Page 11 of Holding The Reins

“Who said anything about a relationship? I don’t want a relationship, just someone to have fun with, maybe, I don’t know. Ginger said it might do me some good and it’s none of your damn business what I do anyway, Nash. You’re the last person that should be offering me relationship advice. I mean, have you ever even had one?”

I shake my head. Fuck, no. “No, but the last thing you need around this gossipy little town is more rumors flying. Look how fast everyone knew that you couldn’t leave home without a damn vibrator stuffed in your luggage.”

Yeah, that was a fun visual to try to mentally block when I heard it last night.

“Good Lord, is there some kind of direct phone line to every resident in this place that gives daily updates on people’s embarrassing moments and personal lives? Also, don’t make me your problem just because you own the bar. It’s none of your concern what I do, I’ll be just fine.”

I turn and grip both her shoulders. She’s a stubborn little brat, I’ll give her that.

“CeCe, you’ve been like my family for the better part of my life.” Just saying those words to her feels wrong with all the things I’ve been picturing since last night, but I continue on anyway, dropping my hands from her body. Even that proximity in this morning heat feels like too much. “Protecting you and looking out for you will always be my concern, and whether you like it or not, I’m going to do it.”

“What are you two nattering on about?” Cole pushes the screen door open and comes out onto the front deck of Stardust with none other than the escape artist himself. Harley sprints to greet us.

“Lose something, CeCe Rae?” Cole asks. “You have coffee on your shirt, by the way. Still drunk?”

CeCe sticks out her tongue and flips him the bird as she grabs Harley’s collar.

I laugh because despite being annoying, she’s adorable as fuck.

“You coming in to show me where you want the rest of these shelves or what? I’ve been waiting on you; I don’t have all day,” he says to her.

Cole can be a grumpy motherfucker lately, for good reason.

“Yeah, I just got sidetracked, I’m gonna take Harley back and grab a quick, to-go breakfast from Mama. I’ll be right back,” she says.

“You coming in?” Cole nods in my direction.

I look at CeCe and shake my head. “Nah, gotta get to work and restock the bar, some crazy ass group of girls drank us out of house and home last night.”

CeCe scoffs and heads off toward the big house.

“Bye bye, Nash, see ya never,” she yells behind her without even turning around.

“Actually, see you tonight?” Cole asks. “Mama Jo says bring the Betty.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, and I mean it because suddenly Monday night dinners at the Ashby’s just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

Iwatch Sandy Elliot, my mom’s oldest and sweetest friend make her way over to Ginger, Olivia and me with our lunches as I pop my sunglasses on my face to shield my eyes from the afternoon sun. We’re sitting on the patio at Sage and Salt, a cozy little breakfast and lunch hot spot on Laurel Creek’s main drive that Sandy and her sister co-own.

“Thank you, Sandy. You’re a saint.” I smile up at her as she sets my lunch in front of me.

“Brought you some fries too, on the house. Figured you girls could use some grease, heard you almost roughed Gemma up last night and drank our resident hockey star out of house and home.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Ginger grumbles, her chin resting on her palm. Her wild mane surrounds her and she is wearing the biggest sunglasses I’ve ever seen. She looks like a modern version of Audrey Hepburn.

I laugh as I take in her scowl. She’s always the most hungover and the most complain-y of all of us.

Sandy looks around and leans into us. “Not saying she wouldn’t have deserved it.” She winks and I smile back at her.

“Sorry I missed it, I’ll make sure I’m there this Sunday, I’ll bring Mama Jo, we’ll raise the roof,” she says with a smile, pushing up her imaginary roof with her hands.

“Lord have mercy on this town,” Jack Pearlman, our resident seventy-year-old bluegrass busker, says from the table behind us as we all giggle at him.

“Hush your mouth and eat your burger, Jack, or I’ll have to rethink your marriage proposal,” Sandy says before sliding up to him and dropping a smooch on the top of his head.

I smile at their comforting, small town banter and start in on my chicken salad, scrolling through my phone as Ginger and Olivia prattle on about the women in the pub last night. Who’s seeing whom, who’s pregnant, who has money problems. The gossip never ends and I’m only half focusing as I read through the slim pickings in the town job ads.

My degree in Business Admin is over-qualified for most of these—Clerk at Lianne’s Clothing Boutique. Interior design consultant at Jennings. I get to the very last page and see an ad for an Accounting Admin at the newly revamped Olympia Sports and Rec Center. I read through the fine print and realize I’m actually very qualified for this. The woman’s name to contact is familiar: Sherri Lynn Johnson. She used to work at the post office, we didn’t know her well but I remember my mom always calling her Sonny whenever she picked up packages or was mailing out. I quickly ready my resume and send it off to her email. The ad is at least 60 days old so that tells me they haven’t had any luck finding anyone.