Page 11 of The County Fair Queen

"I don't know if that's how I'd describe it. I had four petitions to exile him from Tallulah last week alone. But I don't even think I have the legal authority to exile someone." He turns and smiles at me. “Beau is my son. You’re going to love him.”

"Oh, sugar," she said, reaching out and taking Rivers' hand. "You can do anything you put your mind to. Just have to have a bit of faith in yourself. Take me, for instance. I have faith you'll stay for supper when I ask you to."

"We just ate," I said, hoping the glare I gave Rivers was enough to scare him off.

"You know, Mrs. Fletcher, I would love that." As he spoke to her, his eyes locked on mine, like he was staring into my soul. Good. Let him. My soul thought he was an arrogant little shit, and I hoped he found that lovely little morsel of truth and swallowed me whole.

IT!

The morsel! I wanted him to swallowthe morselwhole. Not me. Jesus Christ, Phillip, get it together.

"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to take a raincheck. I've got plans with Beau tonight. Prep work for the festivities tomorrow." I wasn't sure who this Beau person was, but I was thankful to the mystery man for coming to my aid.

"Of course," she said, but I couldn't help but notice the disappointment in her eyes. I didn't know when this bizarre May-December friendship was forged between my great aunt and my archnemesis, but I didn't care for it in the slightest.

After giving her a parting kiss on the cheek, he turned his gaze to me. The smile on his face was far too wide for my liking, and the dimples that smile produced were both obnoxious and unnecessary. He swatted away a strand of dark brown hair from his face, and I silently prayed he'd poke himself in the eye.

No such luck.

Instead, he approached, stopping a few paces away, eyeing me curiously. I didn't know what the hell he was looking at, or why he kept staring at me like I was the most fascinating creature in the world. Hell, it may have even been deliberate on his part. Showing kindness in an effort to unearth traumatic triggers he could use to humiliate me in front of the entire town. It wouldn't be the first time.

"It sure was good getting to catch up, Firecracker. Guess I'll see you tomorrow at the studio."

"At the studio?"

Aunt Lurlene nodded as she took another sip of her ninety-proof iced tea. "Rivers Knows Best."

"Rivers knows nothing," I countered.

"KARQ," she said. "Rivers Knows Best."

"I don't know what the hell any of those words mean."

Rivers chuckled as he adjusted his belt buckle. "I have a thirty-minute slot after the morning news.Rivers Knows Best.Puff pieces, I think they call them. Last week, we had a beagle who saved his whole family from a house fire…" The corner of his lip curled into a ridiculous smirk. "Boy, you should have heard the brave little pup tell the story. He had half the crew in tears by the end."

"I hate you, Rivers Rivera. All you are. All you'll eventually become, I hate it."

"Mayor and talk show host?" Jordy asked. "What's next, professional tap dancer?"

"Tap's not really my strong point, but I've dabbled a time or two. Ballroom dancing, though? I can tear up the floor with the best of them." He winked at me. "Maybe if I'm lucky, we'll get to share a dance before you leave."

"You had your chance twenty years ago." I wondered if the memory of that night was as painful for him as it was for me. If it still laid dormant, festering for years. Did it eat away at him from the inside, too?

He turned around, making his way down the steps and onto the walkway, but then he stopped. "You're right," he said without turning around. "I hope I can make it up to you someday." He headed back toward his pickup, hoisting himself up and giving me one final glance before driving away, the only proof he'd ever been there being the dirt kicking up from his tires.

***

After getting our room situated, Jordan and I relaxed for a bit before heading downstairs for dinner. Jordan was all dolled up in business slacks and a neon-pink button-down shirt. He'd even popped on a black bowtie, hoping to impress the Fletcher family. I didn't know why he was insistent on kissing Aunt Lurlene's ass. He'd met the woman countless times when she'd visited us in London. Despite my endless pleas for him to relax, he was a bundle of nerves as we descended the staircase.

I glanced down at my watch and groaned when I saw it was one minute past the hour. Aunt Lurlene wouldn't be happy. Sure enough, when we reached the dining room, she was sitting by herself, jaw tense, with her mouth pulled into a straight line.Every nerve in me insisted I tell her to chill, to remind her that being one minute late to family dinner wasn't a sign of the end times. I'd done this familiar dance enough times to know that it was pointless, though.

I approached like a guilty dog with its tail tucked between its legs, bending down and giving her an apologetic kiss on the cheek. "Sorry. It won't happen again."

She didn't offer me absolution from my sin of tardiness, but she did give me a quick nod before taking a sip of muscadine wine. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Lurlene Fletcher was an absolute gem; a Southern belle, through and through. But that other one percent? May God have mercy on the soul that crossed her. I took the seat across from her, watching as Jordan followed my example, bending down and pecking her cheek.

"I'm really sorry, Grandmama."

It took me by surprise when she slid her hand over his, holding him close against her shoulder. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it. These things happen."

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