bring something to Family Dinner Night, and Ialwaysbring a bag of ice.

With an eye roll, I reply, “Yeah, Jake, tell her I’m at the store now. You might as well ask her if she needs anything else while I’m here.” I hear him set the phone down and call out to our mom, but I can’t quite make out her muffled reply.

“Hey, Mom says to grab a bag of croutons, too.”

“Ten-four, see you soon.” I end the call and slide my phone into the pocket of my jeans.

Real talk? I missed Family Dinner Night, and I am so damn glad to be back where my family is. They’re amazing, and it saves me from cooking every once in a while—a double win for me.

I’m wandering through the store, looking for the crouton aisle, when someone rams into me with their shopping cart. What the hell?

My cart-rammer starts to apologize, and I turn sharply at the sound of her voice, all soft and southern. She’s a tiny thing, at least a foot shorter than me.

I inspect her from head to toe. Long hair, the color of mahogany with lighter streaks swirled through it. Big, brown doe eyes. The kind you can get lost in. Other than a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, her skin is flawless,smooth, and pale. Her petite figure is full of lush curves. I zero in on her slightly flared hips. I can’t form words. I just stare.

I can’t explain it, but I’m so drawn to her—like a moth to a flame. I’m itching to reach out and touch her, to feel her skin. I fist my hands at my side. Then, mercifully, she teeters, gracing me with the opportunity to give in to my urges. I bring my hands down on her shoulders to steady her, andgoddamn. It’s like electricity is pumping from her and into me.

After what feels like an eternity, she speaks, finishing her forgotten apology, freeing me from the spell she’s cast. “No, ma’am.” My voice is thick. “I’m just fine. You have a nice evening, yeah?” I drag my eyes down her body once more before turning and walking away. My reaction to this girl is visceral—one look, one touch, and I’m damn near ready to offer her the world.Fucking insanity.

I smile to myself as I hear her call out to me once more before I’m out of earshot.

She consumesmy thoughts the entire drive to my mom’s house, which is about as dumb as the day is long. I don’t even know the girl. I probably won’t ever know her. A random encounter with a lasting impression . . . nothing more.

I park behind my brother in the driveway and try to shake Grocery Store Girl from my brain. The last thing I need is for the hounds behind that front door to get a whiff of myslightinterest in a woman.

They have been relentless about my moving forward, incessant in theirNot all girls are like Kaylatirade. Logically, I get that. I know not all girls are lying, cheating, heartless bitches. But nothing about love is logical.

I missed the signs with Kayla. I mean, I knew our relationship wasn’t perfect, butdamn. I thought she wanted a deeper commitment, a ring. Ineverthought she’d cheat. We all know how that turned out.

Who cares if Grocery Store Girl is hot? I have eyes, but that doesn’t mean I want cards and flowers and all the other romance bullshit. Fuck that. Even if her smile made my heart feel like it was going to beat right out of my chest, I don’t make the same mistakes twice.

Do I sound bitter? A bit jaded? Yeah, well, I am. I’m just gonna do me and worry about growing my business and bettering myself.

“MOM!” I call out as I walk through the front door. “Dinner smells amazing!” It really does. And if I’m right, she made my favorite.

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