Page 11 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I steal a glance at the man then back to Betsy. “He looks like a black coffee kind of guy.”

She snorts and nods. “You’re right. No milk for him. He’s beefy enough.”

When it’s ready, she slides it across the counter with a knowing glance in my direction.

“Thanks,” I chirp, but before I head back, I add, “He also asked for one of those BLT sandwiches.” I point to the elegant display case housing an array of carefully arranged sandwiches.

Betsy arches a brow, clearly curious and fully knowing that I’m lying, but says nothing as she hands over the sandwich. With a quiet smirk, she adds, “I’ll put it on his monthly tab. Why don’t you grab a soda for yourself from the cooler too.”

I grin and wink before making my way back to where the stranger is still seated and place the iced coffee on the table beside him. Expecting at least a nod, I pause, waiting for any sign that he’s noticed me—or his drink. But he stays glued to his phone, swiping and typing with zero regard for the world around him and a whole lot of negative energy that he’s exuding. Finally, his eyes shift to the drink but instead of thanking or acknowledging me, he frowns and goes right back to type.

Not the type of person I want to hang out with, I think, shrugging it off.

I return to my lounge chair, unwrap my free sandwich, and dig in. Fifteen minutes later, I’m rinsing off in the club’s showers, scrubbing away the last of the pool chlorine from my skin to prepare for my interview. I slip into a casual, floral-print summer dress that feels perfect for the day—light and breezy. My strawberry blonde hair, longer than it’s been in years and badly needing a trim, falls in soft waves over my shoulders after I dry it off and then spritz myself with a light mist of my favorite perfume.

Mr. Smith had mentioned that Mr. Marshall is a prominent lawyer turned political consultant and will likely be making a transition into a government role soon.

And that’s all I know about him.

Lawyers tend to be bulldogs, but a grandpa lawyer? I have no idea what to expect.

Normally, I’d choose something a little more professional, but today I’m leaning into the laid-back, fun nanny vibe. After all, he’s a grandpa—grandpasloveme. At least mine does. And flower prints, right?

The thought makes me chuckle quietly as I head out of the locker room and toward the country club’s front desk, passing the kitchen where the cooks, who’ve come to know me over the years, are working. The smell of eggs and pancakes fills my senses, and I smile. They staff have always adored Evie and Ember, which makes this place feel a little more like home and gives me the great idea for what I want to do next.

“Hi, Bennie!” I call out to the older gentleman who’s currently frying eggs and sausage on the grill.?? He’s completely grey now, a change from how he’d looked when I’d first stated visiting five years ago, but the smile he’s always worn is still firmly in place.

“Georgia! What are you still doing in town? Thought the Smiths would have been gone for the summer?”

I slip into the back of the kitchen, fully aware I’m breaking every health code imaginable, but it’s worth it for a quick hug from my favorite cook.

“They left yesterday, but they’re moving to Florida instead of going back to Texas. I’m hoping to land another nanny job so I can stay in New York.”

“Permanently?” Bennie’s son, Sean, who’s two years younger than me and runs the country club’s operations, walks in and greets me with a hug. He’s always had a flirty streak, never gotten the courage to ask me on a date so we’ve kept thingsplatonic. Still, I can see the excitement lighting up his handsome brown eyes at the potential of me staying.

I nod. “Hopefully. If I get this nannying gig I’m about to interview for upstairs. That’s why I’m here. I was hoping you could help with bribing him...” I flash him a sweet smile, and Bennie just chuckles.

“Go ahead, fill up a tray with the chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies. I just put them out.”

“You’re the best.” I grin and skip toward the front while Sean trails behind.

“Who’s the family you’re interviewing with?” he asks, curious.

“Um... all I know is the guy’s name is Troy Marshall and he’s a political consultant in New York City. It’s for his grandson. Two years old. They have a home here in the Hamptons.”

Sean wrinkles his nose. “Troy Marshall?”

I nod. “Yep. Do you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s a member at the club. Seen him around a few times, but he mostly keeps to himself. Seems like a jerk. Politics guy. Meets up with the mayor here occasionally when he visits for the summer. Didn’t know Mr. Marshall was old enough to have a grandson.”

I shrug, trying to sound casual but feeling extra nervous now. I’ve nannied for a family in politics before, but they were far from difficult. If this guy is a jerk, I might not want to take the job after all which meanshello, Lonestar Junction!

“Well, my grandpa Rig Cameron loves cookies, so I’m hoping this one does too.” I tie the bag of cookies off with a plastic zip tie and wink, but before I can head off, Sean shoots back with a smirk, “I think he might be interested in a different kind of cookie when it comes to you.”

I wrinkle my nose. “What?”

His eyes sweep over my body, taking in my mostly modest, floral dress and gold wedged sandals. “You know what, good luck,” he says with a chuckle.

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