Page 70 of Small Town Frenzy
I sit straighter and glance back at Jacob again and then at Baylor. “Oh?” I want to gobble up all the Greene information I can get, but is it wrong to hear it from someone other than Griffin? I hope not.
His hand makes a motion above his head, looking back at Jacob. “Yeah, same hair—that light blond with some curls. But his eyes really do look like hers, shape and all.” When his attention turns to me, he asks, “You from around here?”
“Dover Creek.”
He’s good at hiding most of the descent of his smile, trying his best to prop it up. I should laugh that where I grew up evokes such a strong reaction from the neighboring town. But I’m not entirely surprised since most people I know react the same when they hear Peachtree Pass. What is it with this rivalry?
“So not too far.”
“No, not far.”
Gesturing toward the building, he asks, “What are you thinking for the space?”
“I wasn’t until I saw it, so it’s not a thoroughly thought-out plan, but a tasting room for Dover Creek Wines came to mind.”
“Hill Country wines are growing in popularity.” He glances at the potential shop. “It’s not a bad idea.” He digs a card out of his back pocket and hands it to me. “If you’re interested, give me a call or send me a text. I can show you the plans. It’s early enough to customize at this stage if you’re looking for something special.”
I look at the card and his details, but it’s the last name that stands out most to me. Dropping it into the cup holder, I turn back to see him take a few steps back. He looks at the building again, and then says, “We have a lot of interest.” His smirk is a dead giveaway for another one I’m very familiar with. “It’s not a sales pitch to pressure you. We’ve just gotten a better response than expected.”
“That’s good for business.”
“It’s great for business. Means we’ll be expanding after we finish these.” He takes another few steps back and says, “Good to meet you, Cricket.”
“You, too, Baylor.”
It’s really tempting to ask, but I’m unsure if I should. Why? What’s the big deal? “Hey, Baylor?” He turns back,adjusting the bill of his hat a little lower on his head to shade his eyes better. “Figure since your last name is Greene that you might know Griffin.”
There it is—the cocky grin I knew he was reserving for a special occasion. “I know him. Why are you asking?”
“Don’t worry. I’m not the law or anything. I’m actually driving out to see him at Rollingwood Ranch.”
He starts back toward me, stopping again with a few feet ahead of him. “You got business out there?”
“Just visiting.” I rest my elbow on the car door. “He invited my son and me to spend some time with him today.”
Eyeing Jacob again, he comes even closer. His gaze slides back to me, and he says, “Griffin’s my brother.” He shoves his hands in his front pockets, and his demeanor remains open and friendly, matching his expression. But I can see in his eyes that his interest is most definitely piqued. “How do you know him?”
“We’re old friends. We ran into each other again and . . .” Leaving it open-ended might be best. I’ll let Griffin fill in the rest.
That seems to satisfy his curiosity, though he does glance back at Jacob again. “I won’t keep you any longer. You drive safe, Cricket, and say hi to my brother, will ya?”
“I will.”
When he walks away this time, he steals a look over his shoulder before crossing the road and heading into the Peaches’ Sundries & More store. I roll up the windows but lean forward once more to look at the potential before me, and then shift into reverse, and get back on my way again.
I pass the Riggins’s house, slowing down like I did in the middle of the night to get a better look at it in the daylight. It’s set far back from the road, but close enough when I put my glasses on to see tracks of peeling paint across the sidingand a crooked shutter on one of the upstairs windows. The landscaping has overgrown the beds, and the driveway isn’t but two dirt lines worn into the ground.
Most people would pass this gem by or want to knock it down to build something new, even modern. I like the shape of the house, and the style has such a charm that blends in with the surroundings. After seeing inside last night, Griffin’s right. The bones are solid. It will be so pretty when he brings this farmhouse back to life. “Do you see the house, Jacob?”
“House,” he repeats with a flap of his arms. Knowing it’s a place where he’ll have his own room and a dad, room to play baseball and a river where they can fish has my heart aching to be a part of it.
I drive on, pondering how it’s possible to maneuver through this new relationship with Griffin while making sure the transition goes smoothly with his son. Jacob must come first. I’ll take whatever is left after that.
The large Rollingwood Ranch sign can be seen a mile away with only flat prairielands on either side of an empty two-lane highway leading up to the entrance. I drive over the cattle guard, and the rattle of the tires over the bumpy surface makes Jacob giggle. “That’s fun,” I say, peeking into the mirror at him again. So different from when we enter the winery.
Griffin told me to park near the first house I see. It’s easy to find. A smaller farmhouse with a large front porch and what look to be well-loved rocking chairs and a couple of pairs of old boots dropped near the door. The white house looks like it recently got a fresh coat of paint and holds as much charm as the one Griffin’s redoing, which, if I’m not wrong, is less than ten minutes from here. I feel gooey inside from him choosing to stay so close to his family. Soon, Jacobwill have the bonus of an entire side of family who are going to fall in love with him. Maybe they’ll give him the warmth my family lacks.
As soon as I park the car, the screen door is pushed open, and Griffin walks outside. I pop my door and step out. “Welcome,” he says, his grin the biggest I’ve ever seen it as he trots down the steps to greet us.
