Page 30 of Back in the Country
“Girl, the two of you are the talk of the town. I think everyone has just been waitin’ for y’all to get together.”
What I want to say istell that to Waylonbut instead I say, “We’ll see what happens.”
I’m trying to be nonchalant like this isn’t a big deal to me, but it is. Every moment with him feels important, and tonight is no different. Butterflies erupt in my belly as I look around.
A funky dress on a middle rack catches my eye. It’s a black sweetheart top that stops at the waist and has a flirty, almost jagged, uneven skirt. The fabric looks like a bandana but instead of the traditional red, there is blue, yellow, pink, and orange fabric. The intricate designs are fun but also sophisticated.
I pluck it from the hanger and head into the dressing room. The raspy lyrics of a Descending North song play through the speakers. I hum along as I change. The lead singer, whose name escapes me, has that mysterious bad boy thing going for him. It’s been so long since I’ve listened to them, I make a mental note to find the CD that’s probably wedged between the passenger seat and the console in my car.
Some people think CDs are obsolete, but I like them—and don’t get me started on finding a random mix. Ugh—those are the best. Nothing says road trip like making a mix CD. You already know you like the songs but then you’re driving and every song just seems perfect. It’s a mood—and trip—enhancer that I will be resurrecting as soon as I get home.
Turning, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I lookhappy.The dress fits in all the right places, and the longer pieces of the hem hit just above my knee. I feel grown-up but also sexy andme.
Being home has been a constant reminder of how much of myself I lost when I went to Nashville. Going through the motions doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m sure Sorren will have something to say about me being back in Clementine Creek, but I can’t worry about that now.
Instead, I push open the dressing room door to the appropriate enthusiasm from Cheyenne and Gwen. It feels good to be fawned over like this—to have people invested in me and how I’m doing.
“Waylon is going to be beside himself when he sees you in that dress,” Gwen says, and Cheyenne nods her head in agreement.
“You’re a knockout.”
“You ladies are the best,” I yell as I turn and head back to change into my clothes.
After paying for my dress and hugging the mother-daughter duo, I venture back out into the baking heat. I crank the air-conditioning on and started backing out when “These Are My People” by Rodney Atkins starts playing.
My breath catches and I step on the brakes before I leave my parking spot. The lyrics wash over me—all the quirks of living in a close-knit small town and the things you love about it.
A chill races up my spine at the rightness of the words as I finally leave the lot and head toward home. Caleb was wrong. Clementine Creek is, and has always been, the place I am the happiest.
As the song ends, I feel lighter as if the lyrics have unlocked something inside me. It feels good, and as each piece falls into place, I become a little more of myself. I hadn’t realized the healing power of my little slice of heaven, but I am thankful, and more than that—I am home.
12
WAYLON
Looking at Marlee across the table has my stomach in knots and my heart rate a little higher than normal.
God, she’sperfect.
She’s wearing a dress I’d bet my last dollar is new. Something about that makes my cock pulse—like she is trying to impress me, get my attention.
Oh Lord, if she only knew—there isnowhereelse for my attention to be than on the gorgeous woman sittin’ with me. Her hair is pulled back tonight in some sort of twist that looks complicated but exposes the slender column of her neck. My mouth waters thinking about kissing down all that silky skin to the valley of her breasts.
She blushes at my perusal, and I feel my cheeks heat just a bit—more from being turned on than embarrassment. I’d never be embarrassed about being with her. Hell, she’s turned more than a few heads tonight already.
I take a deep breath and attempt to casually adjust myself as I try to focus. There are things we have to talk about, and I don’t need my cock thinking he has a spot on the list.
At least, not yet.
We’d crossed the county line and headed into Blackstone Falls tonight to The Iron Cask,formerly known as The Whiskey Barrel. It had recently been taken over as a passion project by some out-of-state baseball player, and honestly, he’d done a great job. For some reason, everyone thinks we are marinated in whiskey down here. Transplants think they are being clever, and locals are only looking to cash in on the vibe. I mean, to be sure, it’s great whiskey, but doeseverythinghave to fall under the stereotype?
Maybe.
Regardless, I am happy with my decision to bring Marlee here, and if her wide eyes are any indication, she likes it too. Dark wood and single pendant lighting with Edison bulbs above each table dominate the space. It is elevated comfort, like it is too nice for all the college kids to hang out at to watch the game but not so outrageous you couldn’t bring a date here.
Hell, I’d even made a reservation. Marlee had squeezed my arm when I’d given the hostess my name.
I want her to feel special and valued.
