Andie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Officer. Every single one of them.”
I hold out a hand, and when her fingers intertwine with mine, I forget what song the band is playing. I slide one arm around her waist and hold on to her hand with my other hand while I lead her in this two-step song. I think I can make my clumsy feet move to this beat.
“I don’t know how to do this.” Her soft voice trembles.
I lean into her and whisper, “I’ve got you. Easier than making jam.”
She giggles in my ear, and now I’m worried she’s going to have to hold me up. Her free hand holds firmly to my shoulder as we step, step, step-step over and over around the dance floor. After a few rounds, she gets the hang of it and relaxes in my arms. I imagine how I would really like to hold her. If we weren’t surrounded by ninety-five percent of the townsfolk, we might get arrested for a public display of affection. If anyone is gawking or blogging about us dancing, I really don’t care.
The song ends, and I swing her out and back into me. Her chest smashes into mine, and her eyes are heavy lidded. I lean down to kiss her right as the band starts up with an old Southern rock song.
Her face lights up as she jumps up and down. “I know this one.” She dances around me and sings the lyrics to the Allman Brothers song, “Ramblin’ Man.”
I put my fingers in my ears as she boogies around me, singing.
“I love this song!” she yells over the music.
“I can tell, but we have laws against this kind of indecency.”
She gasps and swats at my arm. I pull her close again, and she doesn’t resist. I swing her around, and every time her face is close to mine, her grin gets bigger. When the song is over—and I’m not complaining that those Allman Brothers know how to write super-long songs—I spin her around. Her sundress fans out to show her muscular thighs.
Have mercy.
Those words could be Andie’s anthem. I don’t think I will understand when she leaves.
Over the loudspeaker, Fred Calhoun makes the announcement that the jam contest will start in five minutes. Andie bounces in my arms, making her breasts brush up against my forearm. She really shouldn’t do that unless she wants my lips permanently attached to hers.
“It’s time! Do you think I’ll win?”
She’s gone from hating this place and despising everything Southern to actually wanting to win this silly jam contest. I think we’re rubbing off on her.
“You have as much chance as anyone.” For her sake, I hope so, even though it will be highly unlikely given the fact that Mrs. Cavanaugh teases her so much about how bad her attempts have been.
She darts toward the jam booth then stops and turns around, waving for me to come with her. I freeze. My focus is on the splash of platinum-blond hair I thought I saw slicing in and out of the crowd. I must be hallucinating. I hope to God I am.
“Aren’t you coming?”
I snap out of my confusion. “I can’t miss this.”
Watching her weave through the crowd to get to the front reminds me of Lily on Christmas morning. She actually is eager to know how well she did. I hope even an honorable mention is enough to keep the Jackson sisters off her tail for a bit. They stand in the front row, cell phones in hand, ready to capture the moment as it happens. They would like nothing more than for Andie to fail. If her jam is terrible, it might give Andie another reason to leave after her required time here is up.
Even if Andie doesn’t win the blue ribbon, I want her to do well because she wants to do well. She nibbles on a fingernail, waiting on the judges to announce their decision. One by one, the judges taste each entry, bobbing their heads up and down as they write notes. Andie fidgets as she waits. I stand behind her and put my hands on her hips. She slides her fingers through mine and squeezes.
As sappy as it sounds, I whisper in her ear, “You’re the sweetest thing I’ll ever taste.”
She squeezes my hands tighter and rotates her face enough to give me a quick peck on the cheek. I don’t think she cares if the Jackson sisters catch it on film. I know I don’t care. Maybe it will give them something to blog about. Their eyes and phones are focused on the judges, anyway.
While the judges are in a huddle, making their decision, my eyes roam the crowd in hopes the platinum-blond hair was only in my imagination. Willow can’t be here. She hates this town and most everyone in it, even her family. There’s no reason for her to come back, especially after all this time, unless Jo dropped some hints to pique her interest.
The judges agree with one another. Fred Calhoun holds up the blue ribbon and takes the microphone. “This year’s blue ribbon goes to...”
Andie crosses her fingers and closes her eyes.
“Andie Carson for her Saving Grace Strawberry Jam.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Andie
He said my name! My jaw is on the ground next to the discarded funnel cake and cigarette butts. Everyone around me claps and whistles for me.
Gunnar squeezes my shoulders and says over the crowd, “Go get your ribbon.” He gives me a slight shove to make my feet move.
When I get up to the booth, I turn around and notice all the people cheering. Liza and Jake are right in front, woo-hooing for me. Gunnar’s sister and niece stand next to him. Lily jumps up and down and waves my way. Even the Jackson sisters clap, and to my surprise, they high-five each other. Of course, they pull out their phones to take pictures of me. I’m sure those photos have me with a huge, face-covering grin. Granny, I did it!
When Mr. Calhoun hands me my blue ribbon, my hands tremble so much, it slips out of my hand and floats to the ground. Lily picks it up and hands it to me.
Mr. Calhoun pats me on the back. “Nice job, Miss Carson. Your grandmother would be proud.”
A tear escapes my eye, and I bat it away before anyone can see it. “Thank you so much.” I hold up the blue ribbon for all to see, and Jake whistles again. I take a bow. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would win something like this, much less be ecstatic about it.
“Now, folks, if you’d like to taste test Andie’s jam, please stick around. She’ll have more in her shop to buy. Isn’t that right?”
I shrug. “I guess so.” All it takes is for one person to hate it for my excitement to dwindle.
The Jackson sisters almost knock me over, getting in line to try my jam. Oh, this isn’t going to end well.
“I wouldn’t eat too much. You know, lots of carbs on a hot day... you know.” Crap. Surely they can’t get drunk off jam. I didn’t use that much, and the simmering had to burn off some of the alcohol. I should have tried it out on myself to check the alcohol-tolerance level.
The Jackson sisters don’t listen, and neither do all the other blue hairs in the county. Dang, there are a lot of old people in this town. I try to make eye contact with Gunnar, but he’s in a powwow with his sister, Faith, and Liza Jane. Liza’s arms flail around, and Faith nibbles on a fingernail as she scans the crowd. They have been all grins and giggles up until now. I wonder what has them all in a tizzy.
Gunnar rakes a hand over his face. When our eyes meet, the stress leaves his body. He walks toward me, smiling. I hold out the ribbon as if he didn’t see me win it, and he busts out a huge grin. “I’m impressed.”
“So am I.” I check out all the old folks gobbling up my jam. “I wish they wouldn’t eat so much.”
He takes my hand. “Relax and enjoy the day. I think you made some friends today.”
I cringe while I watch the Jackson sisters eat a jar of jam all by themselves. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“When do I get to try some?”
“Uh... maybe later.”
Sarah Jackson runs up to me.
Oh dear, here it comes.
Her sister is right on her tail.
“Andie, I need to talk to you about this jam.”
I hold my hands out. “Hey, I did my best, and I’m sorry if it’s not like Granny’s.”
She grabs me by th
e arm, and dang if she doesn’t have a tight grip. “You made it precisely like Mary Grace. She’d be so proud. We must have more. We miss her jam so much.”
Hmm. I think I’m getting the picture now. Maybe they were the source of Granny’s covert booze in an otherwise dry county.
“Yes, we miss her jam... and her, of course.”
“Thank you. I miss her too.” That’s so odd considering I didn’t know her very well. But I feel her presence around me, and I know we would have gotten along really well had Mama not told me she’d passed away years ago. Maybe that’s why she kept me away from Smithville and told me all those mean things about her very own mother.
“Do you have some more at the shop?”
When I say no, they pout like two five-year-olds.
“We wanted to sell some at the church bake sale next Sunday.”
If I can get in cahoots with the Jacksons, I might be able to fulfill the “fitting in” requirement of Granny’s will. It might be harder than making jam, so if I have to play nice with the Jacksons, I’ll do it.
“Would you be willing to make it a charitable donation since it’s a worthy cause?”
Time to lay on the charm and pull out whatever Southern accent I can. “Anything for the church. Stop by and get all you want on Monday.”
The Jackson sisters beam at each other. “That would be perfect,” one of the sisters says. I can’t ever keep them straight.
The other one waves. “See you on Monday.”
“You mean Sunday. At church, right?”
She waves me off. “Yes, of course. You can sit with us if you want.”
I turn to Gunnar. His jaw is on the ground. “You certainly made a favorable impression on them. I never thought that would happen.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m an acquired taste.”
He points to the Jackson sisters, who are fighting over a jar of jam with another blue hair. “I think the holy trinity might have to change their opinion of you after today.”
“After a keg, I mean a jar or two, they may be sick.”
He cocks his head sideways as the band cranks up again.
I’m shocked that I know another Southern rock song. “Oh my God. It’s ‘Champagne Jam.’ So perfect.”
“You know this song? From the Atlanta Rhythm Section?”
“Shocker, huh?” One thing my mother bored into my head was Southern rock music.
Gunnar slides his arm around my shoulder. “You’re full of surprises.”
Before I can stop myself, I slip my arm around his waist. I fit right at his side as if I were made for him.
He canvases the crowd, and his spine stiffens. Then he jerks his head toward the photo booth. “Want to preserve the moment? Get it? Preserve the moment.”
I roll my eyes. His jam humor is so corny but totally adorable. He escorts me to the booth and shoves some dollar bills into the machine before he scans the crowd again.
Behind the curtain, he places me on his lap, and his hands slide up and down my thighs. I can’t help but lace my fingers through his. “Are we going to take pictures or make out?”
He kisses my neck. “Can’t we do both?”
I gasp as he kisses my neck. The camera’s flash goes off. I take his face in my hands, turn it toward the camera, and make a duck face. Then I cross my eyes and hold up my blue ribbon. Flash. Next Gunnar and I stare at each other with our foreheads touching, and my heart races. Flash. He holds my face and kisses me on the lips. Flash. The kiss deepens, and I forget where we are until a kid pulls back the curtain to interrupt our kissing booth.
“Sorry.” I grab Gunnar’s hand and scoot out of the way so the kid can use the booth for its intended purpose. We wait outside the booth for our pictures to be developed, staring at each other as though we’re both hatching a plan to finish what we started. When the pictures drop from the slot, we both grab for the strip of photos, but I’m faster.
“Hey now, it was my dollar,” he says.
With a pouty face, I hand over the photos.
He groans. “Oh, all right.”
He takes out his key chain with a Leatherman tool dangling from it. Then he cuts the strip of photos in half, handing me two photos and keeping two for him. I get the neck-kiss and duck-face photos. He gets the forehead-stare and kiss photos.
“Satisfied?” he asks.
I grab him around the neck and give him a big hug. He slides his arms around me and holds me tight.
“Very satisfied.”
He has no idea how satisfied I am, and before I lose my nerve, I ask, “Go out with me?”
He makes a face as though he’s mulling over his answer before he kisses me on the cheek. “I’d like that.”
Whew.
A super-tall, model-perfect blond girl glowers at us from across the field. Her arms are crossed, and she looks at me as if I stole her blue ribbon. Maybe she needs to try some of my jam. I let Gunnar go, and when he turns around to see her, his entire body stiffens. The perky blonde cocks her head to the side, sending a nonverbal message our way that I’m clearly not understanding.
“You okay?” I ask Gunnar.
He closes his eyes and nods. When he opens his eyes again, he glares at the blonde. Then when his eyes meet mine, his expression softens. Oh, that must be Willow, and I feel as if I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Too bad. I’m still taking the cookie.
He takes my hand. “Hungry?”
“Sure.”
I’m not the smartest person in the world, but something tells me I’m not going to like Willow being back in town. Even though I’m not sure what I mean to Gunnar, I don’t want to lose him, and I can’t believe I’m admitting that to myself. He may have never been mine to lose. The lyrics to the next song ring true. “That old flame may not be stronger, but it’s been burning longer than any spark I might have started in your eyes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Gunnar
Son of a bitch. She’s back in town. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her in three damn years, and she shows up right when I’ve finally let myself move on. I worked through all the stages of grief: shock, denial, depression, anger, chase-every-skirt-in-the-county phase, and finally acceptance. I’m over her. My molars will be ground into powder before the night is over.
Seeing her now makes me question what I ever saw in her. Her white-blond hair is even more shocking than before, and it matches her cold personality. As usual, she has to make sure she’s noticed by everyone. The way she carries herself, so in control as if she’s on the prowl, makes me want to hurl. No matter which direction Andie and I walk through the town square, Willow appears, watching our every move. She has got stalking down to a science.
I found someone that makes me happy. Andie doesn’t try to change me even though I would like to change one part of her. I want her to stay. But I can’t make her stay any more than I could make Willow.
Andie and I eat corn dogs while we walk through the fairground, and I hope we don’t run into Willow. Liza Jane and Faith are spitting mad she showed up, so I don’t think Willow has the nerve to cross their paths tonight. Liza texted Mel and put her on high alert, so with all those women against Willow, I don’t think she will confront me tonight. She’ll want me to come to her. It’s a power play, one that I’m not going to comply with. Except she knows everything about me. I thought my secrets left when she did. This is not the best time to air dirty laundry.
“You okay?” Andie asks, bumping me with her hip. She chases the mustard dripping off her corn dog with her tongue. Damn. She has no idea how sexy that is.
“Yeah, sure. Long day.” And going to get longer.
“Great. I wanted to make sure you didn’t miss this.” She holds out her blue ribbon, and her eyebrows bounce up and down. “Huh? What do you think? Not bad for a Yankee.” She is so adorable.
“You’re very proud, aren’t you?”
“Heck yeah. I worked my tail off trying to figure it out.”
I stare into her eyes. “I’m proud of you too.”
She stands on her tiptoes, her hands grabbing my bicep for balance. “Can you keep a secret?” she whispers.
“Sure.”
She peers around then places her mouth so close to my ear, I can feel her lips moving against my earlobe. “That jam has booze in it.”
My head snaps around, and we are nose to nose. She holds out her hands in defense.
“I followed Granny’s recipe to a T. I promise. And I only had a smidgen for a taste test. Aren’t you proud of me?
A chuckle bursts up my throat. No wonder all the old folks loved Miss Mary Grace’s jam. Andie’s eyelashes tickle my nose when she flutters them.
“Yes, I am, and I guess that special ingredient will be our little secret.” I take in the dancing grannies. “They seem to like it.”
Mayor Duncan and Tom Harding wave to me as they greet each person that walks past them. The portly and balding mayor may technically be the head of the town, but Tom Harding really runs the place. He’s younger, and with his easy grin and orange-red hair, people want to please him.
I take Andie by the hand. “There are some people I want you to meet.”
Both men smile as we approach.
“Hey Gunnar,” Mayor says.
“Mayor. I wanted you to meet Andie Carson, Miss Mary Grace’s granddaughter.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
The tall ginger grins down at her. “I’m Tom Harding.”
Andie cuts her eyes toward me. “Nice to meet you. You should stop by the shop sometime.”
Tom points at her blue ribbon. “Congratulations.”
She almost bounces. “Thanks. This has been the best day.”
“I’m sure your grandmother would have been very proud.”
She swallows. “I hope so.”
The mayor pats my shoulder. “You two kids have fun.”
As they walk away, they are surrounded by townspeople asking them if the rumors about a developer wanting to buy up all the shops on Main Street are true. I don’t want to think about that right now. Tonight is all about Andie.
In a Jam Page 18