Chapter Thirteen

Monday, September 12, 2022

"Girl, what the fuck?" Spencer asked, strolling into the bookstore like he owned the place. "I'm gone for two days, and you go and catch yourself a live one."

Violet couldn't help it; she smiled. She didn't even care that there was a customer in the store. Thankfully, it was an adult since Spencer's mouth would put a sailor's to shame. Plus, she had a soft spot for him. Probably had something to do with the fact they'd been best friends since kindergarten. They'd been in the same class all the way through junior high and many of the same ones in high school. Elana joined the pack in third grade, making them the three musketeers—or so their teachers liked to refer to them.

"Simon Jennings," Spencer drawled, dragging the name out in more syllables than necessary. If she had to guess, he was biting his tongue, refraining from inserting the F-word (which was his favorite of all the words).

Before she could say something, Spencer tipped his chin, his gaze sliding behind her. Violet turned to see the customer coming to the counter, a book in his hand.

"Did you find what you were lookin' for, Mr. Hawthorne?" she asked, smiling at the older man.

"I did, I did." He set the book and his credit card on the counter. "But you can tell Mr. Callahan that my patience is runnin' low."

Laughing, she entered the book's price into the point-of-sale terminal. "Trust me, I'm harpin' on him every chance I get."

"You're a good girl."

"Bullshit," Spencer coughed into his hand.

Violet quickly took care of the sale, sliding his book into a paper sack and adding another she'd picked out when he came in a few minutes ago. She passed him the credit card and receipt.

"I added a book for Becky," she told him, referring to his granddaughter.

As it always did, Mr. Hawthorne's face lit up, beaming with pride for his only daughter's only daughter.

"If she's already read that one, tell her to come in anytime and exchange it for another."

"Thank you, Violet."

"You're very welcome."

As Mr. Hawthorne headed for the door, he paused, pointing a finger at Spencer. "Watch your mouth around the ladies, Mr. Elliott."

"Yes, sir," Spencer said sheepishly.

They waited until he walked out before they busted into giggles.

"He hasn't changed since we were in his fourth-grade class," Spencer said between breaths.

"No, he hasn't." When she managed to compose herself, Violet nodded toward the paper sack he'd brought with him. "Tell me that's lunch."

"It is."

"What're we celebratin'?" she asked, holding out her hands and curling her fingers repeatedly. She was starving, and the Nutri-Grain bar she had for breakfast had long since worn off.

Spencer held up three fingers.

Violet's eyes widened. "Shut up. Three? For sale? Not for lease, right?"

"For sale," he said, pulling their Cobb salads (a must when he stopped at Chick-fil-A) out of the bag and setting them on the counter.

"When?"

"Believe it or not, by the end of the month."

"Who?"

He passed her one packet of salad dressing. "Mark and Cheryl Birmingham."

She took a moment to mentally place their house. They lived in the same neighborhood as Travis, so that meant a big house. "Swimming pool?"

"Inground. Huge, covered patio. Outdoor kitchen."

"Man, I want that house," she whined. "It's perfect for grown-up me."

"Then what're you waitin' for?"

"To grow up. Both me and my bank balance," she teased. "It's gonna go fast. Who else?"

"George and Audra Chatum."

Violet drizzled the dressing while she placed which house was theirs. "They've got a small ranch, right? Down the street from Brendon and Cheyenne?"

"That's the one. But I'm not sure you can call it a ranch. Small or otherwise," Spencer answered. "The tract's big enough for a few goats, which they had. They sold 'em off a couple of months ago."

"Not a big house, right?"

"Not small, either. Completely updated, though. With the small barn, I think it'll entice more than a few people."

Especially if they found out they would be living down the street from country music royalty.

Regardless, enticing a few was an understatement because real estate in Coyote Ridge didn't become available often. Most of the people who lived there were long-time residents, their families having been rooted for generations. And because of the Walkers' generosity back when Uncle Curtis forgave debts and allowed people to own their properties outright, they felt a sort of loyalty to the area.

"And the last one?"

Spencer didn't answer right away, so Violet knew it was for dramatic effect.

"Just spit it out, man," she said in a tough-guy voice, making him laugh.

"Brandie Sweeney."

"Nuh-uh." Violet squealed. "She's movin' in with Todd? Finally?"

"Looks like it."

Violet was thrilled for the single mom. The house she lived in belonged to Brandie's parents, and she remained there after they passed away. Five years ago, she got pregnant, and the father bailed like the asshole he was. Last year sometime, Violet had seen Brandie and her daughter, Julie, having ice cream with Todd at the diner.

"You're not gonna know what to do with yourself," she told Spencer, who handled the majority of real estate deals—residential and commercial—within the town limits. Having gotten his real estate license when he was fresh out of high school, he'd been wheeling and dealing in the area for more than a decade. As soon as he was able, he obtained his broker license so he could go out on his own, and now he employed two additional agents to keep up with demand in the surrounding cities.

To put it simply, Spencer Elliott was scary good at selling houses. It was a gift. The guy could charm the pants off a nun.

"Back to the original subject," he said, feeding his face while he stood on the other side of the counter.

"What were we talkin' about?"

He cocked an eyebrow.

She stalled by forking salad into her mouth but knew it would only last so long.

"Fine," she told him when her jaw was tired from chewing. "Yes. I met Simon."

"And?"

"And I ... slept with Simon."

"And?"

"What do you mean and ? That's it."

Spencer's eyebrows arched slowly. " And? "

"And nothin'," she told him, stabbing the lettuce.

Violet could feel his eyes boring holes in her head. It was only a matter of time before he wore her down. How he did it, she didn't know. She often accused him of having some kind of Jedi mind trick abilities.

She huffed, staring at her salad. "And I might've kinda sorta maybe…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Caught the feelings flu."

"Girl! What. The. Fuck?"

·····

Spencer Elliott wasn't sure he'd ever seen his best friend blush quite so profusely.

It made sense. The woman was in love. At least, that was how he translated feelings flu , which she and Elana were fond of calling it.

And even thinking that was odd because Violet Anderson did not do love. Ever. The woman was so anti-love, he thought for sure she'd become the proverbial cat lady. He liked to tease her that she was well on her way.

Violet stabbed her fork in his direction. "Don't you dare say I told you so ."

With a smile, he held up his hands in mock surrender. "I told you so."

She groaned.

He laughed.

"So. How was the sex?" he asked casually.

"Insanely hot."

"Really?"

That was new. Violet rarely ever had a good thing to say about her sexual encounters. Most of the time, she glossed over them as though they never happened.

"Plenty of orgasms?"

"Orgasms abounded," she declared, waving her fork in a circle.

"Well, that's good news. You were due."

"Shut up."

"How long's he hangin' around?"

Violet's attention remained on her salad. "I don't know. A week. Two. He's not sure."

"Is he workin' on a story?"

"He's lookin' into one," she said, her tone returning to normal.

"Well, I'm happy for you, kid."

As it always did, calling her that caused her to laugh. They were the same age, with her being almost nine months older. She liked to tell him she'd been born before he was even a twinkle in his daddy's eye. And he preferred to groan with disgust because the last thing he wanted to think about was any twinkling going on between his parents.

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

Violet spoke up first. "Archer and Paige are comin' down."

Spencer held his fork halfway to his mouth as he processed that information. "When?"

Violet shrugged. "Don't know."

"You have to introduce me."

"To which one?"

"Now you're just bein' obtuse."

"Why?"

"Why're you bein' obtuse? That's your specialty."

Violet laughed. "It kinda is, huh? But seriously. Why?"

That was a damn good question. Spencer had no idea why he wanted to meet Archer Halligan. Truth was, he didn't listen to the podcast all that much because that sort of thing really didn't interest him. Neither did books, for that matter. He preferred music and movies over anything else.

"I wanna see if he's everything they claim he is."

Violet grinned. "I'm bettin' he is."

Spencer didn't know about all that. There were stories about Archer Halligan. Stories that intrigued him. Not to mention, the guy could easily qualify for the sexiest man alive. And win every fucking year. Jesus. Almost seven feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, Archer was exactly the sort of man Spencer was looking for. One who would make him feel … small. Maybe that wasn't the right word. At six-two, Spencer wasn't small, and most of the guys he'd dated were. He wanted to know what it would be like if the tables were reversed.

Yeah. Spencer was intrigued, all right.

Not that he was looking to hook up with anyone. He talked a good game and made the whole town think he was a manwhore and, yes, a homewrecker. Did it bother him? Damn straight, it did. He was neither of those things. But if he cleared the air and told his brother the truth, he'd see pity in Slade's eyes rather than disdain. And that was the last fucking thing he wanted. From anyone. Only four people knew the truth about what happened between him and Slade's now ex-wife ten years ago. Jennifer and him—because they were the only two there at the time—and Violet and Elana— because he'd broken down and told them. He'd had to since the mere thought of the two most important people in his life thinking he could do something so heinous, so unconscionable to his own brother, made his stomach churn.

But over the years, he'd certainly learned how to play the part to perfection. The whole town believed he would sleep with just about anything with two legs. Everyone mistakenly thought he was bisexual because of that incident, but the truth was Spencer wasn't into women. He liked them just fine, but he wasn't attracted to them like that, which made what happened with Jennifer that much worse.

Their minds would really be blown if they knew the truth: that he'd had sex with exactly two people in his entire life.

Technically, the first time only partially counted since it had entailed his crush from high school giving him a blowjob and then Spencer returning the favor. They hadn't had sex.

The other time was ten years ago with Jennifer.

Spencer shoved the thoughts away.

"You okay?" Violet asked.

"I'm good," he answered automatically.

He looked up and saw the concern in her eyes. If he'd seen pity, he would've regurgitated the salad.

"You know I'm good," he told her, lowering his voice.

She smiled. "And you know I love you, right?"

"I love you right back, sweet cheeks."