Page 11 of Just the Tipsy
“Don’t get out yet,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “There are about to be a ton of dogs out here. Hang onto Sadie so she doesn’t get trampled.”
Like they were on cue, two dogs, both Labrador retrievers, come rushing out of the front door and down the path, making Duke start to howl out the window. Waylon hops out of the car and rushes over to let Duke out. Duke flings himself out of the car and howls at the sky again like a little wolf.
“Does he do that a lot?” I ask after stepping out. The other two dogs sniff me, excited, then go back to sniffing Waylon.
“Yeah, he’s chatty,” he says. “Also, if you hear a woman screaming outside your house, don’t worry - it’s him.”
I blink, waiting for him to say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t.
“That sounds like something someone with a murder basement would say,” I say with a smirk.
“I know, I know.” He laughs and starts petting the two dogs who ran outside. “But I swear, I’m not making it up. If he’s being particularly saucy, he’ll just start yelling. And it happens to sound like a woman.”
“Uh-huh.” I look him up and down. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were the murder dungeon type.”
He grins. “I’ve upgraded from a murder basement from a murder dungeon? Sounds fancier.”
“Waylon!” A woman calls from the front porch, pulling our attention away. “What are you doing down there?”
My heart leaps into my chest. That has to be his mom. Even from this distance, I can see the resemblance between the two of them — tall, with dark hair.
Waylon glances at me, tension around his eyes. His mom showing up right away feels like jumping straight into the boss battle in a video game when I need the tutorial.
“Be there in a second,” Waylon calls out. “I mentioned I was bringing someone, but she doesn’t know the details.”
I nod. Should he have mentioned the details?
He finishes petting the dogs and shoos them to go in front of us. The dogs rush up the stairs to where Waylon’s mom is waiting, a warm smile on her face.
She’s extremely beautiful, exactly what I’d think of if someone told me to imagine a slightly older southern belle. Nothing about her is out of place – not her professionally colored hair, her classic makeup, or her nice-but-casual dress.
“And who is this?” she asks, opening her arms to me for a hug.
I’m not a hug person at all, especially with strangers, but rejecting her hug would be the worst way to start this off. Ihug her — awkwardly — and she pulls back, her hands on my shoulders.
“This is Bianca,” Waylon says. “Bianca, this is my mom.”
“You can call me Delia.” She beams — Waylon has her smile. “I’m so happy that Waylon is finally dating again. And such a beautiful girl, too.”
I open my mouth to say that we aren’t really a serious thing, but she looks so thrilled that I keep my mouth shut. We can clarify things later.
“Come in. Let me get you a drink,” she says, opening the door for me.
The inside of the home is tasteful, but almost to the point where it’s too manicured. Every bit of decor coordinates in a purposefully rustic kind of way. Each room flows into the other, with a huge kitchen on the far back. Beyond that is their huge back yard, where most of the party seems to be.
“What would you like to drink?” Delia asks, opening the fridge once we get to the kitchen. “We have a little bit of everything. A moonshine cocktail? Rose and Wes created these canned ones and they’re selling like hotcakes.”
“Sure, I’ll try one.” I’ve never had moonshine in my life, but I might as well try it today. Doesn’t this stuff blind people, though?
“I’ll have one too.” Waylon rests his hand on my back.
Delia opens up the cans and pours each of them into a glass. It just looks like iced tea to me, and when I taste it, it’s like lightly boozy tea with lemonade.
“This is really good,” I say, hopefully not sounding too surprised. I thought it was going to be like drinking battery acid.
“Isn’t it?” Delia leans her hip against the counter, looking between me and Waylon. “Do you live in Crescent Hill? I’ve never seen you before.”
I vaguely remember signs for Crescent Hill University on the drive over.
