by Lucy Score
I didn’t miss the wince as Naomi stood. She obviously wasn’t used to being on her feet for hours at a time. But I respected her for stubbornly trying to hide her discomfort on the way to the bar. Waylon followed on her heels like a lovesick idiot.
“Boss called tequila,” Silver said, producing the bottle.
Max whistled and drummed the bar.
“Tequila?” Naomi repeated on a yawn.
“Tradition,” Silver explained. “Gotta celebrate the wins.”
“One more,” I said before Silver started to pour.
Her eyebrows winged up as she produced another glass. “Bossman is in. This is a first.”
Max looked surprised too.
“Wait. Don’t we need salt or lemons or hot sauce or something?” Naomi asked.
Silver shook her head. “That’s for shitty tequila.”
Shots poured, we held our glasses aloft.
“You gotta make the toast,” Max said to me when it became clear no one else was going to do it.
“Fuck. Fine. To a good night,” I said.
“Lame,” Silver said.
I rolled my eyes. “Shut up and drink.”
“Cheers.” We touched glass to glass and then to the wood of the bar. Naomi mimicked us, and I watched her as she knocked back her shot.
I expected her to start gasping and wheezing like a sorority sister during pledge week. But those hazel eyes went wide as she looked at her empty glass. “So apparently I’ve never had good tequila before.”
“Welcome to Honky Tonk,” Max said.
“Thanks. And now that my first shift is officially complete,” Naomi put her glass and apron on the bar and turned to me. “I quit.”
She headed for the door.
“Nooooo!” Silver and Max called after her.
“You better do something,” Silver said, pinning me with a glare. “She’s good.”
“And she’s trying to support a kid, Knoxy. Have a heart,” Max pointed out.
I swore under my breath. “Walk each other out,” I ordered and then went after Naomi.
I found her in the parking lot next to an ancient ten-speed.
“You’re not riding that thing home,” I announced, grabbing the handlebars.
Naomi let out a long sigh. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to pedal or fight. But I still quit.”
“No, you don’t.” Handing her the apron, I hauled the bike over to my truck and put it in the bed. She limped along after me, shoulders slumped.
“Jesus, you look like you got trampled by a herd of horses.”
“I’m not used to being on my feet for hours at a time. Okay, Mr. Pushes Paper From a Comfy Desk Chair?”
I opened the passenger side door and gestured for her to get in. She winced when she climbed up.
I waited until she was settled before shutting her door then rounding the hood and sliding behind the wheel. “You’re not quitting,” I said just in case she hadn’t heard me the first time.
“Oh, I’m definitely quitting. It’s the only thing that got me through the shift. I plotted all night. I’d be the best damn server you ever saw, and then when you had your change of heart, I’d tell you I quit.”
“You’re un-quitting.”
She yawned. “You’re just saying that so you can fire me.”
“No. I’m not,” I said grimly.
“You wanted me to quit,” she reminded me. “I quit. You win. Yay you.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t suck. And you need the money.”
“Your benevolence is astounding.”
I shook my head. Even exhausted, her vocabulary still hit high on the SAT scale.
She rested her head against the seat. “What are we waiting for?”
“Making sure the girls walk out together and get in their cars.”
“That’s nice of you,” she said, yawning again.
“I’m not a complete asshole all the time.”
“So just with me then?” Naomi asked. “I feel so lucky.”
“Cards on the table?” I didn’t feel like sugarcoating it. “You’re not my type.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” she said.
“Nope.”
“You’re not attracted to me, so that means you can’t even be civil to me?”
The back door opened, and we watched Max and Silver exit with the last bag of trash. They marched it to the dumpster together and high-fived after heaving it in. Max waved, and Silver tossed me another salute on their way to their respective cars.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t attracted to you. I said you’re not my type.”
She groaned. “I’m definitely going to regret this, but I think you’re going to have to break it down for me.”
“Well, Daisy. It means my dick doesn’t care that you’re not my type. It’s still standing up, trying to get your attention.”
She was quiet for a long beat.
“You’re too much work. Come with too many complications. And you wouldn’t be satisfied with just a quick fuck.”
“I believe Knox Morgan just said he couldn’t satisfy me. If only I had a phone to immortalize that statement on social media.”
“A. You’re getting a new phone immediately. It’s irresponsible to go without one when you have a kid to think about.”
“Oh, shut up. It’s been a handful of days. Not months. I didn’t know I was going to have a kid to think about,” she said.
“B. I could satisfy the hell out of you,” I plowed on, pulling out of the parking lot. “But you’d just want more, and that doesn’t suit me.”
“Because I’m an ‘uppity, needy pain in the ass,’” she said to the darkness out her window.
I didn’t have a defense. I was an asshole. Plain and simple. And the sooner she realized that, the farther she’d stay from me. Metaphorically speaking.
Naomi let out a weary sigh. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to slap you, jump out of this vehicle, and crawl home,” she said finally.
I turned onto the dirt lane that led to home. “You can slap me tomorrow.”
“Probably just make you want me more.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“You’re just mad because now you have to find a new spot to pee in your yard.”
THIRTEEN
HISTORY LESSONS
Naomi
Waylay and I had survived nearly an entire week together. It felt like a monumental accomplishment as our lives continued to hang in limbo. There had been no contact from the court system or Child Protective Services yet.
But I’d ground up zucchini and green beans into last night’s meatloaf to sneak past Waylay Witt’s discerning nose just in case anyone was watching.
I’d worked two more bar shifts, and the tips were starting to add up. Another financial boon was the arrival of my new credit and debit cards that I got in the mail. I hadn’t gotten all of Tina’s charges erased from my credit card statement, but having access to my meager savings had helped immensely.
I’d had the foresight to pay the mortgage early this month in anticipation of being too deliriously happy on my honeymoon to worry about things like bills. That plus the fact that I no longer had a car payment or insurance to cover meant I could stretch a dollar surprisingly far.
To earn that free rent, I carved out a few hours to spend at Liza’s.
“Who’s that?” Waylay asked, pointing at a framed photo I’d found tucked into the back of one of the cabinets in the dining room.
I looked up from my dust rag and furniture polish to look. It was a picture of an older man looking proud enough to burst with his arm around a beaming redhead in a cap and gown.
Liza, who had said repeatedly she didn’t like cleaning but still insisted on following us from room to room, looked at the photo like she was seeing it for the first time. She took a slow, shaky breath. “That’s, uh. My husband, Billy. And that’s our daughter, Jayla.”
Waylay opened her mouth to ask another question, but I inter
rupted, sensing Liza didn’t want to talk about more family members that hadn’t been mentioned until now. There was a reason this big house had been closed up from the rest of the world. And I guessed the reason was in that picture.
“Have any plans this weekend, Liza?” I cut in, giving Waylay a little shake of my head.
She put the photo face down on the table. “Plans? Ha!” she scoffed. “I do the same thing every damn day. Drag my ass out of bed and putter. All day, every day. Inside, outside.”
“What are you puttering on this weekend?” Waylay asked.
I gave her a thumbs-up that Liza couldn’t see.
“Garden needs some attention. Don’t suppose either of you like tomatoes? Got ’em comin’ out of my ears.”
“Waylay and I love tomatoes,” I said as my niece mimed vomiting on the floor.
“I’ll send you home with a bushel then,” Liza decided.
“I’ll be damned. You got all the burnt crusty stuff off the stove top,” Liza observed two hours later. She was leaning over her range while I rested on the floor, my legs stretched out in front of me.
I was sweating, and my fingers were cramped from aggressive scrubbing. But the progress was undeniable. The mound of dishes was done and put away, and the range gleamed black on all surfaces. I’d taken all of the papers, boxes, and bags off the island and tasked Liza with sorting it all into Keep and Toss piles. The Keep pile was four times the size of the Toss pile, but it still counted as progress.
Waylay was making her own kind of progress. As soon as she’d fixed the errant e-reader that had eaten Liza’s download and a printer that had lost its Wi-Fi connection, Liza had handed over an old Blackberry I’d found in the drawer next to the sink. If Waylay could coax it back to life, Liza said I could have it. A free phone with a number none of my old contacts had? It was perfect.
“I’m starving,” Waylay announced, throwing herself down dramatically on the now-visible counter. Randy the beagle barked as if to emphasize the direness of my niece’s starvation. Kitty the pitbull was sound asleep in the middle of the floor, her tongue lolling out onto the floor.
“Then let’s eat,” Liza said, clapping her hands.
On the word “eat,” both dogs and my niece snapped to attention.
“’Course, I’m not cooking in here. Not with it looking showroom new,” Liza added. “We’ll go to Dino’s. My treat.”
“Their pepperoni is the best,” Waylay said, perking up.
“I could eat a whole pepperoni pie myself,” Liza agreed, hitching up her cargo shorts.
It was nice to see my niece getting comfortable with an adult, but I would have liked it better if I was the one she was sharing pepperoni preferences with.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was failing a test in a class I’d forgotten to attend all semester.
I changed out of my cleaning clothes and into a sundress, then Liza drove us into town in her old Buick that floated around corners like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. She squeezed into a parking space in front of a storefront under an orange awning. The sign in the window said Dino’s Pizza.
A few doors down was some kind of salon or barbershop, its brick facade painted a deep blue. An arrangement of whiskey bottles and cacti in clay pots created an eye-catching window display.
When we got out, a pair of bikers strolled out of the pizza shop, headed toward two Harleys. One of them shot me a wink and a grin.
“That ain’t Tina,” Liza bellowed.
“I know,” he called back. “How’s it goin’, Not Tina?”
Well, at least the fact that I wasn’t Tina was starting to sink in. But I wasn’t very fond of the Not Tina nickname. I waved awkwardly and pushed Waylay ahead of me toward the restaurant door, hoping that the Not Tina thing wouldn’t catch on.
Liza ignored the Please Wait to Be Seated sign and shoved herself into an empty booth.
Waylay marched after her while I hesitated, wanting permission.
“Be right with y’all,” the guy behind the counter called.
Relieved, I slid into the booth next to Waylay.
“So what do you think of Knockemout so far?” Liza asked me.
“Oh, uh. It’s very charming,” I said, perusing the salads on the menu. “How did the town get its name?”
“Don’t know if there’s an official answer. Just that this town has always settled its differences with a good old-fashioned fight. None of this dragging things out in court, getting hoity-toity lawyers involved. Somebody does you wrong, you ring their bell, and then you’re square. Simple. Quick.”
“That’s not how everyone solves problems,” I told Waylay sternly.
“I don’t know. It’s awful satisfying punching someone in the face,” my niece mused. “You ever try it?”
“Physical violence is never the answer,” I insisted.
“Maybe she’s right,” Liza said, addressing Waylay. “Look at my grandsons. Some things can’t be solved with a couple of punches.”
“Knox had Nash in a headlock,” Waylay said.
“Where is our server?” I asked no one in particular.
“Sounds about right,” Liza agreed with Waylay.
“What are they fightin’ about?” my niece asked.
“Those mule-headed boys are always fighting.”
“I heard it was about a woman.”
I jolted as the server leaned over the table to throw down napkins and straws.
“Now what woman would that be, Neecey?” Liza said.
“I’m just repeatin’ what I heard.”
“Seein’ as how everyone knows Knox hasn’t dated a girl from this town since high school. Remember Jilly Aucker moved herself to Canton just to see if a change in zip code would push him over the edge?”
“Yeah. Then she met that lumberjack and had his four lumberjack babies,” Neecey said.
I didn’t want to be interested in that particular information, but I couldn’t help myself.
“I’m just repeatin’ what I heard. It’s a damn shame neither of those boys have ever settled down.” Neecey adjusted her glasses and cracked her gum. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d end their feud by selflessly offering to share myself with both of them.”
“I’m sure your husband would have something to say about that,” Liza ventured.
“Vin’s fallin’ asleep on the sofa five nights out of seven every week for the past ten years. In my book, you snooze, you lose. You must be Not Tina,” the server said. “Heard you and Knox got into screaming matches at the cafe and Honky Tonk, and then he apologized, but you broke a chair over his head, and he needed six stitches.”
I was rendered speechless. Waylay, on the other hand, erupted into peals of laughter.
This town certainly loved its gossip. With rumors like that, it was no wonder I hadn’t heard anything from the caseworker yet. They were probably working on a warrant for my arrest.
“This here’s Naomi and her niece, Waylay,” Liza said, making the introductions.
“And I didn’t break a chair over anyone’s head, no matter how much they deserved it. I’m a very responsible adult,” I told Neecey, in hopes that she’d pass that rumor along.
“Huh. Bummer,” she said.
“Can I have a dollar to play some music?” Waylay asked, pointing at the jukebox in the corner after we’d placed our orders.
Before I could say anything, Liza shoved a crumpled five-dollar bill at her. “Play some country. I miss hearing it.”
“Thanks!” Waylay snatched the bill out of Liza’s hand and headed for the jukebox.
“Why don’t you listen to country anymore?” I asked.
That same look she’d had when Waylay asked her about the photo came back. Wistful and sad. “My daughter was the one who played it. Had it on the radio morning, noon, and night. Taught the boys to line dance practically before they could walk.”
There was a lot of past tense in that sentence. Spontaneously, I reached out and squeezed
her hand. Her focus came back to me, and she squeezed my hand back before pulling free.
“Speakin’ of family, my grandson sure has shown some interest in you.”
“Nash has been so helpful since I got to town,” I said.
“Not Nash, you ninny. Knox.”
“Knox?” I repeated, certain I’d heard her wrong.
“Big guy? Tattoos? Pissed off at the world?”
“He hasn’t shown interest, Liza. He’s shown disdain, disgust, and malice.” He’d also shared an aggressive announcement that his body found my body attractive, but the rest of him found the rest of me revolting.
She hooted. “I bet you’re the one.”
“The one what?”
“The one who’s gonna have him reconsidering this whole bachelor deal. Bet money you’re the first girl he dates from this town in twenty-plus years. And by dates, I mean—”
I held the menu up over my face. “I understand what you mean, but you’re very, very wrong.”
“He’s quite the catch,” she insisted. “And not just cause of the lottery money.”
I was 100 percent certain she was messing with me.
“Knox won the lottery?” I asked dryly.
“Eleven million. Couple of years back.”
I blinked. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“As a heart attack. And he wasn’t one of those buy-a-big-ass-mansion-and-a-fleet-of-foreign-cars winners. He’s even richer now than when he got that big check,” she said with pride.
The man’s boots were older than Waylay.
He lived on his grandmother’s property in a cabin.
I thought of Warner and his family, who definitely did not have $11 million, but acted as if they were the crustiest of the upper crust.
“But he’s just so…grumpy.”
Liza smirked. “Guess it just goes to show money can’t buy happiness.”
We were just digging into a large pepperoni and salad—well, technically I was the only one with salad on my plate—when the front door opened and in walked Sloane the librarian followed by a young girl.
Today, Sloane wore a long tie-dye skirt that skimmed her ankles and a fitted t-shirt with cuffed sleeves. She wore her hair down, creating a long, golden curtain that moved like the material of her skirt. The girl behind her was a chubby-cheeked cherub. She had dark skin, assessing brown eyes, and wore her hair in an adorable puff on top of her head.