Batter of Wits: An Enemies to Lovers Small Town Romance (Donner Bakery Book 5)

by Smartypants Romance

  The least I could do was be honest, if I couldn't manage to explain the inexplicable reaction I was having to him.

  His chuckle started low and slow, like he'd clicked a stove burner to simmer. My frame shook with a shiver, and I fought not to plug my fingers in my ear like a little kid.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” I asked. “You look a little … young to be with this group.”

  Tucker glanced around the room with a shameless shrug. “I don’t judge people by their age, Angry Girl. Not nice of you to stereotype who enjoys spending time together based on their birth year.”

  I clenched my teeth, and he grinned lazily. Like a great big cat sunning himself. Then he leaned in. “My father asked me to sit in, in his place, if you’re so interested.”

  “Just trying to make polite conversation.”

  “Are you? That’s something new.”

  I gave him a level look at the heavy, heavy sarcasm, but he held it, practically dared me to look away first.

  Someone cleared their throat, and I pulled my eyes from Tucker’s.

  "Ladies, let's get the meeting started, shall we?" The woman who said it was clearly in charge. She wore glasses perched up on top of her head like a crown, next to her chair was a walker coated in purple glitter, and her voice carried the entire length of the gym. The clipboard she clutched to her purple and white polka dot dress looked about as old as she was, and as soon as she set it down, she pinned her iron gray eyes directly on me. "Now, who're you and why are you here?"

  Aunt Fran sat down and clucked her tongue. "Good Lord, and those are your southern manners, Maxine? You should be ashamed of yourself."

  The woman in question stared down my aunt, the unmoving equivalent of an eyeroll. "My apologies. I'm Maxine Barton, if the women around the table feel so moved, they can introduce themselves later. Clearly, you already know Tucker," she said meaningfully, and I felt my cheeks burn hot. She set her hands down and leaned her thin frame forward in the chair. "Now it's your turn. Who are you and why are you here?"

  Aunt Fran nudged my elbow with her own and exhaled quietly. "I'm Grace Buchanan, and I'm new in town. My Aunt Fran said I could tag along. Honestly, I’m not even sure what this meeting is."

  Maxine Barton was silent, clearly taking my measure. The other women eyed me in much the same way, and on my left, I saw Tucker smothering a smile. I slid my foot forward and kicked his shin. He coughed and pushed his chair back, his long ass legs now safely out of reach.

  "This is the planning committee for the Green Valley Headless Chicken Festival."

  I started to laugh, but not a single person at the table cracked a smile. When I swallowed that down, I quickly glanced at Aunt Fran, who rolled her lips together and shook her head. Not a joke then, okay.

  "That's," I said, "that's an interesting festival. Not your usual celebration."

  Maxine rapped her clipboard on the table. "'Course it isn't. That's why we made a festival out of it. How many chickens do you know of that lived without a head for a year and fourteen days?"

  I blinked. "I-I don't know exactly."

  "Come on, Miss Barton," Tucker said with a smile. "You know you want to tell her the story."

  Before I could kick at him again, he slid back even farther with a loud screech of his chair legs.

  "I think if Miss Buchanan would like to know, she can talk to me about it after the meeting," Maxine chastised him. "Now, why'd your aunt foist a newcomer on our prestigious committee? We’ve been hard at work for six months, and I don’t need some outsider coming in and telling us what to do. You need a job or something, because we don't have money to pay you."

  Aunt Fran laid her hand on mine, maybe because my eyes were half the size of my face and my mouth was hanging somewhere around my stomach, which I'd never fill with food again after thinking about a chicken living without a head. "Grace is working on a new project, Maxine."

  Miss Barton and her steel-colored eyes did a thorough study of my person, and I fought the urge to hide under the table. "If you need a job, I know Hank Weller is hiring."

  "Maxine," someone admonished quietly.

  Aunt Fran closed her eyes while Tucker coughed into his hand.

  "What?" I asked. "Who's Hank?"

  "No one you need to worry about hiring you," Aunt Fran explained. "Because she's not going to be a stripper."

  My eyebrows shot up my forehead.

  Maxine shrugged. "Don't you get all high and mighty, Francine. If I had legs like hers, I'd work the pole too."

  I dropped my forehead into my hands and wished for death. Quick, painless death.

  "Can we move on, please," Tucker said in a firm voice.

  I held up my camera. “I’m a photographer,” I said. Every eye in the place turned to me. I’d never actually called myself that before, and here, the words were echoing around the huge space. “I’m documenting small-town life. Life in the south. Or I’d like to, at least. It’s different than anything I’m used to, and Aunt Fran thought this would be a good place to start. But in the meantime, yes, I’m looking for something part-time.”

  Aunt Fran winked at me. “She’s going to see if they’ll hire her at Donner Bakery since they haven’t replaced Joss yet.”

  Someone whispered across the table, another shifted in her metal chair. No one said a word.

  It must have been good enough to appease Miss Maxine. “Fine. And what about you, Mr. Haywood? Why are you here instead of your father?”

  Tucker held up his hands. “Because he asked me to.”

  Maxine harrumphed, but picked up a bright purple pen and scrawled something on the paper clipped to her board. "I guess I can’t argue with that. But I'm putting those looks to use. For both you."

  Tucker glanced at me. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Do you see any other pretty young things on this committee?" She gestured around the table, where the median age was probably seventy-two. Tucker grimaced. "Exactly. Now we've had lots of requests for a kissing booth, because they raise a ton of money, and guess what?" Her wrinkled hands slapped together like a shot. "You two get to pull it off. I don't care who does the kissing, if it's one or both of you, but that's your job."

  My mouth dropped, a furious protestation rising immediately to my lips, but Aunt Fran's hand pressed down, and I read the strength in that grip loud and clear. Keep your mouth shut, Grace Bailey.

  It didn’t work. I raised a hand. “A kissing booth?” I asked. “How are those even allowed anywhere? It’s a breeding ground for harassment and herpes.”

  “If I wanted your opinion, Miss Buchanan, I would’ve asked for it.”

  Tucker lifted his hand. "Excuse me, Miss Barton, but are you sure that's the best idea?” He looked at me. “Adding to what she said, because I happen to agree, I thought maybe I could just … do what my dad normally does."

  "So you wanna sit there and write checks and generally be useless?" she asked. "Tucker, I've known you since you were in diapers. Of course, it's a good idea." Maxine pinned both of us with a look. "I'll go over financial goals for you next week. ‘Til then," she waved her hand in our direction, "you're both too young and too good looking for me to stare at all afternoon. Go brainstorm somewhere else."

  I gave Tucker a helpless look, but he was pinching the bridge of his nose.

  The only solace I found was in the fact that he clearly didn't want to work with me any more than I wanted to work with him.

  Aunt Fran smiled weakly at me as I pushed my chair back and stood. Tucker did the same, moving as slow as a man taking a walk down death row.

  My mind raced as I tried to match his long-legged stride. Maybe his mind was doing the same as he slowed to match my not-so-long-legged one.

  Behind us, chatter began anew at the table, and beside me, I heard Tucker sigh.

  I had two choices in this scenario, and I damn well knew that if my mother was standing next to me, she'd grab my face and refuse to let go until I could name one thing to be thankful for.


  And right then, I was thankful that I could choose how to react now that we were away from judgy southern women eyes.

  Choice number one: I could stew in this irrational dislike of Tucker Haywood and make the process as miserable as possible for both of us.

  Choice number two: I could pull up my big girl panties and be a fucking professional, no matter what tingly thing his voice did to my insides.

  My eyes closed as I took in a deep breath, and let it out through pursed lips.

  "She's not serious, is she?" I asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and paused while I walked out the door into the parking lot. Along the side of the building, there were benches, and I sank down on the closest one, stretching my legs out and dropping my head against the concrete bricks. Tucker lowered himself next to me.

  "No wonder my dad sent me in his place," he said. "She's terrifying."

  An unwilling smile tugged at the edges of my lips, but I turned my chin away so he wouldn't see it. From my front pocket, my phone rang with my brother's ringtone. "Hang on, I have to grab this really quick. It's my brother. "

  Tucker nodded as I swiped my thumb across the screen.

  "Dude," I said by way of a greeting, "I haven't heard from you in two days, where are you?"

  "In the great state of Tennessee, thank you very much. Is the welcome mat all laid out for me?"

  I smiled at how happy he sounded. We didn't have twin telepathy or anything, but it was undeniable how much his mood affected mine and vice versa. Just the tone of his voice, like I could see the sun breaking through the clouds from the force of his smile, lightened something down to my bones. "Close enough. But I got the garage apartment since your ass was coming later. You get the guest suite downstairs."

  He hummed. "Fair enough. Wanna come meet me for a hike?"

  I pulled a face. "You're hiking before you even stop to unpack?"

  "Yes. Come meet me. I'm about twenty minutes away from Cooper Road Trail."

  I glanced at Tucker. "Can't. I'm at a meeting thing … and I don't think Aunt Fran would want me absconding with her vehicle."

  “Where’s your car?”

  “At the shop. I’ll tell you later.”

  Grady sighed. "Fine. Text me if you change your mind and I'll wait at the trailhead for you."

  "Bye, loser."

  "Love you too, Gracey B."

  I was smiling when I ended the call, and Tucker wasn't even attempting to pretend like he wasn't listening.

  "He driving in from California too?"

  Choice number two, I reminded myself. We didn't have to best friends, but even if it killed me, I could be polite.

  I could be polite, I thought with gritted teeth.

  "Yeah. He wants to stop at a hike on his way in to town. That's kind of his thing," I explained.

  Those eyes sharpened with obvious interest. "Which hike?"

  "Cooper Road Trail," I repeated.

  "That's a good hike. One of my favorites actually." He gave me a sidelong glance before looking back at his truck. "If you want to meet him, I could drive you out there. Maxine said we had to brainstorm, not that it had to be done sitting against a concrete building on a wooden bench that'll put my ass to sleep if I sit on it for too long."

  Something frantic in my head wanted me to say no. But as I stared at him, I heard something else entirely come out of my mouth. "That'd be great, thanks."

  What?

  What?

  My heart thudded uncomfortably as he sent me a lopsided grin.

  "Come on. Let's get a move on so he doesn't start without us."

  Sitting on that bench, I watched Tucker Haywood stand and start unbuttoning his dress shirt.

  "What are you doing?" I hissed.

  He shrugged as he ripped the tie from around his neck. "Can't hike in this crap, can I? I've got an undershirt on, and that'll work just as well as anything else."

  As he took off for his truck, I couldn't make my legs move. What was I doing? I didn't like this man. The last time I was in his truck, I was imagining ways to bail out on the side of the road. But when he glanced over his shoulder and smiled, I stood from the bench without a second thought.

  "You coming, Angry Girl?" he said around that grin.

  I took a deep breath and nodded.

  Against my better judgment, it appeared that I was.

  Chapter 6

  Tucker

  For the second time in as many days, I found myself driving down a pretty tree-lined road with Grace Buchanan in the passenger seat of my truck. But this time, her body posture wasn't rigid or uncomfortable, the mood around us wasn't strung tight with tension. The hair was the same, the boots were the same, but her arm was draped out the open window, one foot was propped up on the dashboard.

  "Your brother older or younger than you?" I asked.

  She smiled. "Younger. But not by much."

  "How close?"

  If she was bothered by my questions, she didn't show it. The smile stayed in place, and she held her hand up against the wind racing past the truck, moving it in slow waves. "I'm about three minutes older than him."

  I glanced at her in surprise. "No kiddin'?"

  "Do you say anything that's not in the form of a question?"

  When I laughed, her smiled deepened just enough that I saw the shadow of a dimple. It was gone just as fast. "Sorry. I guess I'm realizing that you're not quite as cranky with me when I'm asking you things about other people."

  Grace sighed quietly. "Maybe so."

  "It's an occupational hazard to ask questions, I'm afraid."

  She hummed in response.

  Oh, it was so blatant, to toss out some bait like that, just to see if she'd bite. And I couldn't quite figure out why I wanted her to.

  Sure, part of it was how visceral her reaction to me seemed to be, but I didn't want to delve too deeply into the other part of it.

  Boredom spurred lots of bad decisions, something else I knew from my job. People committed crimes simply because they wanted to see if they could get away with it, more often than you'd believe. Not that my father and I had to deal with many criminal cases, but the truth was there nonetheless. Every single day, people who walked around in a fog would grasp at something, anything, to pull them out of it.

  Maybe Grace wasn't bored, given that she'd just uprooted her life, but she didn't snag the end of the thread I'd just left out, which was just fine. I didn't want to be bored, but I was. And I'd known it for months, probably longer.

  Every single day, I woke up in my house and wanted something else for my life. Wanted to turn a crank and rewind the days back to the fulcrum of making the Big Decisions. Law school was chosen for me, as was the type of law I would practice and the place I would practice it. But back then, I was too young and too stupid to really think about the impact. And now, when the dust settled after college and law school and the ins and outs of day to day life, I had a deep yearning that I was supposed to be somewhere else in my life. That I wasn't doing what I really wanted to be doing or experiencing life the way I wanted to be experiencing it.

  Boredom.

  And it was a dangerous thing.

  As the truck followed the gentle curves of the road, new sights opened up in front of us, and I saw Grace tilt her head to catch a better view of the Smoky Mountains.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?"

  She nodded. "We had mountains in California, but not all the trees around them like this. Just mansions built upon mansions that looked down on all the commoners."

  "Wait 'til fall," I told her. "When those colors change, I can hardly breathe for looking at it."

  "I bet it looks like the mountains are on fire," she said quietly.

  I hummed as I thought about that. Thought about the reds and oranges and yellows that stained the leaves and lit the mountains with a blaze of color that stretched as far as you could see. "That's a pretty way to say it."

  From the corner of my eye, I saw her dip her chin toward th
e window, like she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

  "So, we might as well get some brainstorming done or Miss Barton will have my hide."

  Grace laid her head back. "My experience with being paid to kiss strangers and weird, animal sacrificing country fairs is fairly limited."

  I scratched the side of my face. "You know, you might want to hold off on calling our traditions weird if you ever want to feel at home here."

  She gave me a look. "Headless chicken festival? Come on. Don't tell me someone didn't choose that for shock factor. I'll call bullshit every day of the week."

  "Fair enough," I agreed. "But it is a true story, and I tell you what, as soon as you taste some of the recipes from the chicken contest, you'll be a convert too."

  "Convert or not, I have no plans to swap spit with every man in this town. So if you have any bright ideas, let’s hear it."

  The sun over the mountains hit me square in the eyes when I turned toward Cooper Road Trail, so I flipped my visor down before answering. Grace did the same.

  I shrugged. "Honestly, my dad was always on this committee, so I don't know a whole lot more than you do other than what I've heard second hand. Certainly nothing about a kissing booth, which I don’t particularly want to take part in, for a number of reasons."

  "Blind leading the blind," she muttered.

  "Seems like it."

  The boot braced on the dashboard started tapping, even though the music in my truck was hardly loud enough to hear.

  As I pulled into the parking lot by the trailhead at Cooper Road, I glanced at her. Grace's eyes were focused and sharp, her expensive-looking camera in her hands. My foot eased off the gas, and she lifted it to her face to snap something she saw. The trees towered over the truck when I turned slowly into an empty spot and slid the gear into park.

  She was still quietly thinking when I reached behind her seat to grab the hiking boots I always kept in my truck.

  "You're seriously hiking with my brother?" she asked.