“So, why celebrity publicist?” I ask, pulling a country left.
Haven glances over her shoulder at me. “It all started while I interned at Avalon Films. I got to work with a lot of A-list talent on Emmy campaigns. After I graduated, I applied for a digital marketing job at MCA and ended up getting it. I worked on a digital influence campaign for The Sundance Film Festival as my first assignment. Frankie promoted me to Publicity Assistant after a year and then two years after that, I was promoted again. That’s when I knew that I was meant for the career. Plus, I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty cool when your clients mention you in their award speeches. I like celebrating people and their achievements.”
“Sounds like you’re very passionate about it. Do you think you’ll stay at MCA permanently?”
Haven’s eyes sparkle when they meet mine. “I’m on the fast track for partner. Although, I have thought about starting my own boutique firm. Smaller staff, work with more brands and maybe even luxury hospitality.”
“That sounds really cool.”
“I’ve had this vision that Ryleigh and I would open our own agency. I think we’d be really great at it. Between the two of us, I think . . . no, not think, I believe we could create some magic. There’s a science to and a finesse in changing attitudes and increasing a person or a brand’s influence.”
This woman. Can she even be real?
Fuck.
And I understand what she’s saying. Usually I have to reach for intelligent conversation with a woman. Not with Haven.
“So, are your skills purely limited to celebrities? Or could you lend some help to a guy who owns a farm-to-table restaurant in central Kentucky?”
“What do you have in mind?”
She smiles at me and I swear my heart cannonballs right into my gut.
“The rooftop bar is just the tip of things I have planned for The Saffron House. But, if I do all the things that I want to, I think I’d have to leave Nichols Corp.”
“Have you talked to your parents about that?”
“No, my dad has mentioned passing the business onto my kids one day.” My hand leaves hers as I maneuver my truck onto Main Street in Mayfield. One empty building after another line the street. Mayfield is falling apart, despite being a top attraction on the Bourbon Trail.
“Wow,” Haven says. “What happened to the business district?”
“Well, the last mayor managed to drive out most of the business owners by raising fees and expenses. And when the McDaniel’s distillery lost years of their bourbon supply in the collapse, it only got worse.”
“Jeez, I knew a few of the buildings stood empty, but I didn’t realize there were so many. This is depressing. I remember being a kid and coming down here with Sage. In the summer, we’d hang out at the soda shop and then ride our bikes back to my house and spend the day in the pool.”
Her face lights up as she talks about her summer memories. We edge closer to the outskirts of town just before the railroad tracks. The sign to The Penny Plate comes into view.
“Ah, The Penny Plate. This place.” She shakes her head. “My brothers and I had to beg our parents to bring us here for a burger and fries.”
I smirk and pull into a spot. “Best burgers in the state, aside from the ones at my place.”
“Well, of course.”
I place our order—two of their famous double cheeseburgers with crinkle cut fries and two chocolate peanut butter malts for good measure. Car after car pulls into to the restaurant and there’s a line past the tracks. Summer tourism is good for The Penny Plate.
“I can smell the greasy goodness,” she comments. “It’s just hanging in the air. Hard to believe this place is so popular—thriving. While only a few miles away, downtown Mayfield is dying a slow death,”
“Small towns are dying in general.” I pull down the arm rest between us. “This can be our table.”
She smiles and drags her gaze toward the crowd of people gathered at the ice cream window. “This place is like a time warp, yet it’s hopping like The Ivy.”
“I’ve always wanted to eat there,” I mention. “If I could I’d spend a month traveling to all the places I’d love to eat.”
We sit in the cab of my truck listening to the radio and people watching. I’ve never done this, just sitting in my truck with a beautiful woman by my side. The silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable.
“Two Penny burgers with cheese, fries on the side and two chocolate peanut butter malts,” our server announces and then hands me a brown paper bag and a drink tray. Haven takes the drinks from me and deposits them into the cup holders.
“Thanks.” I nod to the server and then hand the bag to Haven. “Here you go, girl. Serve it up.”
“Yes,” Haven answers and rubs her hands together. “I. Am. Starving.”
I like that Haven isn’t afraid to eat. Stereotypes and preconceived notions aside, I mean she does live in California.
She digs into her fries first and the moans of appreciation that fall from her lips are making my dick hard.
“These fries are so crispy,” she mentions before popping three into her mouth at once. I close my eyes and try not to think about how wide her lips just parted.
Don’t be gross.
“I used to dream of food in my sleep when I was kid. Burgers, pizza, onion rings.”
“Yum, onion rings. We should get some to go.”
I laugh. “Let’s just order one of everything.”
“Or we can come back here again,” she suggests, unwrapping her burger.
She takes a big bite and her feet tap on the floor. Damn. Everything she does is so sexy.
“I want to know more about your childhood,” she says, before shoveling two more fries into her mouth. “But only if you want to tell me.” She gives me a soft smile.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. As far as I’m concerned, for you, I’m an open book.”
Haven eats like she is starving. I remember that feeling all too well. Hunger pains are the worst.
“Good,” she says, coming up for air. “And you can ask me anything you want too.”
I take another bite and gather my thoughts. “Before we moved into the house, we had a pretty decent life. We were poor, but we didn’t go without the essentials. We lived on a small farm outside Clinton Park and my bio grandparents lived down the road.”
“Were you close to your grandparents?” she asks.
“No, I was a little scared of my grandpa. He was always yelling and hollering about odd stuff. He had outbursts at random times. I remember my grandma had a pair of zebra finches in a birdcage in the dining room of their house. They chirped and squawked or whatever sounds those birds make, anyway . . . out of nowhere he marched to the cage, opened it and snapped their necks.”
Haven gasps and wheezes. I rub small circles between her shoulder blades on her back as she coughs and tries to regain her breathing or keep from choking.
“That’s fucking awful. He did that in front of you? When you were a kid?”
“Are you okay?” I ask, dipping my head to meet her eyes.
She waves me off and wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Yeah, I’m fine. Wrong pipe.” She tosses the burger wrapper into the bag and then takes a drink of her malt.
“Yeah, he did that in front of me,” I admit. “I never liked going to their house much anyway. It always smelled funky.” I laugh. “In hindsight, guess that smell was far better than the one in my mom’s house.”
“That’s awful.” She shakes her head. “So, why did you guys move from the farm to the place in town?”
“My bio dad ran off a few years before and that left us to take care of the farm. Momma, that is what me and Ava called her—she worked at a factory during the day, but farming is full-time. I had an uncle, his name was Don, Momma’s brother. He and his two kids lived with us at the farm after Don and his wife got divorced. I can’t remember her name, I think Tonya or something, anyway she was an ad
dict.” I paused to eat some fries. By Haven’s expression, I don’t know if I’m doing a good job of telling her any of this stuff.
“He and his son, my cousin Earl,” I continue, “worked on our farm and Grandpa came to help, but it just got to be too much with both farms. Two cows died one winter. That’s when things got really bad. The house started to fall apart and I remember having to chop wood outside on cold nights with my other cousin, Billy.”
“Do you think about your bio family? I mean do you ever wonder about them?”
“Rarely. I know my grandparents have passed away. I think Uncle Don did too. I don’t know about Billy, Earl or even Momma. You remember when you told me that your name was March?”
She gives me a small smile. “Yeah.”
“Momma named me Winston,” I say with a laugh and my head falls back. “Ava’s name was Capri. We were both named after cigarette brands.”
Haven stares at me for a moment and her hands twist together. Quiet surrounds us and the sounds of people laughing and the hums of idling vehicles fill the spaces in between. It gives me a moment to finish off my burger and take a few sips of my malt.
“Cigarettes, really?” She blows out a harsh breath and shakes her head. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you. I’m sorry is the only thing I can seem to say and that doesn’t seem remotely comforting enough because you lived through a nightmare.” She grasps my hand and squeezes.
“Hey.” I turn to face her, noticing the splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “You don’t need to be sorry. I have a good life and it’s all because on that day, someone was lookin’ out for me.”
She nods. “I’m so glad that they were.”
“So, the burger was terrible, huh?”
She laughs and pats her stomach. “Terrible as you can tell. These fries are the bomb.”
“Still want those onion rings?” I ask, before shoveling a few fries into my mouth.
“Uhm no.” Haven waves her hands in front of her. “I might explode. My eyes were definitely bigger than my stomach today. I’m going to have to run ten miles tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t explode. I just had this baby detailed. Plus”—I lean across the console to kiss Haven—“I have an idea on how to work off this greasy stuff that we just inhaled.”
Her brows lift. “Oh, do you now?”
I smirk. “Flattered, beautiful, but that isn’t quite what I had in mind for tonight, but . . . if that’s what you want.” I reach for my belt buckle and inch my zipper down.
“Are you crazy?” she hisses and her head swivels around. “Stop, there are people inches from the truck.”
I laugh and take the zipper back up. “You’re so easy to mess with.”
Haven
Daylight isn’t even fading when Tyler and I leave The Penny Plate. We drive back through Mayfield and on to Smyrna Hills. Tyler turns down Walnut Street which leads us right smack into a bustling town square. I’m surprised how much this place has grown . . . thrived.
“Wow, Smyrna Hills looks so much different than Mayfield. And they’re only miles apart.”
“Kinda crazy, huh?” He smiles at me and his blue eyes beam with intensity. I notice the flecks of brown as the bright sunlight flashes across his face.
We pull in front of a wine bar. An actual wine bar. It’s just as posh as The Saffron House from the outside. We walk inside, and my eyes don’t know where to look first. At first glance I see a brick wall that houses four shelves of liquors. The wine bottles, and the six or so bourbon barrels anchored above with the wine names stamped on them in white lettering. Then there’s the adorable bar top composed entirely of white subway tiles. And don’t get me started on the mid-century modern bar stools. This place is cool.
“Welcome to Thistle and Rye,” Tyler says, and guides me to the bar. “Let’s try one of the local wines. What do you say?”
“Sure, sounds great.”
We hop onto a pair of bar stools and the bartender greets us, placing two menus in front of us.
“I suggest the traminette, a white wine,” our bartender offers.
“Sounds good,” Tyler says and levels his gaze to me.
I nod. “But let’s go with the dry not the sweet.”
The place is hopping. Almost every table is occupied and the bar is nearly full. The low hum of music plays over the speakers and conversations rise and fall in rhythmic succession.
“I can’t believe this place exists in small-town Kentucky.”
Tyler winks at me. “This place has been here about two years. There’s a gelato shop next door. There’s even an art gallery on the corner.”
My brows rise. “An art gallery?”
Before Tyler can answer me, our wine arrives.
I pick up the glass, give it a good swirl and then take a long sniff. Tyler follows my lead, although I expect he would have done that anyway given his food education from that summer he spent in Italy.
My mouth is met with an explosion of flavors and I swallow another gulp. It’s good, like really good. My gaze flicks to the windows and the sidewalks are crawling with people. It reminds of East Harbour in the summer, if I’m being honest.
We hang out and chat a bit more about Mayfield and Smyrna Hills—and enjoy another glass of wine. As we’re getting ready to leave, I hop off the bar stool and say, “I need to use the ladies’ room before we head out.”
“Okay, I’ll grab the bill. The restrooms are in the dining room next door,” Tyler explains. “Just follow the signs.”
I walk through the dining room and down a small hallway. The sound of two women cackling and carrying on a conversation drifts into the hallway. When I open the door, I stop in my tracks.
Jenna Rae Stuckey stands at the sink wearing a blue spandex dress and four-inch heels. Her jet-black hair is done up into a poufy ponytail. The higher the hair, the closer to god. Except she’s quite literally the devil in a blue dress.
“Well, well”—she eyes me in the mirror—“if it isn’t Haven Cardwell. Mayfield’s very own Queen B.”
Her friend turns to smile at me. She looks just like Jenna Rae, stuck in an early 90s time warp. Jenna Rae, she’s the real Queen B. Queen Bitch. Sawyer Collins may have started the rumors about him and me, but Jenna Rae fueled the fire and fanned the flames. Is it wrong of me to say that the years have not been kind to her? The tiny devil in me laughs.
“Hi, Jenna Rae,” I chirp.
“I heard you were back in town.” She bats her faux lashes at me. “Rumor has it that you were fired from your job.”
My brows pinch together. “Hardly the case, in fact, I’m up for partner with my firm in Los Angeles.” I lay it on thick, but keep my tone sugary sweet.
Her face falls and her glossy red lips set into a grim line. I don’t bother asking her where she came up with that pack of lies. Because I simply don’t care. If there’s dirt . . . shit on someone, Jenna Rae is buzzing around ready to sink her teeth into it. Spread it around to everyone like an annoying horsefly.
My phone buzzes and buzzes. I’ve missed a few texts from Zooey.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Jenna Rae, I need to take this call,” I say. “It’s one of my assistants. Nice to see you, again.”
I scurry out of the bathroom and my body vibrates with laughter as I punch in the code to my phone. Jenna Rae, she’s still ridiculous. Kinda feel a twinge sad for her. Kinda.
Zooey: All is well here. Beatrice emailed you earlier. She needs to know how you want the office mail handled. Do you want her to send it all at once or daily? Overnight, if daily?
Me: Shoot! Tell Beatrice, I’m sorry. Guess I’m used to checking out at five East Coast time, already. LOL. Ask Beatrice to open my mail every day. Anything pressing notify me immediately. Otherwise, send once a week overnight.
Zooey: Great! I will let her know.
“Everything okay?” Tyler asks.
“Yeah, fine. Just a few work things.” I don’t bother to mention my run-in with Jenna Rae. He p
robably doesn’t even know who she is, plus I’m not boring him with stupid teenage drama. “They’re all still at the office and I’m here with you.” I grasp his thigh.
“Only place I want you to be,” he says.
We leave the bar and walk down the sidewalk to find ourselves in front of a meat and cheese shop. Even though I’m still full from our dinner, Tyler convinces me to try something. We get a sample platter loaded with brie, strawberries and almonds. We order a bottle of San Pellegrino and then take a seat by the window. I’m absolutely taken aback by all that Smyrna Hills has to offer. I’d never cared enough to pay attention to Mayfield let alone this town. I just always wanted out. To get as far away from this part of the country as possible.
Tyler talks passionately about the cheese. “You cannot go wrong with the perfect cheese platter, it’s a must at any cocktail party.”
I smile over the rim of my water glass. “You don’t strike me as a cocktail party guy.”
He winks. “Well, I’ve never hosted a party myself, but I attend a crap ton during the holiday season. There’s the Chamber of Commerce holiday party. The Small Business Association of the Bourbon Trail, which as you can image gets pretty wild. And the Alumni Association for my college alma mater.”
“Oh,” I say, scooping up a strawberry and popping it into my mouth. “Where’d you go to college?”
“Elliston University, and then I went to Vanderbilt for grad school. Got my MBA.”
“No MBA for me, I went to Stanford.”
“What did you study?”
“Communications.”
After we finish off the cheese plate, we continue our journey through the town square. We walk and talk until we end up back at Tyler’s truck.
“I cannot get over how beautiful Smyrna Hills is. I don’t remember it looking like this when I was a kid.”
Tyler opens the door for me to climb into the cab of his pickup. “It’s definitely been given a face lift over the last few years.”
“I’ll say.”
After he shuts my door, he strides around the front of his truck. My eyes follow him with every step. Tonight has been great. One of the best dates I’ve ever had. Is this a date?
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