Panty Dropper

by Shawn, Melanie

  “Plus, there’s the fact he’s a Comfort. That would be an issue.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, you know.” Nadia waved her hand in front of her. “He’s…a Comfort. They’re…well…”

  “Wow,” I deadpanned. “If you ever have to testify, remind me to coach you beforehand.”

  She laughed, put her hand to her forehead. “I know, I know. I never realized until right now how much there is about this town that’s just kinda understood. Trying to put it into words appears to be failing me.”

  “So, what’s so bad about the Comforts?”

  Nadia thought for a moment, then said, “It’s not that there’s anything so bad about them, per se. I think it has a lot to do with the first generation of Comfort men. I never met Mr. Comfort’s brothers, but I’ve heard a lot of rumors. And I’m sure you know that after Mrs. Comfort passed away, James Sr. drank. A lot. He couldn’t look after the boys, he was always being picked up for public intoxication. And I guess he just developed a bit of a reputation around town.”

  There was that word again. “Reputation. That sounds tragic to me, not scandalous. I know it’s a small town, but isn’t one of the selling points about living in small towns that people look out for one another? Did anyone offer to help?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Before my time. I’m just telling you how people see them. And, I mean, obviously, there’s the bad blood between Mr. Comfort and Mr. Abernathy.”

  I had to laugh. “What bad blood?”

  She shook her head. “Right! Shit. It’s just so hard to remember that you know absolutely nothing.”

  “I’m going to go ahead and assume the phrase, ‘about local history,’ was supposed to be amended at the end of that sentence and agree with you. I know nothing. Start from scratch.”

  “Okay. How do I put this? There’s kind of like two factions that run this town. The two sides of the track, if you will. There’s the country club set. The people with money, and influence. The mayor, the city council. Prominent business owners. That whole crowd. Jennings Abernathy—who I don’t have to remind you is the name of the senior partner at the firm where you are currently employed—is what you might consider the de facto king of that crowd.”

  “Yeah, I had sort of picked up on that when Stew mentioned that his family was one of the founders of the town.”

  Nadia’s face lit up. “Right! See you do know something, Jon Snow!” I stuck out my tongue at her GoT reference and she continued, “Then, there’s the other crowd. Or, I guess you could say the other side of the tracks.”

  “The wrong side, you mean.” I was very familiar with that side.

  Nadia grimaced. “I hate to say it, but, yes. That’s how they’re seen. At any rate, people from that group tended to congregate at Southern Comfort and James Sr. pretty much sat at the top of that heap.”

  I waited to hear more, but when she didn’t continue I prompted, “Okay, go on.”

  “Not much more to tell. Just that Mr. Comfort was an outspoken man, I think the booze made him even more opinionated. He and Abernathy butted heads many times over the years. It sort of trickled down to the second generation. Hank and Abernathy’s oldest son had an epic fight that landed Tanner in the ICU. And rumor has it that Billy deflowered his only daughter Greer. And Jimmy and Landry, his youngest son, were caught with enough acid to be charged with distribution. So needless to say, your boss is not a fan of the Comfort boys.”

  “Good to know.”

  We finished up the coffee and Nadia filled me in on some of the other colorful dates she’d been on. Before going our separate ways, we made plans to go to a crab feed that kicked off spring break.

  On my way to the office, I digested everything I’d come to learn about Billy Comfort.

  He was a client. He had a reputation with a capital R. His nickname was Panty Dropper. And now, come to find out he and my boss were as good as enemies.

  The reasons to stay away from him were piling up fast and furious.

  But that wasn’t all I knew about him. I also knew how his soft lips felt gliding along my neck. I knew how his heartbeat felt against my chest. I knew how shallow his breaths were when he slept. And I knew how deep and soulful his eyes were when his attention was focused directly on me.

  I also knew the smartest thing in the world I could do would be to forget I’d ever met the man, and take any feelings I had for him and nip them right in the bud. But as I entered the office and was greeted by Daisy, I knew deep down that wasn’t going to happen.

  CHAPTER 21

  Billy

  Sitting in my childhood home around the table with both of my brothers and my little sister, there was just something that felt right about it. I had a deep sense of peace, and that things were going to be okay.

  At least as far as my family went. I was still feeling all sorts of ways about a pretty lawyer lady that I feared had my heart in the palm of her hands.

  Cheyenne sat beside me twisting her hair and it reminded me that my mother used to do the same thing. Whenever Mama was concentrating or worried about somethin’, she’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger. It made me wonder if Cheyenne did it for the same reason.

  “It’s good to have you home, Shadow.” It may not have been the most original sentiment, but it was sincere.

  And it seemed to do the trick. Her shoulders relaxed and a sweet smile lit up her face. “Thanks.” She let her eyes travel around the rest of the table. “And thank you guys for letting me be here. I really appreciate it.”

  Maybe it was the obvious fragility and vulnerability in Cheyenne, or maybe he just felt the familial pull, but Hank gave her a small but warm smile. “It’s a family meeting. You’re family.”

  That was damn near poetic comin’ from Hank.

  Tears sprang up in Cheyenne’s eyes and she quickly wiped them away. “Thanks,” she said, and her voice trembled softly.

  “And, hey, Sis,” Jimmy added, “If you keep bringing this caliber of snacks to all the family gatherings, you’re not only going to be welcome. You’re gonna be the favorite. What are these called, anyway?”

  I’d explained to her that it was up to Hank to provide the food, but she’d insisted she didn’t feel right coming empty handed. During breakfast, I convinced her to stay at my place. She argued that she didn’t want to intrude but I assured her she wouldn’t be. I had an empty guest room that had her name on it.

  After breakfast we’d checked her out of her hotel and she asked if we could go to a grocery store to pick up a few things. I took her to the Piggly Wiggly and she’d spent the afternoon cookin’ up a storm while I got her room ready.

  “Mini Quiche Florentine,” she replied. “I learned the recipe in home ec years ago and I just never forgot it.”

  “Dang, girl,” Jimmy said, through a half-full mouth and a smile, “Your home ec class must’ve been slightly different than what we got at Firefly High.”

  I glanced at Jimmy sharply. The words, taken alone, could have an accusatory meaning underlying them. But when I looked closely at his face, I could see that there was no snark there. He was genuinely making an observation.

  Hank frowned at him, then turned to Cheyenne. “You should know, food is all Jimmy thinks about.”

  “Hey!” Jimmy protested. “Food’s not all I think about.”

  “Yeah,” I chimed in, good-natured grin on my face. “You’re forgetting all the time he devotes to thinking about drinking, or his boat. Or sleeping.”

  Jimmy shrugged at the laughter that spurred. “Hey,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I know what I like, and I stick to it. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Hank scooted his chair in closer to the table. It made a loud scraping sound that snapped the rest of us to attention, and I wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t made the noise on purpose.

  “We’ve got to talk about Pop’s funeral.” His voice made it clear it was time to get down to business.

  “What about it?�
� I asked.

  Hank pulled a sheaf of papers from his back pocket and unfolded them.

  “Hank, you do know we already read Pop’s will, right?” Jimmy teased. “I know you’re old, but I didn’t think we had to worry about senility just yet.”

  “This isn’t the will, smart ass.”

  “What is it?” Cheyenne asked.

  “It’s Pop’s last wishes for his funeral,” Hank replied.

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” I couldn’t believe it. “He planned his own funeral?”

  I hadn’t known our father to plan a single thing in his life. Unless you counted planning on how to get drunk. He planned that every day of his life.

  “Looks that way,” Hank confirmed.

  I had no idea what to expect. “So, let’s hear ’em.”

  “He wants us to wear burgundy ties, because of that shit he found out about our family crest when he was on that Ancestry dot com site.”

  “Wait a minute… Are you sayin’ I have to wear a tie?” Jimmy grimaced.

  Hank’s only response was a tightening of his jaw.

  “What?” Jimmy shrugged. “I’m just not a tie guy.”

  Hank tilted his head and his neck cracked, the way he did right before he got in the metaphorical ring with someone. “Jimmy, I don’t much care if you wear God damn yoga pants. I’m just tryin’ to tell you what Pop wanted for his damn funeral. Now can I get through this list without you runnin’ your mouth?”

  Jimmy leaned back in his chair and held his hands out in front of him, a wide grin on his face. “Damn, Hank. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

  Hank shook his head and looked back down at the paper in front of him. “He wants the reception at Southern Comfort. He wants an open bar. Or, as he put it, ‘the drinks are on me,’.”

  “Right, except they’re not on him. They’re on us,” I protested. “As the one who runs day to day operations, I’m in the best position to know exactly how much a reception full of grieving barflies could set us back in one afternoon. It ain’t pretty. I call for a veto.”

  “Veto,” Hank seconded.

  Jimmy lifted his hand in agreement. “Veto.”

  We all looked at Cheyenne.

  “Oh, veto.” She paused. “But what if…Sorry, I…uh…It’s none of my business.”

  “Hell, yes it is,” Jimmy said. “Like Hank said, this is a family meeting, and you’re family.”

  I agreed. “Say what’s on your mind.”

  She nodded then pressed forward determinedly. “Okay. Well, since it was in his final wishes, what if we set a limit to the number of drinks?”

  “Like drink tickets at a wedding?” Jimmy asked.

  “I guess it does sound kind of tacky,” Cheyenne blushed. “I just thought there might be a way to find a happy medium.”

  “And I think there is. It’s a good idea,” I said. “We don’t need tickets. We just make it one drink per person. We’ll announce that the first round’s on Pop. We could definitely absorb one round without feelin’ it too much.”

  “Good,” Hank said. “Settled. Moving on. He wants a group photo taken at the reception and hung up behind the bar.”

  “Aw, why not?” Jimmy laughed, throwing up his hands. “It’ll look like the world’s most hard-rode and formally-dressed softball team.”

  “My suggestion would be to round folks up for the photo before we start handin’ out the round of drinks,” I said.

  “Agreed,” Hank said, and flipped the page on the stapled sheaf of papers.

  “There’s more?” Jimmy asked.

  Hank smirked. “We’re just gettin’ started. Settle in. It’s gonna be a long afternoon.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Reagan

  “So, how are things going?” I asked as I pulled a sweater dress off the rack.

  Cheyenne had asked me to go shopping with her to find something to wear for the funeral that was scheduled for the following day. We were currently making our way through the racks at Firefly Boutique. She seemed a little on edge and I didn’t want to pry, but I figured it was a good time to check in with her and see how she was dealing with the unusual and intense circumstances.

  She began to twist a piece of hair that fell over her shoulder but stayed silent. Already in the short time I’d known her, I recognized that as one of her emotional tells. When she was feeling overwhelmed, that was her go to move.

  Instead of changing the subject, I remained quiet. I wanted to give her space to figure out what she wanted to say, or if she wanted to say anything at all.

  We looked at dresses for a few moments, the only sound around us in the near-empty boutique was the scratch of hangers sliding along rods and the soft rock playing through the sound system as we perused one after the other.

  Finally, she spoke, her voice so soft I could barely hear her. “I don’t know. I have so many different feelings. Contradictory feelings, when it comes down to it. Part of me is really sad that my father passed away. Obviously. But another part of me finds it hard to feel anything at all about it. Yes he was my father, but I barely remember him. He was more of a figure in my life than anything. I knew him because of the role he held, but I didn’t really know him as a human being. And he didn’t even fight when my grandparents took me. I mean…I know he just lost his wife, my mom, but I was his daughter. And I’d just lost my mom, and then my brothers and dad, too. My grandparents forbid any talk of my life before I went to live with them. So, after all these years, it’s hard for me to know what was real and what I’d imagined.”

  “That must be really difficult.”

  She tilted her head. “I guess. I’d say confusing, more than anything. And then there’s my brothers.”

  A spark flared in my belly at the mention of her brothers. Of course, my mind went immediately to one particular brother, and my cheeks heated. I turned away to the rack behind me to keep Cheyenne from seeing—although she was so immersed in the difficult emotions she was talking through, I doubted she would’ve noticed if my entire head caught on fire. A little blush was nowhere near her radar.

  I hadn’t been able to get Billy Comfort out of my mind. He was the last thing I’d thought about before I fell asleep the night before, and the first thing I’d thought about when my eyes opened that morning. I missed him. Which made exactly zero sense.

  The only person I’d ever missed in my life had been Hal, and that was only after he passed away. I’d never missed someone that was alive and breathing. But now, I was doing just that. I didn’t just miss Billy, I ached for him.

  “What about them?” I encouraged gently.

  “I’m so thrilled to have them back in my life. To be back in theirs. They’re really making an effort to include me and accept me. Especially Billy. But…”

  She trailed off, and I had to exercise every bit of willpower I possessed not to nudge her to expand on the “especially Billy” part. The truth was, I wanted to hear anything and everything about Billy, despite myself. He was quickly turning into both my strongest temptation and biggest weakness.

  But this was about Cheyenne, not me.

  “But what?” I encouraged her.

  She shrugged. “But I wouldn’t have them right now if my father were still alive. You would’ve never called me. I would’ve never come here. Being glad about it is kind of like being glad he’s dead. What kind of horrible person feels that?”

  I let go of the dress I was looking at and it fell back into place on the rack. Turning to Cheyenne, I stared directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are not a horrible person. Far from it. Just the fact that your feelings are conflicted show how much you care. You had no control over the reality that you didn’t get to know your father. That wasn’t your decision. And yet, you still came down here as soon as you found out he’d died. You’re shopping for a dress to wear to his funeral. You could’ve easily written him off and wanted nothing to do with him. A lot of people in your situation would have.

  “I’m a really good judge o
f character, and I can honestly say that you are one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met.”

  She smiled and squeezed my hands before letting them go and turning back to the racks of clothes. She shot me a mischievous glance. “So does this mean you’re not just hanging out with me because of my brother?” she said lightly.

  Damn. I could feel the telltale blush light my cheeks again like Fourth of July fireworks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, trying to appear casual and clueless. And failing miserably.

  “The fire engine-colored glow on your face tells a different story,” she teased. “And so does the fact that you snuck out of Billy’s like a cat burglar the other morning. But, hey. I’m not judging.”

  I lowered my head. Between her knowing that I’d stayed at Billy’s house, Nadia suspecting as much, and the entire town weighing in on whether or not I did in FB comments, this whole situation with Billy Comfort was becoming a lot more complicated than I’d ever intended it to. And so were my feelings for him. I knew that I should stay away from him, but that was the last thing I wanted to do.

  And that was the rub—I’d spent so much time in the past doing what I was supposed to do. With Blaine, I’d followed all the rules. Literally. I practically memorized that book The Rules and I followed each of them to a tee.

  There weren’t feelings involved, unless you counted the “feeling” of wanting to be nothing like my mother. I’d given it a lot of thought over the past ten days, and I’d come to the conclusion that Blaine had been a blank slate that I could write my future on.

  A good career—check. A stable fiancé from a good family—check. Marriage and children and a decent social standing—well on my way to putting nice, neat checkmarks in front of those, as well.

  And even when I’d walked in on him, it had been quite civilized. There was no big, emotional scene. I’d seen what I’d seen, then turned around and left—which should’ve been my first clue that it wasn’t exactly the romance of the century.