It Happened on Love Street

by Lia Riley

  He wasn’t the Everland Welcome Wagon, but when his audience was a half-naked knockout, it seemed like a good time to fulfill his civic duty. “Back in the olden days, when a young Everland couple went courting, this is where they’d come.”

  She frowned. It was as if he could see the lightbulb go off. Her whole face illuminated. “Oh! Because it’s covered. No one could see what they got up to.”

  “Guess you didn’t earn that fancy law degree for nothing.”

  Just like that, he blew the moment. Her face shuttered. “Yeah. How about that.” She snapped on a seat belt. “You’ve lived here all your life?”

  She was good at redirecting conversation from herself. “More or less. I went to school over in Athens. But it’s not here. Say what you want about Everland, and it’s probably true. And yet, it’s home.”

  “And how often have you escorted a special someone to the Kissing Bridge?” she poked mischievously.

  “Once.” The ugly truth slipped out.

  She recoiled, as if sensing conversation quicksand ahead. “Oh. I see.”

  “No.” His hand covered her knee. Which happened to be bare. She had peach-soft skin, golden with a hint of blush. “I don’t mind. You’ll hear it sooner or later. There used to be somebody.”

  She brushed away a nonexistent mark on his shirtsleeve. “A serious somebody?”

  “Somebody I asked to marry me. Somebody who said yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “Got left at the altar.” Let her chew on that.

  Her mouth twitched, but her dark eyes were serious—weighing if he was joking or not.

  He swallowed a sigh. He was a joke, and no he wasn’t joking. It had been nice to enjoy the time when she hadn’t the faintest clue to his dubious claim to local fame.

  He stared at her straight-faced until her half-smile turned into a ghost. “When?”

  “A few years ago. Six this month. We were childhood sweethearts. Been together since the Under the Sea dance in the eighth grade. She went as Ariel, red wig, the whole bit.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I was in the relationship for the wrong reason.”

  “Which was?”

  He tried for a smile. “People used to tell us it wouldn’t work, but we were both stubborn. Over time, we grew apart. In the end, she made the right choice breaking off the relationship, but the event sent me rudderless. It wasn’t losing the love of my life; it was losing a friend, a best friend in many ways, and my idea of how life would look. After that I drank too much. Sailed in storms I shouldn’t have.

  “The town still roots for me, but I never asked them to fix my problems or fix me up. I don’t want a year’s subscription to a dating website. I want what anyone outside of Hollywood does, a simple life out of the public eye. I have a job I love, a boat, and trust me, it’s all smooth sailing.”

  “Do you stay in touch with her?”

  Pepper pulled the rug out from under his bravado, left him scrambling. The only thing he knew was to plant his feet in the cold, hard, truth.

  “Birdie? Yeah, hard not to. We aren’t close, but I wish her the best. It took guts for her to do what she did. I should never have proposed in the first place, but we were young and dumb, only nineteen when engaged, and it lasted another ten years while I went off to vet school and started my practice. Not every first love is meant to be your last.”

  She pondered that a moment, an unasked question scrunching her forehead. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “What, you’ve never been in love?” With a face like that, hard to believe they weren’t lining up around the block.

  After a brief pause, she shrugged. “Do fictional men count? My relationship status is singing power ballads to stray cats.”

  There it was, conclusive proof that his gender was made up of idiots. “That’s the craziest damn thing I’ve ever heard.”

  She gave a rueful shrug. “You haven’t ventured out of Everland much, huh? The world is a hard place, Rhett Valentine. War. Death. Suffering. Netflix refusing to upload the latest season of your favorite show.”

  A piece of her flyaway hair bobbed in the breeze. He reached to smooth it and threaded his fingers through the silky tresses instead.

  “What are you doing?” She squared her body to face him. Her throat flushed. He liked it. And that small mole on her kissable mouth, too, the one shaped like a heart.

  “Looking at you.”

  Her unexpected smile transformed her whole face. Something passed, invisible, between them. A dark, thick tension burned up his veins, hotter than a whisky shot. Fuck it, he was going in. He leaned toward her. She had the tiniest of freckles on her lower lip. He’d lick it.

  “Rhett?” That wasn’t a breathy, “take me, sexy baby,” tone. He froze.

  “Don’t look now, but you know the old woman who lives across the street?”

  His heart sunk. “Miss Ida May?”

  “She is parked across the river spying on us through a pair of binoculars. No, I said don’t look.”

  Too late. Miss Ida May’s pink Cadillac was parked on the far side of the river, the hood emerging from the bushes. She waggled her fingers in a cheery wave.

  His shoulders heaved with an inward groan. So much for staying out of the spotlight. He’d been damned if he did and damned if he didn’t in helping Pepper out of her jam.

  Now, he was fucked.

  No good deed ever goes unpunished.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A rumble exploded from the west, lightning chasing itself across the inky sky. The Weather Channel forecasted a wild night. Aloysius Hogg flicked the channel with the handheld remote and resumed trimming his toenails on the leather couch. A late-night show flickered on the flat screen. The guy who replaced Letterman interviewed some celebrity hack. He knew both their names, but that fourth whisky on the rocks made remembering a chore. Or was it the fifth? Fourth? Fifth?

  Storms made him drink; thunder kept him on edge. He rolled his shoulders. The alcohol wasn’t helping release his knotted muscles. Work had been worse than usual. If Tommy Haynes, his new clerk, devoted half the time to improving his legal analysis that he did to his online blackjack addiction, Aloysius wouldn’t have to stay up until all hours rewriting his cases.

  He wanted him gone, but Mama said to suck it up, that having powerful people in their debt was better than money in the bank. And like it or not, Tommy was a Haynes. That name meant something in Georgia, an old name, and an old-money name. Lifted the Hogg brand through mere association.

  Aloysius dropped the clippers to the cushion and studied his hand. It was a hand all right. He flexed. Human. No black hairs on the knuckles, no scars or calluses—nothing like Pops. An average human appendage.

  He hated it.

  Nothing should be average about him. He tried for extraordinary, worked to a state of perpetual heartburn, but he could never make her happy.

  In this dog-eat-dog world, only alphas could lead the pack. He needed to have the heart of an alpha. Dante growled as another boom of thunder shook the windows, rain lashing the glass.

  His Doberman pinscher had an alpha’s heart. But his was weak. Deep down he knew it. Worse, Mama knew it.

  She’d taken to her bed a few years ago, after retiring as the organist for Halfway Baptist Church once arthritis got the upper hand. There’d been a time when he thought she’d give up the ghost from sheer boredom.

  Until she found a new hobby.

  Whenever anyone in Hogg Jaw needed a favor, they drove out here to Founder’s House at the end of Gloom Wood Drive. The judge turned a blind eye to the late-night dealings, trusting Mama knew enough to skirt the law but never breach it. She’d driven his career with single-minded ruthlessness for too long to compromise his interests. She’d put him on a pedestal in public, only to knock it out from under him in private.

  No. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste bitter copper. No disloyalty to Mama. She’d done her best by him. Sacrificed everything. He was the
defective one. Couldn’t even continue the family line. Women treated him like he carried an infectious disease, even when he tried to show them he was a winner.

  Women loved winners.

  But Mama knew best, and she said he was a loser. How did she put it the time he’d gone out with Kennedy Day, a divorcée who received a luxury auto dealership in Charleston as part of the settlement? They’d had dinner at Chez Louis, and he’d ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu before rattling off his list of accomplishments and earning potential.

  She’d complained of a headache during the main course and left before dessert. Yesterday she’d blocked him on social media.

  After he’d confessed all to Mama, she’d clicked her tongue.

  “Poor Aloysius,” she’d said sorrowfully. “Why are you so difficult to love?”

  He picked up his glass Coke bottle and plopped in a few peanuts. The salt fizzed in the carbonated water before he took a swig. Mother hated his favorite snack. Called peanuts in cola common. But what she didn’t know didn’t hurt him. He smugly took a long pull, crunching on the shells while glancing to the ceiling.

  Dread sloshed in his gut alongside the sweet liquid. She hated hearing him chew.

  No Hogg should sound like a hog at dinner.

  Upstairs, a bell tinkled. He jerked upright, swiping his mouth. Setting the Coke on a coaster, he reached for a butter mint from the crystal candy dish before straightening his collar.

  “Coming, Mama,” he called.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Pepper entered the dog park the next morning, the place went so quiet she could hear a Milk-Bone drop.

  “What’s up?” She brushed a hand over her face, a quick check for renegade Pop-Tart frosting. “Are my pants on inside out?”

  “Suppose we should count ourselves grateful that you’ve elected to wear some,” Doc Valentine muttered without preamble, frowning over the top of the Everland Examiner. Today he and Fluffy—er, Marie Claire—were coordinating butterscotch-colored bowties and ribbons. The effect made his skin look sallow and gave Pepper no small pleasure.

  Her petty was showing.

  Even still, her shoulders slumped like a marionette whose strings were unceremoniously cut. Hard to be snarky when every single person here must know that she’d spent yesterday afternoon lurking under the Kissing Bridge like a half-naked troll. Two ways to play this: act dumb or do a mea culpa. This crowd didn’t seem the type to fall for an “aw shucks” routine.

  Mea culpa it was then.

  Loins, prepare to be girded.

  She unclipped Wolfgang’s leash. He dove for her leg, but she cut him with a sharp “Sit,” coupled with a tough look that promised On your butt or you’ll be coated in batter and deep fried.

  He dropped to his haunches and she resisted the urge to fist pump. Cesar Millan, eat your heart out.

  “Now what’s this about skinny-dipping?” The General clutched his heart with a good-natured wink. “Got to say, girl, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Rumor has it that your boy was involved,” said an older woman in tailored slacks, a patterned blazer, and kitten heels. She gave Doc a prudish frown while stroking the haughty Scotch terrier on her lap.

  People do look like their pets.

  Doc sat back against the bench, resting his interlaced fingers on his small paunch. “I can assure you, Lucille, that whatever undesirables my son fraternizes with is of no consequence to me.” His pompously adenoidal tone made it clear that not only did he harbor an opinion, but it was a bad one.

  Undesirables?

  Oh, for the love of Gosling.

  She hadn’t danced naked around a bonfire on the solstice; she just hadn’t wanted to lose the physical reminder of happy memories. But no point getting sentimental about cupcake hats with that sourpuss.

  What was it like for Rhett to grow up in the shadow of this grim-faced guy? Her own dad thought everything she and Tuesday did was the best, most amazing thing ever. Finger painting. Playing right field on the second-string softball team. Moving to New York for university. Or her sister’s off-off-off-Broadway roles. His pride was as reliable as Target’s ability to make her drop a hundred bucks when all she meant to buy was conditioner.

  A rapid movement snapped her out of navel gazing.

  Shitake mushrooms.

  Wolfgang mounted the butterscotch-bowed Fluffy by the drinking fountain. His tiny hips thrust faster than a seventies porn star.

  Doc followed the direction of her horrified gaze and made a strangled sound. “This isn’t the grand seraglio of the Ottoman sultans, Miss Knight. Everland, Georgia, is home to God-fearing folk. Get your hound off my Marie Claire.”

  “He’s not my dog. He’s my customer.” That sounded worse. “Wolfgang.” She clapped her hands. Her authoritative voice lost in the tug-of-war with his libido. “Stop. Stop that right now. Wolfgang, I said get off. Down. Go on.” Eventually, he dismounted, and tucked his small pointy tail as if to say thanks for killing my mojo.

  “Guess what?” the General said as the Chihuahua proceeded to clean himself with excruciating thoroughness.

  “I despise guessing games,” Doc boomed over the noisy slurps. He folded the paper and rapped the Scrabble box. “Are we going to play, or should I gather my things and return home?”

  “Can we let her in?” The General nodded at Pepper. “Jim’s doing stocktake at the store all morning, and Norma’s out of commission while she recovers.”

  Lucille and Doc exchanged loaded glances.

  “No one replaces Norma,” Doc answered at last.

  “That’s okay,” Pepper said hastily, whipping out her phone. Technology, saving victims of casual ostracism in the twenty-first century. “You go on and have fun with your board game.”

  “A game? Is that what you said? Scrabble isn’t a game.” The General wheezed, taking a seat next to Doc at the picnic table. “Here in Everland it’s a way of life. Think of playing as your initiation into local culture.”

  “You’ll vouch for her, General?” Lucille gave Pepper a censuring stare as she took her place. “If so, then I’m prepared to grant an exception. After all I am a Christian.”

  “Do try to remain clothed,” Doc muttered under his breath as he pulled out a tile from the cloth bag. “Q.”

  “Okay. Question. Is this that famous Southern hospitality everyone goes on and on about?” Pepper put her phone away and tiptoed closer.

  Besides the General, no one so much as cracked a smile. Her own cheeky grin wavered. “Tough crowd.”

  “Stop hovering or you’ll give me hives.” Lucille selected her tile. “V.”

  The General glanced at his. “S.”

  All three turned to Pepper with expectant expressions. Smothering a smile, she sat and plucked one out. “P. Like my name.”

  “You’re up first,” Lucille said witheringly. “Are you at least passingly acquainted with the rules?”

  Pepper debated whether she should own the truth or not. Her letters were T, E, S, A, R, I, and P. A shimmer of excitement took hold. Best play it cool. “I think so. We spell words, right?”

  Doc and Lucille exchanged another look.

  Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.

  “Yes,” Doc said carefully.

  “And while bragging rights are well and good, we prefer to spice it up,” Lucille continued. “That is, if you have no moral objection to a little harmless amusement.”

  “Spice?” Pepper’s tone was innocence personified.

  “Aw, go easy on her, you two,” the General said.

  Lucille opened up her handbag. “Five-dollar stake. Each.”

  “Winner gets twenty bucks?” Pepper sat on her hands to prevent clapping.

  “Gambling keeps us young,” Lucille said. But her leer conveyed I’ve flossed bigger things than you from my teeth, small fry.

  The General cleared his throat. “I don’t think we should take advantage of—”

  “Count me in.” Pep
per tugged out a crumpled fiver from her hip pocket. Abraham Lincoln stared from the table with an uncertain expression that said I hope you know what you’re doing. She tapped her lower lip. “Let me try to remember. If I use a few tiles, then do I replace them?”

  “Yes,” Doc said.

  She furrowed her brow. “What if I use all my tiles in the first go?”

  “A bingo?” Lucille said. “That’s fifty extra points.”

  “Interesting.” Pepper grabbed her P tile and twirled it between her fingers. “One more question. I’m new in town, but what’s all this I’m hearing about Captain Redbeard’s missing treasure being hidden in Everland? You guys sure have a colorful local history.” Inwardly, she cringed. She was going to blow her cover by overplaying this aw-shucks routine.

  “That’s no rumor,” Doc said. “His first mate, Joseph Elleselle, founded Everland and took the secret to his grave. Of course Hogg Jaw wants to take the credit, but what can you expect from a den of hustlers and shysters.”

  “You’re asking the wrong gal.” She placed the P over the center star, then I, R, A, T, E, S. “Bingo.” She smiled at their stunned faces. “One benefit of growing up in Moose Bottom, Maine, was that the winters were loooooong. That meant a whole lot of Scrabble. My sister and I won the junior state championships and came in third and fourth in the New England Young Masters Tournament.”

  The General whistled under his breath. “Lady and gent, we were had by a professional hustler.”

  “Or amateur pirate?” Pepper winked.

  Doc’s jaw clenched as Lucille actually snarled. “There are two books I value in this world. One is the good word. The other is this.” She slammed The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary on the table. “Let’s roll.”

  The scores flew after that. The game full of tricky two-letter word placements. Za. Xi.

  Pepper laid her final tile, an O, beneath the Y in stingy.

  “Yo?” Lucille said disbelievingly.