Charlie laughs brusquely. “She’s trying to marry you off to a pig farmer, Stephens.”
“She is not.”
“You said she’s trying to give you your own small-town romance novel,” he says wryly. “You know how those books end, don’t you, Nora? With a big wedding inside of a barn, or an epilogue involving babies.”
I scoff. Of course I know how they end. Not only have I watched my exes live them, but when Libby and I still shared an apartment, I’d read the final pages of her books almost compulsively. That never really tempted me to turn back to page one.
“Look, Lastra,” I say. “My sister and I are here to spend time together. You probably didn’t learn this in whatever lab spawned you, but vacations are a fairly typical way for loved ones to bond and relax.”
“Yes, because if anything’s going to relax a person like you,” he says, “it’s spending time in a town conveniently situated between two equidistant Dressbarns.”
“You know, I’m not as much of an uptight control freak as either you or Dusty seem to think. I could have a perfectly nice time on a date with a pig farmer. And you know what? Maybe it’s a good idea. It’s not like I’ve had any luck with New Yorkers. Maybe I have been fishing in the wrong pond. Or, like, the wrong stream of nuclear waste runoff.”
“You,” he says, “are so much weirder than I thought.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, before tonight, I assumed you went into a broom closet and entered power saving mode whenever you weren’t at work, so I guess we’re both surprised.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” he says. “When I’m not at work, I’m in my coffin in the basement of an old Victorian mansion.”
I snort into my glass, which makes him crack a real, human smile. It lives, I think.
“Stephens,” he says, tone dry once more, “if you’re the villain in someone else’s love story, then I’m the devil.”
“You said it, not me,” I reply.
He lifts a brow. “You’re scrappy tonight.”
“I’m always scrappy,” I say. “Tonight I’m just not bothering to hide it.”
“Good.” He leans in, dropping his voice, and an electric current charges through me. “I’ve always preferred to have things out in the open. Though the pig farmers of Sunshine Falls might not feel the same way.”
His gaze flicks sidelong toward mine, his scent vaguely spicy and familiar. An unwelcome heaviness settles between my thighs. I really hope my chin divot hasn’t found a way to announce that I’m turned on.
“I already told you,” I say. “I’m here for my sister.”
And as much anxiety as I feel being away from home, the truth is, I spend the length of Libby’s pregnancies in a low-grade panic anyway. At least this way I can keep an eye on her.
I never dreamed of having my own kids, but the way I felt during Libby’s first pregnancy really sealed the deal. There are just too many things that can go wrong, too many ways to fail.
I pitch myself onto a stool at the corner of the bar and almost fall over in the process.
Charlie catches my arms and steadies me. “How about some water?” he says, sliding onto the empty stool beside mine, that suppressed smirk/pout/what-even-is-this tugging his full lips slightly to one side as he signals to the bartender.
I square my shoulders, trying for dignified. “You’re not going to distract me.”
His brow lifts. “From?”
“I won one of those games. You owe me information.” Especially given the horrifying amount I just blurted out.
His head tilts, and he peers down his face at me. “What do you want to know?”
Our lunch two years ago pops into my head, Charlie’s irritated glance at his watch. “You said you were trying to catch a flight the day we met. Why?”
He scratches at his collar, his brow furrowing, jaw etched with tension. “The same reason I’m here now.”
“Intriguing.”
“I promise it’s not.” Waters have appeared on the bar. He turns one in place, his jaw tensing. “My dad had a stroke. One back then, and another a few months ago. I’m here to help.”
“Shit. I—wow.” Immediately, my vision clears and sharpens on him, my buzz burning off. “You were so . . . together.”
“I made a commitment to be there,” he says, with a defensive edge, “and I didn’t see how talking about it would be productive.”