Page 3 of Digging Up Love
Her grandpa grinned, then walked to the engine to hook up the cables. Head between his arms, he spoke, muffled but stern. “You might not have as much time for your cookie stuff. The restaurant comes first.”
Cookie stuff.“I know how to budget my time, Grandpa. And haven’t I always put Honey and Hickory first?”
“Mm-hmm, sure have, Ali girl.” He grunted and ducked out from under the hood, brushing his hands on his wrinkled khakis. “Just wanna make sure you’re ready to put your hobbies aside and make a commitment.”
Wow.
Commitment? Like coming back to Hawksburg halfway through senior year of undergrad to pick up the slack at the restaurant and take the pressure off her kid sister? Like putting her bakery dreams on hold to help run Honey and Hickory forseven years?
And whatever he said, this pastry-chef gig wasn’t a bigger commitment. Just a title. Plus an extended sentence. But what else did she deserve? She leveled a straight stare in his direction. “Pretty sure I can manage.”
He nodded once, azure eyes locked on hers, clear and unwavering despite the folds of wrinkles around them. “Good. That’s good to hear, Ali. Now let’s get this clunker of yours started.”
A frustrated sigh hit the back of her clenched teeth, and she bit down harder to contain it. After settling onto the ripped seat behind the steering wheel, she slid her key into the ignition, and the printouts caught her eye. Her ticket out of this claustrophobic little town.
An hour ago, moving seemed like the right choice. Now her certainty swung back to doubt, the ground beneath her feet dipping and rising like a plane in turbulence. Except she hadn’t even boarded yet. She stood planted in the concourse, staring at dueling escalators, torn.
Up, down. Stay, go.
Rat-a-tat-tat sounded on the window. Alisha snatched out her hand and flipped the papers over. Grandpa bent double, peering at herthrough the glass. She pushed off the floorboards and reached over to crank down the passenger window. Cold wind gusted in.
“You planning to start the car or sit there pondering the meaning of life?”
“Sorry.”
He shook his head, muttering something about youths, and she cranked the engine. Once, twice, then it wheezed.
“Give her some gas!”
She did, and the engine rumbled to life.
“Good, good.”
He took the cables off her car, then his. She climbed out to grab them from him, and he wrapped her in a back-thumping hug. “Knew you’d say yes, Ali girl. This’ll be a great new direction for Honey and Hickory. What would we do without you?” He planted a kiss on her forehead, breath smelling of spearmint, then released her. “Tell your granny I’ll be home late—don’t wait up.”
Nodding, Alisha got back into the Geo. A few new recipes. A few months in the new role. Then, if everything went smoothly—she crossed her fingers for luck before shifting into drive—her grandparents would rubber-stamp her plans to move out of Hawksburg, and her future could finally begin.
CHAPTER 2
QUENTIN
“Harris, it’s your lucky day.”
Quentin dragged his attention away from the CT scans on his computer but pasted a bland smile on his face. Dr.Lawrence Yates, chair of the Earth Sciences Department, was known for taking it out on the staff if he got a whiff of dissent. “Oh?”
The aging professor remained silent as he stood in the office doorway, so Quentin closed his laptop in deference.
“Got a little field trip for you.” Lawrence’s chuckle turned into a cough. Decades of lunch break cigarettes had racked him, and not just his lungs. Wrinkles etched like erosion lines into his lips, his skin stretched dry and papery over an angular face.
Coughing bout over, he regarded Quentin through watery, bloodshot eyes. “Someone from downstate called about finding a bone on their land. Said, and I quote, ‘It’s a big ’un.’ Emailed a photo. Asproof.” Lawrence snorted—whether to dismiss the claim, the homeowner’s intelligence, or humanity at large remained unclear. “Like no one has access to Photoshop these days.”
Quentin opened his mouth, but Lawrence cut him off with another dry cough. He pressed a palm to his rumpled denim shirt, clearing histhroat like a rusty garbage disposal. “Check your email.” Already halfway out the door, he paused. “You can head down there Monday and get it over with. Ask Reid to cover your classes.” He left the door open on his way out, the stale scent of tobacco lingering.
Crossing himself—you could never be too careful—Quentin walked over and peeked out into the hallway.
One of the geologists in the department, his best friend, Dr.Tremaine Edwards, leaned out of his office two doors down. “Is the coast clear?” Not waiting for an answer, Tre jogged over on tiptoe. He muscled his way in and plopped down in a faded blue chair next to a shelf crammed with books and loose papers, the chair’s rusty wheels squeaking in protest.
Quentin shut the door and leaned back against it. “Think so, but better safe than sorry.”
