As I’m leaning over the table inspecting the pies and cakes and other desserts that are up for auction, I feel someone come up beside me. Looking up, I’m greeted with blue eyes and a smirk.
“Hello, Tempest.” His deep voice feels like warm honey, but I quickly shut that shit down.
“Hey,” I say, as cool as I can manage, meeting his gaze only briefly because his blue eyes are entirely too close for comfort. Turning back around to the pies, I start to write my bids down on the sheets in front of them.
“We should be friends,” he proclaims, his hand brushing against mine as he grabs a pen from beside me and starts writing down his own bids.
“What?”
“Friends,” he repeats, coming right in behind me and jotting down a higher bid on the Mississippi mud and the lemon meringue.
I look at him like he’s grown three heads. “Well, friend…” I start. If he wants to go there, we can go there. I can do friends. Friends is safe. And after the past few months I’ve had, I could use an extra person in my corner. I’d damn sure rather be his ally than his enemy. I mean, he looks like he could do some damage, which is no wonder he’s the new bouncer at the Pink Pony. After he showed up at the bakery, I started putting two and two together, remembering things about that night much clearer than I’d like.
Cage pulling me off the bar.
Cage carrying me to his truck.
Cage helping me out of his truck.
Cage tucking me in bed.
And then the next morning, after Anna had left, I found a glass of water with some Advil lying beside the bed. My heart did this weird flip. I refuse to give it any thought, because again, I’m not interested.
But friends. I can do that.
“Maybe you should reconsider trying to outbid me,” I finally finish, scratching out his name beneath mine.
“Oh, huh uh,” he says, taking the pen from my hand. “These pies are fair game!” he declares. “I may be new to town, but I know how these things work.” As he rewrites his name and bid, he hums to himself and I have to close my eyes to keep from feeling it through my body. “Tempest Cassidy,” he says quietly. “Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl. And, it’s so sad that I’m going to have to outbid you,” he continues, leaning across me to write his name on a couple more sheets.
“Well,” I say, straightening up and collecting my wits. “This isn’t over yet!”
Wait, did he call me pretty?
“I’ll remember that,” he chuckles. “So, are we just going to stand here and continue to outbid each other for the rest of the picnic, or should we go mingle or something?” he asks, looking around.
“Uh, I guess mingle?” I question him back.
“You’re the local. You’re supposed to tell me,” he says, smiling.
“Yeah, well, I’ve been avoiding mingling lately,” I mutter, partly to myself, but I feel him watching me. We both casually walk out from the tent together. I still feel people’s eyes on me, but I don’t notice it as much with Cage next to me. It’s like he’s sharing some of the attention and it calms the anxiousness I feel these days when I’m out in public.
“So, if we’re going to be friends,” he says. “Tell me something about yourself.” Walking toward an empty blanket, I realize he expects me to sit, but I can’t. I mean, what would people say? And then I see Hank Weller.
“Wait. You’re friends with Hank?” I ask, starting to put it all together. Hank owns the Pink Pony and Cage, new to town, works there.
He nods, stopping short of the blanket. “We’re old friends,” Cage offers. “Hank and I go way back.”
“Makes sense,” I say, my eyes darting around to see who’s watching. It’s then I see Asher and Mindy walking into the opposite side of the tent.
“What’s up?” Cage asks. “Did someone steal your pie?”
Be mindful, I tell myself. I knew they’d be here. I knew they’d be together. I can handle this.
I laugh. “Well, I’ve never heard it put that way, but I guess you could say that.”
He must have followed my line of sight because he then asks, “Who’s that?”
“That would be Asher... and Mindy, the most perfect couple in Green Valley.” The fakeness in my tone is oozing all over the lush green grass at my feet. I want to puke when I see him put his hand on her back and walk her toward a group of people. “Also, my ex-husband.”
I’m aware… boy am I fucking aware.
I watch as they talk to a few of our friends… or, I guess they’re technically Asher’s friends, but people I’ve known all my life, nonetheless. Asher is being his usual charismatic self, fully engaging people as he tells his story, and Mindy is being the picture-perfect companion, smiling sweetly and laughing at all the right places.
Recognize the negative thoughts…
I can’t help but stare at them like they’re some kind of exhibit in a museum. It’s so strange seeing someone I’ve loved, and spent the last twelve years of my life being committed to, with someone else.
It hits deep.
I feel the lump in my throat before the familiar wave of heat creeps up.
When she laughs again and her left hand comes up to her cover her mouth, I see it.
A large, sparkling diamond on her fourth finger.
The way she flashes it seems intentional and when her eyes cut over to me, I flinch.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter under my breath, biting down on my lip so hard it hurts and then I taste blood. Before I do something crazy—something the entire town is probably expecting out of me at this point—I turn on my heel and practically run toward where all the vehicles are parked.
When I finally reach it, I see my truck is completely blocked in by other vehicles, meaning I won’t be driving out of here any time soon.
A second later, I hear the thud of heavy feet as Cage catches up to me. “Going somewhere?” he asks.
I ignore him, not ready to talk just yet, and start pacing, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. So many hateful thoughts, so many hurtful ideas are floating through my mind, but I’m trying really hard to ignore them. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be the pitiful, angry woman. I just want to... be. But I can’t when everywhere I turn, Asher and Mindy are there to remind me of everything that’s messed up in my life.
A fucking engagement ring?
Are you kidding me?
How could he do that?
“Do what?” I hear Cage ask from behind me and I realize I was speaking my thoughts out loud.
Turning slowly, I swallow, unable to wrap my head around it and needing to talk it out, regardless of who’s listening. “She was wearing a ring… on her fourth finger… a fucking big ass diamond.” I look down at my hand where my wedding band once resided, the tan line from years of wear still visible. I thought about covering it up with a new ring, but I haven’t yet. Mine was never that big. Asher bought it for me when he was still in college. I hadn’t even started yet because I was working to save up money. It was small, but I’d loved it, because it was a symbol of his love for me… or so I thought.
Now, I don’t know what to think.
I’m not even sure I make sense anymore without him and that kills me.
The truth is I never felt pretty or worthy or significant until Asher Williams noticed me.
Before then, I was an awkward teenager trying to make it through high school. I spent lunch hours in the library, hiding away behind cookbooks. Julia Child was my companion.
One day, Asher came into the library to do some research for a history paper. He sat down at the table across from me and started talking to me like we were old friends.
We were.
Once upon a time, I’d been good friends with the majority of the people in my class, but the older we all got, the more we parted ways, each of us finding our own niche. Mine just happened to be in the back corner of the library or in my mama’s kitchen, whipping up my newest concoction
of baked goods.
Before Asher, I hadn’t even been to a high school football game.
After we were an item, everything changed.
I was noticed.
I was invited.
I was liked.
But now, with him removed from my life, I’m left wondering who I am without him.
“Do you want to be alone?” Cage finally asks, pulling me out of my thoughts, and it’s only then I realize my cheeks are wet with tears. Wiping at them, I force myself to look up at him.
“I just want to go home,” I croak. “Before I do something to end up in jail… again.”
He points over my shoulder. “Hank’s truck is over there. I can drive you home and come back and get him.”
Biting down on my lip, I close my eyes, willing myself to hold it together, just a little while longer. “You don’t have to do that… you’ve already helped me out once.”
“We’re friends, right?” he asks and there’s sincerity in his words I didn’t expect. “Let me take you home. I’d much rather do that than have to bail you out of jail.”
That gets him a laugh, but then I stop, frowning. “You just met me. Why are you being so nice?” I ask, immediately wary of his intentions. Also, he needs to know I’m not good company these days. “I’m crazy, you know? That’s what they all say about me. If you’re seen with me, people will probably think you’re crazy too.”
He shrugs. “I like to form my own opinions,” he says, crossing his large arms over his chest. “And you let me worry about what people think about me.”
There’s nothing but pure honesty in his eyes, so I take him at his word and up on his offer. When I turn in the direction he’d pointed earlier, he slowly begins to follow me. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, still feeling on the verge of tears and not trusting my voice.
“Okay.” He sighs and I realize this isn’t going to be a quiet trip home. Cage is going to make me pay in conversation. “Well, I did want to tell you that the muffins you gave me the other day were… well,” he pauses, letting out a breath. “By far the best fucking muffins I’ve ever eaten.”
I fight back the smile as it works its way to the surface, replacing the tears.
“Glad you liked them,” I mumble.
“What’s with the names?” he asks as we approach a truck and he jumps in front of me to open the passenger door. When I climb into the seat, a sudden rush of recognition hits me. This is the same truck he drove me home in. The smell of the cab is familiar and I remember leaning my head over onto the window, soaking in the coolness of the glass.
“I like old country western music,” I tell him when he gets in on the driver’s side. “Patsy Cline, George Jones, Merle Haggard, Loretta Lynn, Conway Twitty—if it’s got a steel guitar and a sad story, I’m a fan.”
Cage chuckles, and for a second I think he’s making fun of me, which would be nothing new and I really don’t care. I’ve been defending my taste of music for twenty years. I remember on my eighth birthday, I invited a few girls from my third grade class over for a slumber party and when I put a Loretta Lynn album on my turntable, they all thought I was weird.
That label stuck for a while, basically until I started dating Asher in the tenth grade.
“I love it,” Cage says, setting me at ease. “Hope you’ll make some Folsom Prison Blues again sometime,” he says, turning out of the field onto the road. “I’ve heard those are a hit.”
Smirking, I turn in the seat to face him. “Do you even know any country western music?”
He shrugs. “I guess I probably don’t know much, but doesn’t mean I don’t like it. I’m a fan of whatever music fits my mood. Doesn’t matter if it’s rap or heavy metal or country. It’s about how it makes me feel.”
I nod, considering his reply. “I can respect that.”
The smile he throws me over his shoulder is… well, it’s a good thing I’m sitting, that’s all I’ve got to say. If Cage Erickson and I are going to be friends, I’m going to have to work really hard at keeping my feelings in check.
As we drive down the road, I try to not look at him, keeping my eyes straight ahead.
Friends.
Yeah, I could do this.
I need one right now.
And look at me, driving away before I let Asher and Mindy get the best of me… being the bigger person, removing myself from the situation. Go, Tempest. I mentally fist bump myself and steal another glance at Cage… my new friend. Having someone to talk to that isn’t close to me or my family or Asher might be exactly what I need. If Cage is willing to fill that role, I’ll take him up on it.
Chapter 8
Cage
I have no idea what it is about Tempest that makes me want to talk, but being in her presence has turned me into a fucking Chatty Cathy. Normally, I’m very tight-lipped. Unless I’m around people I know well, I don’t have a lot to say. My actions have always spoken louder than my words, giving me a reprieve from small talk.
Maybe it’s because there’s this crazy connection I can’t ignore that makes her feel like she’s an old friend. When I told her we should be friends at the picnic, I don’t even know where that came from. It’s like I opened my mouth and the words just tumbled out. Now, here we are, in the same truck I drove her home in the other night and I’m trying to keep my eyes on the road instead of that fucking green dress she’s wearing.
It brings out her eyes, making them greener than the pine trees.
“My grandpa used to play with Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs,” she says. “They were the Foggy Mountain Boys… not that you’d know who they are, but they were a bluegrass group that played on the Grand Ole Opry. He didn’t play with them officially, but they’d have jam sessions.” I glance over to see her soft smile. “He loved bluegrass and country western… all the old stuff, which I guess wasn’t old to him. I can remember sitting on the center console of his truck… you know, before they enforced seatbelts… driving down the road. Just me, him, and George Jones or Patsy Cline.”
I could listen to her talk all damn day. She has a soft lilt to her voice, but there’s also a raspiness I noticed from the first night. It’s a little grittier than you’d expect, given her exterior, which makes it even more intriguing… it makes her even more intriguing.
“You, uh… turn,” she starts and stops when she realizes I already know how to get to her house. “Right.” She’s quiet for a minute as we drive down the road leading to her house. “Thanks again… for the other night. I don’t usually… do that.”
I didn’t figure.
Even from the moment I saw her sitting in my spot, I knew she was somewhat out of her element.
“Don’t mention it,” I tell her, not wanting her to feel bad about it. “We all need to blow off a little steam from time to time.”
This time when she laughs, it’s lost all humor. “I’ve done my fair share of that lately.”
“I’ve heard,” I say before thinking.
“I’m sure you have.” Her tone is resolved, maybe even a bit defeated, and I hate it.
“Hey,” I say, getting her attention. “I form my own opinions, remember?” The smile she gives me is weak, not the one I’m looking for. “So, why don’t you tell me your story… set the record straight.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. “Why? Why do you want to know? Why do you care?”
I see the distrust in her eyes. She’s guarded and I don’t blame her.
“Maybe I’m just… bored,” I say with a shrug, trying to blow it off like it’s no big deal whether she tells me or not—feigning disinterest. “Besides, if we’re going to be friends, I think I should know your story.”
Under that load of shit, the truth is buried—you’re an enigma, Tempest Cassidy… help me understand you better. She smiles again, still guarded, but a little less so. When she swallows and brushes a strand of her red hair behind her ear, I know she’s going to at least give me something.
�
�It’s simple, really,” she starts, shifting in her seat as we pull into her drive. With her eyes trained on the yellow house, she continues, “I walked in on my husband in bed with someone else… that was almost four months ago. Since then, I’ve destroyed our bedroom, burned his clothes, broke into his house, stole a football, and parked his truck in Mr. Miller’s pond.” Sighing, I think she’s going to stop there, but she doesn’t. Turning toward me, she says, “I’ve spent two nights in jail, paid over a thousand dollars in fines, and been sentenced to twenty-four hours of anger management.”
Our eyes lock and I feel the load she’s been carrying.
“The night you drove me home, I was celebrating my divorce being final. I thought once the ink was dry and I was officially Tempest Cassidy again I’d be able to move on and get over it, but I was wrong. Today, seeing that ring on Mindy’s finger, it was a reminder that my marriage is over and the man I loved for over a decade has moved on. He’s giving someone else the life I once had. He took my truck and soon I’ll have to move out of my house… and he took away my chances of having a baby,” she says, her voice dropping to a near whisper as she turns back to the house. “I think, deep down, that’s what I’m the saddest about.”
The cab of the truck is silent as we both sit, me processing the information she just gave me and her probably reliving the heartache she’s faced over the past few months.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, not knowing what else to say. The smile she gives me this time is sad and I want to remove it from her beautiful face.
Sighing, she reaches for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride and for listening. I’m sorry I just dumped my drama on you.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?”
As I stand in the open door of the truck, I get a hint of the real smile I’ve been wanting. “Yeah… friends.”
“Hey, Tempest,” I say, an idea popping into my head. “Tell me about the anger management. What’s that all about?”
Her shoulders go up to her ears and she lets out a deep breath. “It’s just a group thing… I go once a week… everyone talks about their anger.” When she laughs, I see a little more of the tension leave her shoulders. “I’ve only been once, but I think it’s helping… maybe a little…” She hesitates, chewing on her lip for a second. “Except, seeing Asher and Mindy today, I was able to use the coping mechanisms I’ve been learning … until I saw that ring.”
Stud Muffin Page 8
