The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Man, she’s cute.

  Nah, wait.

  She was cute when she was young and wearing pie filling.

  Now? She’s goddamn ravishing. Gorgeous. Straight-up knock out territory.

  Her hair is pulled back in a long ponytail, and it’s not just chestnut-brown like I remember. It’s turned this rich auburn cinnamon shade, laced with short stripes of pink.

  She’s still the same thin, long-legged girl I remember, but she’s filled out and ripened in ways that won’t stop hounding my cock.

  Shit. I knew my mind would go there eventually.

  That last summer, when she was seventeen, I’d started to look at her in a grown-up way. I’d been twenty, so she was definitely off-limits. Jailbait in a town like Dallas, and anywhere else for good reason.

  A few years apart when you’re young is a gaping chasm. But when you’re older, when you’ve both turned into responsible adults...

  No.

  Not even going there.

  Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

  It’s Tory for fuck’s sake. Not some sexy stranger for me to slobber over.

  “So do you think you’re back for good?” she asks, patting Owl’s head. The big bear of a mastiff sprawls out on her other side, resting his head on her thigh.

  “No,” I admit. “I mean, no plans to hang around here permanently. Just came here to fix up the old place. Get it ready for sale and get my head straight for what’s next.”

  “Oh? Where’d you live before all these years? After you left the Army, I mean?”

  I find myself glancing at her hands, looking for a ring. I figure her granny would’ve mentioned it for sure if she was married, but I can’t help snooping anyway. Nope, no jewelry.

  “Here and there,” I tell her. “Spent lots of time back in Oklahoma, the OKC. I was assigned there for a few years.”

  “Assigned?”

  “I was with the FBI for several years after I took my discharge from the military. Trained in Quantico and then they sent me to work pretty close to home.”

  “Wow. I did not know that.” She looks at me and blinks like she’s seeing someone else.

  Hell, knowing the expression I’m wearing, maybe she is.

  “Not too many people do.” I’m holding out on her for obvious reasons. “I’m on a sabbatical of sorts. Still helping with cases where I can here in Dallas to keep my skills sharp, detective-for-hire type stuff. All safe, easy gigs and quick cash.”

  That’s not completely true. I was on sabbatical till I’d turned in my resignation.

  “Sabbatical.” She nods. “Cool. Everybody deserves some time off. Just look at me.”

  No, it’s not fucking cool. I’d taken a sabbatical because one case went hideously awry, and it was all my fault. Searching for a change of subject, I point to her leg.

  “So you’re just here till the knee heals up? How long will that be?”

  “A couple months at most. End of summer, I guess.” She makes a cute grimace. “Unless Granny gets sick of me and kicks me out sooner.”

  I snort. “Can’t see that happening.”

  “You don’t know my grandmother like I do.” She lays a hand on my forearm. “I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry about your grandpa’s death. I understand he died pretty suddenly, right?”

  I nod. “Thanks. Yeah, I was the only one who made it back here to be at his side in time, but I came. He passed away peacefully, and he wasn’t alone.”

  “I’m glad. Grandpa Faulkner was a good man. The folks in town still talk about him sometimes. They miss his honey.”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “He was still messing around with his bees and selling jars of that stuff almost up to his dying day. I’ve got a few jars somewhere. Stuff keeps forever.”

  Tory smiles. Not about to change the conversation back to me, I look up and I’m glad to see the rain has stopped. Several of the goats poke their heads out from under the tree, slowly venturing deeper into the brush.

  “Well, looks like it’s clearing up,” I tell her. “We’d better leave and let the goats do their thing.”

  She looks up at the blue sky and sunshine lancing down. “That was fast! I’d forgotten how quick the rains can come and go here. Guess I’ve lived with the big lake effect for too long back home.”

  “You know the saying. If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes.” I stand and hold out a hand, helping her up.

  I force myself not to check her out completely. Or let myself think too hard about how sweet her little hand feels in mind.

  Fuck.

  This. Is. Tory. You. Jackass.

  I remind myself for the umpteenth time.

  Childhood friend. Rich and cultured. Walking nostalgia bomb.

  Probably the darling of every rich Chicago big shot on Tinder by now, if she even bothers going stomping around there for dates. I doubt it. She’s probably got a stable of jacked brain surgeons lined up back home.

  Every reason in the world why don’t should be the word of the day.

  Don’t even stare at her yellow-and-white-checkered shirt, tucked into her blue jeans, how it highlights her trim curves to perfection.

  Don’t even pretend to get attached.

  Don’t be stupid.

  “So,” I say, sucking in a fortifying breath of fresh air. “You just leave the goats and come back? No supervision or anything?”

  “As long as they’re fenced in, it’s all good,” she says, stretching her arms over her head, tempting my eyes to skim over wicked places I have no business gawking at.

  I watch the entire tribe of goats go rummaging deeper into the brush. Unlike other animals, they’ll eat up everything before touching a blade of grass.

  Owl ignores the critters as he walks beside us, seemingly just as ready as we are to get out of here.

  “I’ll drive out here and check them every day,” she says. “Plus I have a few other properties to check out, make sure there’s nothing poisonous to the goats before I drop them off.”

  “Like what?”

  “Mountain laurel and swallow-wort.”

  I raise a brow. “Don’t think either of those grow here in North Dakota.”

  “The resources I’ve checked say they don’t.” She flashes another dangerously adorable grin. “But I have to look like I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sure you’re doing a better job than Dean. He’d probably forget to come back for the goats and leave ’em to eat up the Barnets’ pumpkins, too.”

  “I mean...outdoing Uncle Dean doesn’t take much.” She laughs, bumping my arm with her shoulder.

  There is no denying that, but I say, “He’s a good guy. Don’t get me wrong. He’d give you the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it.”

  Although the whole town knows Dean, his schemes, and his famous lack of ambition, he’s helpful in a pinch and generally well liked.

  “Oh, I know he would, and I love him for that. For being who he is. We don’t all get the luxury.”

  I look at her, cocking my head. Somehow, the shift in tone tells me there’s more going on in her life than a healing visit back to these old small-town stomping grounds.

  Tory shrugs. “What can I say? I’m happy to help out, and it gets me out of the house. Away from Granny for a few hours.”

  “Aw, she can’t be that bad. Whirlwind, sure. Pain in the ass, no.”

  “I love her to pieces, but she’s seventy...not sixteen like she thinks she is.”

  I chuckle because it’s true.

  Granny Coffey is as well known in Dallas as her son Dean, and even better liked.

  “When it comes to Granny Coffey, I’d have her pegged at twenty-one, not sixteen. She likes her wine too much to revert back under drinking age.”

  Just like that, Tory grins, her teeth showing real bright in the sun. “She’s a fiend. And you won’t believe what we take to the grocery store.”

  “What, her Nova? That’s one sweet car.” Cherry red, her 1979 Chevy Nova Sup
er Sport is a classic and looks astonishingly brand new.

  Kept inside and only driven to church and the market on Sundays by a little old lady is no lie for that ride.

  “I wish. We’ve got ourselves a tandem bike. Complete with a flower-painted basket on the front and two wire baskets on the back. Bright red, of course.”

  I can’t help smiling at that. “How does your knee handle it? Sounds like a lot of work keeping up with that woman.”

  “Actually, my physical therapist approved it, so a bicycle built for two is how we roll. Matching helmets, too, with daisies she painted on just like the ones on the basket.”

  Laughing together this time, we arrive at the gate. I look at the drainage ditch, knowing how much she’s been favoring that leg.

  The trench is steep, and the grass will be slick now after the rain. Knowing what I’ll have to do, I open the gate and hold it open for her and Owl.

  Once they step through the opening, I close the gate and lock it.

  Then, before she can protest, I hoist her up and start plodding down the ditch.

  “Hold on,” I tell her. “Gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  “Quinn! What do you think you’re doing? I’m not that feeble.” Even as she protests, her arms fold tightly around my neck and I smile. “Put me down this instant—I’m too heavy!”

  “Bull. I could bench-press two of you without breaking a sweat.” I reach the bottom and start up the other side. “I’ve seen how you’re favoring that leg after hanging off the gate like a monkey. No sense in making anything worse.”

  “It’s just sore,” she whines, her long lashes fluttering against my cheek.

  Fuck.

  “It’s injured, Peach. No point in putting more strain on it. Or do you want to double your recovery time? I’ve seen how nasty it gets tearing up the same muscle.”

  By the time we’re back on the other side and reach the road, I’m wondering if I’ll ever be the same.

  She smells as fresh as the air, and holding her like this has my blood roaring through my veins.

  It can’t be her, I tell myself. You just haven’t gotten laid since the Stone Age.

  Not since that fucking disaster in Oklahoma City, anyway, and I turned in my Special Agent badge.

  “There. You’re welcome,” I tell her, planting her gently on the ground again.

  “Well, thanks.” She throws her hands out at her sides, slapping her thighs. “Thank you, Quinn, for all your help today. I’d still be stranded on that gate if you hadn’t stopped by.”

  “Give yourself some credit. You’d have figured something out, but helping you has been nothing but my pleasure. Damn good to see you again, Tory.”

  That’s the full truth.

  Shit, I can’t remember the last time I felt this good, this content.

  I walk over and close the trailer door for her, then lift up the ramp.

  She slides the bolt latch into place, still wearing this sunny smile I linger on a little too long. “Maybe whenever we bump heads again, I won’t look like such an idiot next time.”

  “We will, because you’re gonna call me when it’s time to pick up your goats.” I wink at her. “It takes two people to manage that gate. No sense in having Tobin dirty his hands out here, either. He has a little bit of leg trauma left over from this dustup at the ranch about a year ago.”

  She laughs as she turns, throwing a saucy, too-friendly smile back over her shoulder. “Careful, Quinn. I might just take you up on that offer.”

  Careful is right.

  Scratching the back of my neck—and this time I don’t think it’s a mosquito—I walk to the cab of her truck. “Where’s your phone?”

  “In the door pocket. Why?”

  I pop the door open, fish out the phone, and hand it to her. “Open up your contacts and I’ll punch in my number. It’s your lucky day. Most folks I give this number to are paying clients, but for you and your goats, it’s free.”

  She rolls her eyes. After a couple of swipes on the screen, she hands it back to me.

  I tap in my name and number and hit save before handing it back.

  “Faulk?” She reads it and looks up at me.

  “That’s what everyone calls me now.”

  Her brows knit together as she stares at me, her mouth forming a confused O.

  “I don’t know.” Shaking her head, she grins and looks at me. “You’ll always be Quinn Faulkner to me.”

  “We all change, Tory, but I’ll answer to any of my aliases.” I give her a joking wink and have to look away because my mind is going places it damn well shouldn’t. “Let me get the passenger door for Owl.”

  I say goodbye once the dog climbs in the truck, then shut the door and walk to my truck.

  She drives forward, lurches up the road, and then backs the trailer in with precision. Then she pulls out and heads toward the highway down the long winding drive Ridge complains about non-stop in the winter when it becomes an impassable wall of snow.

  We’re going in the same direction.

  Damn. Tory Coffey.

  I’ve thought about her plenty over the years, wondering whatever became of the girl who made my summers here a lot more exciting.

  We all change, just like I told her.

  For a second, I think I slipped back into that goofy, easygoing boy I used to be. The one she knew like her own shadow those summers half a lifetime ago.

  I wish that’s who I could be.

  Trouble is, it doesn’t last, and I’m right back to being the man I’ve become—the man she’d be afraid of.

  If she only knew what kind of haunted, bitter wraith I’ve become as Faulk, hiding my grief behind the odd flash of humor, I think she’d never speak to me again.

  If I’ve checked my phone once for messages and missed calls since yesterday morning, I’ve checked it a hundred times.

  Literally lost count of how many times I’ve glanced at the screen.

  Tory hasn’t called.

  I’d expected her to after checking on the goats in the morning, but maybe she doesn’t go out there till afternoons. I’d called Ridge while driving to the highway with her in Dean’s truck and told him he had to put a walking bridge over the ditch before somebody snaps their neck.

  I know for certain it’s been done. When Ridge and Tobin find out there’s anything they can do to upgrade their property, they’re on it.

  Now I’m looking forward to Tory’s reaction, whenever she sees it.

  I shouldn’t be so impatient. What’s waiting a little longer for her to call?

  I’ve got plenty to keep me busy, like replenishing my kitchen.

  Walking along the meat aisle of the grocery store, I absently grab at packages, making sure I hit all the major food groups.

  Beef. Chicken. Pork. Sausage. Salmon. Bacon.

  More bacon.

  My freezer needs to be stocked. Working day and night, I’ve barely left the house, trying to wrap up the kitchen remodel I’ve been picking at since late spring.

  The rest of the house will need minor stuff. New doors, trim, fresh paint. The floors and windows were done last year. Same for the siding and new porch.

  “Wellll, if it isn’t Quinn Faulkner!” a familiar voice chirps, announcing my presence to the whole store.

  I’m already wearing a grin when I turn around.

  “Hello, Granny.” My smile widens when I notice two helmets in her shopping cart, both with white and yellow daisies painted on them.

  The knowing glance I share with Tory nearly makes me burst out laughing.

  “Look at this cart, young man,” Granny says, clucking her tongue. She shoves her hands inside, lifting out a couple meat packages. “Meat, more meat, and chips? Not a fruit or vegetable in sight. Shameful.”

  I pick up two bottles and hold them out. “Hot sauce is made of peppers, Granny Coffey. Peppers are a vegetable, last I checked. Plus, catsup, tomatoes, technically a fruit. Unless scientists have started giving plants the Pluto treatment.”
<
br />   Tory bites her lips together as she swallows her laughter.

  “Nice try. Since you mentioned Pluto—still a planet, forever, by the way—your nonexistent veggies are just as invisible to the naked eye.” Granny plants her hands on her hips, eyeballing me with the same bright-blue eyes she shares with her granddaughter. “Are you still working day and night at your grandfather’s place?”

  She’s wearing a neon orange shirt, white ankle-length jeans, and high-heeled sandals. Her hair is dyed dark brown, and her skin is as tan as a teenager’s. All in all, she looks good for her age, but it’s her personality that wins everybody over.

  This woman’s not afraid to tell anyone how a bear shits in the woods.

  “It’s keeping me busy,” I tell her, eyeing my stolen bacon.

  “Along with your detective work,” she says. “Tell me, has anyone had you MacGyver anything with a sausage yet? You’ve got enough to feed three grown men, so surely there’s some to spare.”

  I glance at Tory, who has a brow lifted.

  “Hardly. And those side gigs of mine ought to stay quiet if I want folks to hire me,” I tell her. “Enough with the rumors.”

  I give her a friendly wink.

  Honestly, I’m grateful for the detective jobs. Mainly for something to do besides swing a hammer, lay tile, and put in countertops. It keeps me paid and comfortable in a town where jobs don’t grow on career trees.

  “They aren’t rumors and you know it.” She’s pulling lettuce, cucumbers, bananas, peaches, and other vegetables and fruits out of her cart and putting them in mine. “You should show Tory what you’ve done with the old place.” Setting a basket of strawberries in my cart, Granny looks at her. “You’d like a trip down memory lane, wouldn’t you?”

  “Um, Gran...you just put all the groceries into Quinn’s cart,” Tory says, avoiding the question. “It took you twenty minutes to pick them out.”

  “Isn’t that kind of me? Making sure he has the very best in the store.” Granny looks at me. “Tory’s not busy tonight, Quinn.” The old gal wags her painted-on eyebrows once. “She’ll be home alone while I go to the senior center. It’s bridge night.”

  “Gran!” Tory hisses.