Page 15 of Take the Bait

Her phone buzzed. Much to her chagrin—and reluctant amusement—Madi had changed the group chat name topenis face and her pussy posse.

Bella:Happy Monday! Just checking in on you, sis. You feeling okay after your chaotic weekend?

Of course, after Bradley had drawn penises all over her face—and Tucker so delicately wiped them off—she texted the group chat to let them know a new top three embarrassing moment had happened to her. She’d left out the part about Tucker out—after all, she still hadn’t told them about Burpgate, or her mortifying encounter with him at the coffee shop. God forbid Madi cling to those as some sort of fucked up meet cutes.

Madi:When I told you to get your needs met I figured you’d get an actual penis in your face…

Hanna rolled her eyes.

Hanna:How very… hetero of you to assume I’d want a penis in my face?

Madi:Hey I don’t know what you straights are into I’m doing my best to be supportive

Hanna laughed.

Hanna:Thanks for checking in guys I’m good. Ready to get back to work and put the weekend behind me. I told the principal about Bradley’s behavior and she’s handling it from here

She put her phone away, sat at her desk, and turned on her computer to prep for another day of teaching rambunctious but lovable kindergarteners.

As Hanna opened her inbox, she stilled.

Tucker Whitlock had emailed her.

Shit.

Then she read the subject line.

What the…

Subject Line:Dinner?

Ms. Taylor,

Or should I call you Hanna? I’m sorry to ruin the mystery, but I couldn’t help myself.

Once I had a lead, my detective instincts took over. Which reminds me of another embarrassing story about myself where—at the ripe age of 14—I decided to start a detective business. I’d watched the Sherlock Holmes movie, and I was inspired.

I’ll spare you the whole story, though I’m certain you’ll enjoy it. After all, it involves a run-in with the police, a dead squirrel, and breaking and entering. But if you drop by my restaurant, maybe I could be convinced to humiliate myself for your entertainment yet again.

—Tucker

Hanna’s heart pounded in her chest as she read the email again.

And again.

And again.

Was he asking her on a date? If so, this was the weirdest way she’d ever been asked out. Which was pretty much par for the course, given all her increasingly odd interactions with Tucker Whitlock.

She bit her lip. He was cute. Charming, even. But she felt herself resisting the urge to respond—resisting the urge to find someone here to be attached to, some reason to stay. She’d spent two years in Orange Beach, trying desperately to make it a home. And though her little apartment on the beach felt cozy and she loved her kindergarteners to death, she missed the one thing she needed more than anything: people.

Hanna had taken it for granted—how wonderful it was to grow up in a small town, walking distance to her friends’ houses.How college had almost been an extension of that, living within minutes of friends and less than an hour from family.

She just didn’t realize how hard it would be to make friends as an adult. Her work friends were nice enough, but they already had their groups—their rhythms and routines. Plus, she was the youngest teacher by about ten years.

She’d tried everything in the two years she’d been at Orange Beach: Bumble BFF, Meetups, Facebook Groups—you name it.

But Hanna was so spectacularly awkward, and it was harder to find common ground with strangers than she expected. Plus, her rambly nature and blunt demeanor often rubbed people the wrong way.

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