Page 19 of Dirty Secrets

“Andyet,” Walker bursts in, ”When I began shopping for a house with my own money because I could afford it now, the realtor only showed me houses that were, unbelievably, all priced at just one dollar. It was almost as if she was hiding something.”

I laugh in pure shock. “Small-town people are weird. Y’all know that, right?”

They both laugh uproariously, then Shane pulls out some truly ancient maps to photograph. They’re pretty much the same as the ones I already had, but they’re in better condition and they have some nice drawings around the edges.

After a few minutes, an old TV show theme song rings out, and Shane pulls out his phone. “Your grandma will be done in a half an hour.” He grins at us. “Want to come out to the garageand help me choose the most embarrassing car to go pick her up?”

Two minutes later, I’m pointing at a scarlet Pontiac TransAm with the thunderbird emblazoned on the front in hot orange flames.

“Classic. Perfect.”

We walk back out past a Jeep, a pickup and four other cars, then Shane hugs us both goodbye. As he’s squishing me, he whispers into my ear, “You’re a lovely girl. Smart and sassy. I hope you’ve noticed how he stares at you with cartoon hearts in his eyes.”

Once we’re rolling down the driveway, Walker casually asks, “Would you like to come to my place for dinner?”

My head is spinning, and I’m afraid I might say something weird if I don’t sort things out in my brain first. “I think I’d like to go home, if that’s okay. I’m tired, and I have some catching up to do with one of my freelance jobs.”

“Sure.”

I’m not sure whether I sense disappointment in his tone. Maybe not. It feels like Walker already understands that I need alone time every so often.

He walks me to the front door, then pulls me into his arms for a long, snuggly hug. “I honestly didn’t know that Grandpa drops cash on people when they get married. And because we have no direct connection to it anymore, I forgot about Jim’s Pizza. He has a way of doling out information in little bits and pieces over the years when you least expect it.”

“He really is a character.”

“That he is.” Walker beams. “You should see his eyes light up when he slides triple the money for a box of cookies when kids sell them in front of the grocery store in the fall. But he always pretends it’s a big, dark secret.”

He kisses me gently, as if he already guesses that my head is spinning with all this new information. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, sweetheart. Have a good night.”

Even though there probably isn’t a living soul for miles, he stands and waits until I’m safely inside with the door shut before returning to his truck.

Walker really cares about me. There’s no question about that.

But with all of these strange family secrets and discovering that the money discrepancy between us is even more cavernous than I thought, I’m really going to have to take some time to think about whether my old nag of a horse is worthy of being hitched to his super shiny and not atallbusted cart.

12

WALKER

Shoot.

I know that Grandpa was only trying to help, but I feel that he’s managed to drive a wedge between me and my would-be new girlfriend.

Jocelyn was unnervingly quiet on the drive home yesterday. Then this morning I sent her a photo of my empty coffee mug with a sad emoji, followed by a shot of a full mug with a happy face.

She sent back a thumbs up. That’s it.

After installing new brake pads for a neighbor, I put away my tools and tidy up. It’s clear that I need to give Jocelyn some space to think. Plus I don’t even know how many jobs and projects she’s working on right now.

I scrub my hands, then wipe down the counters and make sure everything is in order. Then it occurs to me. Maybe Jocelyn doesn’t have herownspace in order. Maybe she’s so lost in her fear that she’s not seeing things clearly.

“Going for lunch,” I call out to Griffin. He looks up at the giant clock on the wall and doesn’t say a word about it only being eleven.

I drive through downtown, looking for a familiar head of auburn hair. Eventually I spot her in the back of Corina’s Coffee, so I stroll in and order lunch to go.

She looks surprised to see me looming over her table. “I’m not staying for more than five minutes, promise,” I say with a smile. “May I interrupt you for that long?”

“Sure.” She shoves some of her notebooks out of the way. “What’s up?”

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