Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I didn’t realize I’d leaned over a little until the warmth of Mal’s shoulder made its way through my shirtsleeve. For some reason, just knowing he was there made me feel a little less harried. It was strange since the man had just annoyed the shit out of me two seconds earlier. Why was I drawn to someone who bugged the shit out of me so easily?
He’s beautiful, sexy, intriguing, mischievous, confident…
I shook my head. None of that had anything to do with my mission right now. I tried to focus.
“Inclusive? Football’s plenty inclusive, Charlotte! Just ask your daughter! She’s got the best arm in town for her age group!” He sounded proud and exasperated in equal measure.
“George and Charlotte, nobody cares about football or crafts if they don’t have food.” A woman in a hijab I only vaguely recalled from the day before pushed her way through the crowd. “Brooks, you might not remember me. I’m Salma Alvi? Your father put me in charge of coordinating the food trucks, but he was supposed to get back to me about the final placement. Everyone wants to be closest to the pavilion, obviously—”
“And some of us have been here for years and deserve first choice!” John Timms, who owned the Thicket Tavern, piped up from the back.
The warm scent of sandalwood reached my nose, and I realized Mal was still there at my elbow. I wondered why he hadn’t bolted out of there while he still could.
“Or maybe some of us who are newer but more popular should get some consideration?” a guy about my age I’d never met before argued. “Veg Out has been doing a steady business for nearly three years now.”
“Mario, sweetie, you know I’m a slave for your veggie wraps,” my aunt Dot said, “but y’all can sort this later. The bachelor auction brings this whole town together, and I don’t have the final list of names with their selected charities. We vet all the charities in advance,” she added as an aside to me, “to make sure there’s no funny business.”
Mal snorted softly. “Funny business, heh. As if the concept of auctioning men off isn’t funny enough. Jesus.”
I ignored him, mostly because if I turned to look at him, I’d probably make a goofy face in front of the entire town. Besides, he wasn’t my priority here. And also, he was still on my shit list for being a jerk to Ava.
“All those decisions can happen in good time,” said old Bert Cobb, whose farm ran along the far side of the road across from my parents. “The Lickin’ Lope is tomorrow, and I told Red I couldn’t collect the milk to fill the pails on my own this year. My bursitis is flaring up something terrible. Somebody’d better decide who’s helpin’ by milkin’ time.” He stroked his quivering mustache like he was calming a wild animal.
I ran a hand through my hair as two things simultaneously became very clear.
First, my dad was absolutely not up to the job of being Head Licker. Not in his current condition. And second… neither was I, for a vastly different reason.
“Brooks, honey, my question’s real quick.” Mrs. Jepsen, my old piano teacher, waved a hand from the back of the crowd. “I just need to know which piece you picked for your piano solo at the recital Thursday morning.”
“My…” I hadn’t played the piano in a dozen years. “But the Head Licker doesn’t have to play piano.”
I knew that for a fact, since my dad couldn’t play a piano if you put a gun to his head and threatened to take away his grilling tongs.
“Oh, of course not! But we had a last-minute cancellation, and your mama said you’d step in. Any old piece would be fine, Brooks. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy. You always did such a good job with ‘Clair de Lune’!”
Yeah, back when I was six.
“I don’t—” I began.
“Brooks, honey, my question’s even faster,” Lurleen said importantly. “What was the total number of tickets sold for the dinner dance Saturday, so I can tell Miss Susie?”
“Miss Susie?” I repeated.
“Well, yes! Miss Susie of Susie Dupree’s Deluxe Barbecue agreed to cater the event for free as a gift to the town for our support. Susie is a saint.” Lurleen patted her jet-black hair and added modestly, “We’re second cousins.”
I nearly whimpered. I could maybe fix most of this, but I couldn’t fix all of it. Not all at once. Still, I felt compelled to try… I just wasn’t sure where to begin.
For a second, I sort of forgot how to breathe. But then I felt Mal’s arm shift along mine, and it almost felt deliberate, like a sign of solidarity or support. Surely I was imagining it.
“If you end up playing a piano solo,” he said in a sly voice too soft for anyone else to hear, “be warned that I’m taking a video and posting it online. I will make sure it goes viral.”