The Best Friend Zone: A Small Town Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “Well, actually...I just accepted an invite to eat at the diner.”

  Granny looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Really, now? Did the Faulkner boy come to his senses?”

  “Um, don’t know about that, but...yeah. It’s Quinn.”

  Stupid blush.

  Stupid tongue.

  Stupid me.

  “Well, well, finally some good news around here! What did I tell you, Tory?” She lets out a loud cackle as she closes the fridge door.

  “Gran, it isn’t like that. We’re just—”

  “Nooope. Not listening. No colorful f-words around here, young lady.” Still smiling, she presses her hands against her ears and walks away.

  Yes, having a normal conversation with my grandmother someday is still on my bucket list.

  Owl stands up from his spot on the floor and stretches, blissfully oblivious to my death by embarrassment.

  “Hope you’re hungry, you little bear,” she whispers, patting Owl’s head. “I’ll be sharing my steak with you instead while Tory goes off on her big date.”

  Oh my God.

  Ignoring her insanity, I head for the sink to wash my hands.

  “Is that all right?” I ask her, turning the faucet on. “Him staying here with us? I figured it’d be easier that way than dragging him back and forth.”

  “Quinn? Most certainly,” Gran says without a lick of hesitation.

  “What? No, I...” My heart pounds so hard the rush renders me speechless. “Not Quinn. Owl. You know that’s who I meant! Anyway, with him here, I don’t have to drive over to Uncle Dean’s to drop him off or pick him up in the mornings.”

  “Of course, it’s all right. I love having baby mammoths as guests.” She pulls out a cutting board and whacks the head of lettuce in half with one slice of her knife. “And the invitation remains open for Quinn anytime. I adore having cavemen around the house, too.”

  “Gran!” I huff out a breath, awed that she’s reached a new level of insufferable. “Why are you riding this train so hard anyway? Now that I’m busted, is that the plan? Just hitch me up with some local boy and marry me off?” Grabbing a towel, I add, “I mean, I remember you not wanting me to spend too much time with Quinn years ago.”

  “Back then, you weren’t a grown woman. You were a young girl with a crush, and Quinn was that older boy.”

  “I never had a crush on him.”

  The words taste like ash. Did I mention I’m a terrible liar?

  “And I’m still a virgin.” Her eye roll leaves me dizzy.

  “Gran!”

  “What? You can’t believe it?” She hacks at the lettuce again, muttering to herself. “Join the club, Tory. I don’t believe a word out of you either, dear. And don’t wheel me off to the nursing home just yet. My memory’s as clear as a looking glass. I’ll be pushing daisies before I forget how you mooned over that boy every summer since you got caught trying to break into Farmer Faulkner’s bees.”

  I hang the towel on the oven door with a little twist of shame.

  “Granny, I’m not worried about your mind. Your hearing, though...let’s try this again. We became good friends that day. We’re still friends. Nothing more.”

  “It could be plenty more, girl, with a bull like him,” she whispers, throwing me an annoyed glance.

  “Gran.”

  “Oh, enough. Nothing I’ve said is that scandalous. You’re a grown woman, Tory, smack-dab in your prime. You’ve had a regular boyfriend before. I just wish you’d find one who treats you right.”

  And I wish she’d butt out.

  But I see her point.

  In her totally outrageous Gran way, she’s always looking out for me.

  “Well, he’s history now,” I tell her.

  “Thank God! Didn’t that man wear leggings?” She looks up in horror.

  “He’s a dance director, Gran. A guy has to put freedom of movement above fashion.”

  “Bah.” She swipes a hand through the air. “And to think how your mother used to threaten me. She said I’d never see you again if you ever came home pregnant after your summers here, yet there she goes and throws you in bed with Jean-Paul What’s-his-face because he’s supposed to be the best dance coach on the planet. Never mind the fact that he was ten years older than you, and divorced twice!”

  Damn.

  Right between the eyes.

  I bite my lips together to keep from responding. I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry because everything she’s said is true.

  Besides me becoming pregnant in Dallas when I was young. That’s the first I’m hearing it, and sad to say, it’s exactly what Mom would worry about.

  Why, I think her head might pop off if I ever tarnished the illustrious Redson-Riddle bloodline of admirals, artists, and politicians with something as pearl-clutching as an unplanned pregnancy with a farm boy. Even now that I’m in my mid-twenties.

  Ugh.

  “Quinn was just as infatuated with you,” Gran continues with a sigh. “But he was also too sensible. He understood the wretched complications with you two doves getting closer then. He really was a responsible kid, so mature for his age, and he’s a heck of a grown man now. He needs some, and so do you, dear.”

  What. Is. Happening?

  Of all the madness I expect with Gran, standing in her kitchen while she critiques my sex life—and Quinn’s—is not on my big list of crazy.

  “Um, what?” Dumbfounded, I stare at her.

  “An affair. A sleepover. A little nighttime nibble.” She shrugs like she’s telling me the weather. “Call it whatever you want, but I bet that young man’s an absolute wolverine when the lights go out. Don’t you?”

  Holy Toledo.

  I can’t even form a coherent response. My mind is blown by the places she’s gone, and I’m not coming along for the ride.

  It also doesn’t help to have her feeding red meat to thoughts I shouldn’t be having.

  “You know I love you, Tory, and I also know what you need,” Granny continues, undaunted. “To know other men so you can get that jackass dance instructor out of your head.” She points the twelve-inch knife that she’s using to dice a cucumber now right at me. “I’m sorry your knee was injured, but frankly, I think it might be the best thing to ever happen to you. Now you have a chance to see what else life has to offer besides a jerk of a boyfriend-boss who walks like he has a corncob stuck up his butt. I’ve seen the Barnet rooster, Cornelius, with a better strut.”

  I groan, pushing a hand over my face.

  “Is that why you were so insistent I come out here to heal?”

  “Yep. You’ve also been living your mother’s dreams too long and losing yours. It’s time for you to find your own, Tory. Sometimes you kids need to hear it from your grandparents.”

  “Sometimes,” I echo, sarcasm off the charts.

  “Fine. Just ask Bella Larkin, then. Old Jonah Reed was still giving her advice after he was dead, or so I hear. Now look at her—married to the man of her dreams and a little bundle of joy on her knee!” She winks and goes back to cutting up her cucumber. “Don’t get me wrong, now, I love your mama. For some unholy reason, she’s made your father very happy over the years, and me, by giving birth to you.”

  I sense there’s more coming. With Granny there always is.

  “But she’s made you chase after her dance career since the time you could walk,” she says, shaking her head. “She wanted you to be a dancer when she couldn’t anymore. Hardly fair.”

  “But I wanted to be a dancer, too,” I say, feeling the need to defend my mother on this one. She’s been my biggest motivator and probably my biggest fan. Biggest hard-ass, definitely. “I’m not some robot running around, doing whatever she tells me to.”

  “I know, dear, and you’re a beautiful dancer. Always have been.” She pushes aside the cucumber and starts on an onion, dicing it in no time without a hint of tears. “Still, you never had a chance to be anything else. You’ve been a little puppet on a string, and Gloria made sure
you enjoyed it.” Barely taking a breath, she points the knife at the clock. “Time’s a wasting. You’d best go get showered. Want me to pick out an outfit for you?”

  “No, thanks, I have plenty of clothes.” I head for the hall, wondering about what she’d just said.

  “Don’t be afraid to show a little cleavage!” she shouts in my wake.

  Good Lord.

  I love that woman, though, even if she’s blunt as a brick. She’s as tactful as she is tall, which is barely five feet.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Unfortunately!” I yell back.

  And maybe, just for kicks, I won’t be afraid tonight.

  Every so often, Granny’s unique lunacy turns out to be a stroke of genius.

  What if Quinn is the distraction I need?

  What if it’s just a little innocent flirting?

  Granny was certainly right about the crush I had on him once upon a time.

  And that last innocent summer, given the chance, if Quinn had done anything even hinting at being more than my big, older, adorably overprotective friend...

  God. I would’ve been all over it. Head over heels.

  As I step into the shower and let my brain go to shower-thoughts, the same question hits me over and over.

  What if Quinn feels just as torn up over what-ifs as I am?

  I towel off, blow dry my hair, and use the straightener before I realize this is way too much effort for a man I’m not dating.

  Then I toss on a pair of skinny black jeans, a low-cut pink-and-white cami-tank top, and Granny’s dress boots with the bright-pink stitching. At the last second, I grab a silky white blouse, just in case I feel exposed with too much boob hanging out.

  It’s just to humor Gran, and myself, I think. I’m not actually giving Quinn a show.

  Right.

  Maybe if I repeat it enough times I’ll believe it, too.

  Granny is still putzing around in the kitchen, whipping up a homemade ranch dressing for her salad.

  The shrill wolf whistle she belts out as I enter the room makes Owl bolt up. The big mastiff lets out a heavy woof! of approval. I think.

  “See? Smart boy! How’d you hook up with old Dean, anyway?” Laughing, Granny flashes me a wink.

  “I wondered the same thing. How did Uncle Dean ever train him so well? He hasn’t had him too long.” I’d never asked until now.

  “Train him? You kidding?” Granny cackles. “He came with the goats, dear.” She then gives me a critical eye. “Wait. Those aren’t my jeans.”

  “Nope, mine.”

  “I might have to borrow them. They have a way of making your cute butt even cuter. Good eye.”

  I shake my head at her, beyond mortified, even if I’m also glad she’ll go to her grave being Granny Coffey.

  “Have you heard about how Faulk—as everyone calls him now—helped Ridge Barnet bust some baddies who were after Ridge’s wife? Grace is such a doll, and one hell of an interior decorator. I can’t wait until my kitchen and bathroom remodels are done. She’s been drafted to help.”

  “I heard, it’s quite a story. And when are you having remodeling done?”

  She spins around and fumbles with the lid, fixing it on her bowl of dressing. “Um, soon. Very soon. Do I hear a truck?”

  I get a feeling that something is off somewhere, but I’m not sure what as I walk into the living room and look out the window.

  “Is it Quinn?”

  “Not yet. You know, half the single ladies in this town have tried to flash him for attention ever since he moved back to town. Why, the Bobcat is practically turning into a low-grade strip club some nights between girls chasing Quinn and his pal, Grady. Lucky for that grump of a bartender he can hide behind his little girls.”

  “Yeah, I found that out today,” I say, still looking out the window at the empty street.

  “Oh? Enlighten me.”

  “Carolina Dibs.”

  Granny’s face twists like she’s bitten into a rancid orange.

  “Yuck, yuck, yuck! That strumpet? She’s had more men on her than a Vegas sofa, and I guarantee you Quinn Faulkner isn’t one of them. The boy has the good sense not to rot his equipment.”

  Snickering, I pivot on one heel and watch her standing in the archway from the hall into the living room. Earlier, when Carolina told Quinn she’d missed him, I’d felt a stab of jealousy far deeper than I’d felt over Jean-Paul and Madeline.

  “How do you even know that, Gran? You’re an expert on Quinn’s love life too?”

  Granny laughs. “Because he has good taste and a brain, dear.” She walks into the living room. “When did you see Carolina Dibs?”

  “Oh, I dropped the goats off for her landlord.”

  “Wesley Grouper?”

  I shrug.

  “Don’t remember the name, only the address.” Recalling the old man I’d also delivered goats to, I say, “I also delivered goats to Robert Duncan.”

  “Oh, that old goat? I don’t like the idea of you going some places all by yourself.”

  “Not alone. I have Owl.”

  “And Quinn?” she asks, obviously hell-bent on tormenting me as long as she can.

  “He called while I was at Carolina’s place and kinda bailed me out. She wasn’t happy about the goats showing up, to put it mildly.”

  “Don’t ya love having a hero around? I like that man more and more.” She winks at me. “If you don’t hurry it up, I might consider tossing in a bid to go after the most eligible bachelor in Dallas myself.”

  My jaw drops because this is one of those times when it’s hard to tell if she’s joking.

  Ouch.

  A flash of lights in the driveway draws my eye back to the window. “He’s here. Do you want to tell him you’re that hard up for a date, or should I?”

  With a wicked smile, she tugs at her apron, so the words are clearly visible while she walks to the front door. “I will.”

  No way. She can’t be serious.

  I scuttle in front of her. “Please don’t.”

  She just laughs and skirts around me to open the door.

  “Hello, handsome!”

  “Granny. Lovely as always,” he says, walking inside. Once he reaches the door, he leans forward and smiles. “Nice apron. Kind of you to give every bachelor in town a reminder.”

  “If someone ever invites you to the house for dinner, I’ll loan her the apron,” she says, stepping aside and glancing at me.

  Quinn laughs and gives Owl a greeting pat on the head while looking at me with his emerald eyes twinkling.

  “Ready for some grub?”

  I smile, rubbing a temple, knowing no matter what I say, it’ll be twisted by Granny. So we’d better get out of here ASAP.

  “I just need to grab my purse from the kitchen,” I say. “Hang on.”

  As I enter the hall, I hear Granny telling Quinn about her going next door, and hurry for the kitchen, hoping like hell she keeps the conversation strictly platonic until I can get back.

  If I’m really lucky, she won’t embarrass me to death again.

  “Well, as you know, I’m not like most grannies,” she says as I reenter the living room.

  “No, Granny, you most certainly ain’t,” Quinn agrees, concealing a smile as he scratches his chin.

  I step between the two of them. “Ready.”

  He laughs, winks at Granny, and then swaggers aside for me to walk out of the door before him.

  “I won’t wait up!” Granny shouts. “And I’m a deep, deep sleeper!”

  When does the torture end?

  I close my eyes, resisting the urge to drag my face right off with my hand. No need to dwell on her playing matchmaker so the first minute of our little outing feels brutally awkward.

  “Good thing you have Owl here,” Quinn says to Granny, blissfully oblivious to her hints.

  I hope.

  Granny laughs her butt off as she closes the door, and I hold in another groan.

  I love her to pieces
, but she truly is a piece of work.

  “Looking good, Peach,” he says, casting that wild green gaze across me. “Hell of a good summer style.”

  “Y-you too,” I say shyly.

  Pathetic, I know.

  Of course he looks extremely sinful.

  He’s changed into a white shirt that enhances just how tanned he is, and the pearl snaps make me imagine watching him remove it with those big rough hands.

  Damn you, Granny. She’s succeeded at putting horrid thoughts in my head with her idiotic 'nighttime nibble.'

  “Because it’s you, I’m gonna admit it’s the only clean shirt I had left in my closet,” he says with a grin.

  I climb in the passenger side of his big blue truck and wait until he’s in the driver’s seat before asking, “Don’t like doing laundry?”

  “Can’t do laundry. Not by anything but hand or a trip to the laundromat. I haven’t installed the new washer yet. That’s up next tomorrow. Old one conked out on me a couple months ago.”

  “A likely excuse.” I flick my tongue out at him.

  Again, he gives me that addictive chuckle while putting the truck in reverse. “The washer’s been there for a week. No denying it.”

  “Why didn’t you just have the delivery guy install it?”

  “Because I’m the delivery guy, Peach.”

  Curious, I ask, “What made you stick around and fix up your grandpa’s place, anyway? Seems like that’s something you could hire out and wrap up fast.”

  “It was time for a rest, and there’s no place like little old Dallas. Go back to my roots and forget the OKC for a while, y’know?”

  Yeah.

  I also know he’s gone stiff as a board. I sense it as well as see it.

  Well, at least I’m not alone.

  I have enough tension brewing with Granny’s cursed thoughts.

  But I just want this evening to be nice, casual, and uneventful, so I nod.

  “Cool beans.”

  He glances at me and grins. “You still say that? How many more Tory-isms have you kept up?”