Page 4 of Fall For You

“Do I really have to explain the facts of small-town life to you?” I tease. “Or have you just been away so long that you forgot how the gossip grapevine works?”

“Jo, dear,” Vi says, taking control of the conversation—and not a moment too soon. “If you could get us some plates; and Carter, if you would be so kind as to set up the tray tables, perhaps we could all eat while the food’s still warm?”

Jo frowns in confusion. But rather than asking Vi for an explanation, her gaze finds mine. I’d be lying if I said it doesn’tfeel good to know that, even after all this time, I’m still the one she instinctively turns to when she needs something.

“Your aunt’s been eating her meals in here since she’s been back from the hospital,” I tell her. “Her doctor suggested she temporarily reduce physical activity.”

Jo nods in comprehension. “Thanks,” she murmurs. She flashes a smile that’s small and tight and contains as much guilt and shame as it does gratitude—which triggers another thought.

“Hey, don’t bother getting a plate for me,” I tell her. “I actually didn’t find out about you being here untilafterI’d ordered, so there’s probably not be enough for three.”

“Oh, pfft,” Violet flaps a dismissive hand in my direction. “Of course you’ll have a plate. You always bring more than enough anyway.”

This time the smile that curves Jo’s lips is wry and real and reaches her eyes. “Now who’s forgetting the ‘facts of small-town life’?” she asks, casting a mocking glance over her shoulder at me as she heads for the kitchen.

“No cap,” I agree, grinning after her, before I can stop myself.

Jo’s about the same age as my brother Cash—so basically three years my junior. In the grand scheme of things, that’s not a significant age gap. But she was a month shy of thirteen when I first made her acquaintance—which made her seem practically a toddler to my just-turned-sixteen-year-old self. And while in some (very obvious) ways we’ve changed enormously since then. In other ways? Not so much. I imagine a part of her will always be that sassy, big-mouthed brat with more chips on her shoulder than a shark has teeth.

Just like I’ll always be the disappointing Donahue brother. The underachiever who’s always had to work twice as hard for half the results. The overlooked middle child who’ll forever be cast into the shadows by his rock-solid, responsible olderbrother and continually upstaged by his fun-loving, easy-going younger brother.

My poor grades and difficulty with learning was what had prompted my parents to engage Ms. Vi, a retired teacher who still occasionally filled in as a substitute, to tutor me. Jo was new to Heartwood back then and, from what I’d gathered, she hadn’t hit it off with the kids at school. I don’t know which sparked my interest more—the fact that she didn’t seem enamored of my popular little brother, or the fact that she was always there, hanging around at her aunt’s house—lurking in corners, watching me from the shadows, glaring whenever our gazes tangled…

“What’sit gonna take to get you to smile?” I asked at one point. And yes, thank you. I am aware that that’s not the kind of thing a man should ask a woman—now. But, as I said, I was just sixteen and she was still years from being a woman; and anyway, she took no offense.

Her eyes narrowed, as though she were considering the question—far more seriously than I’d intended—and then she replied, “Well, I guess you could let me drive your truck. That might do it.”

I gazed at her in surprise. “Do you even know how to drive?”

And that’s when it happened, when her expression shifted—so subtly that if I hadn’t been watching I might have missed it. Her chin lifted, daring me to say no; her eyes gleamed excitedly. The tiniest curve reshaped her lips. “No—duh. That’s why you’d have to teach me.”

Okay so,thatwasn’t gonna happen—I wasn’t stupid, after all. And she was years away from qualifying for a permit. But I paused for a moment just the same, thinking hard, unsure what to say, how to let her down gently.

I haven’t ever been known for my good judgment. Even by then, I’d screwed up more times than both of my brothers combined. But this? This hadBad Ideawritten all over it—in glittery, neon letters, so big, so bright even I couldn’t help but see them.

But, at the same time, I just couldn’t stand to see her disappointed. Young as we both were, I somehow knew that she’d been let down in the past. I didn’t want to be her next rejection.

I wanted to be the one to meet the challenge in her gaze. The one to say, “you’re on!” The one to see that smile come unstuck.

“One condition,” I found myself saying—and hell if I know which of us was more surprised. “Off-road only. Empty fields. The old drive-in. The church parking lot, when there’s no service. Oh, and only when we’re alone. If we do this, no one else can know.”

“That sounds like two conditions to me,” she pointed out.

But I had the upper hand and we both knew it. “Take it or leave it,” I said as I lifted my hand and extended my pinky. “Deal?”

And as she met my eyes and answered, “Deal,” and linked her pinky with mine, I somehow knew that it marked the beginning of a life-long friendship. But then again, like I said. I’ve often made mistakes…

When Jo returnswith the dishes, I plate up two servings. “I have to get back to the restaurant anyway,” I say, gently brushing off Ms. Vi’s protests. “You know I’ve got that big dinner coming up; there’s a lot of work to do to get ready. Besides, I don’t want to leave y’all with nothing; you might get hungry later.” I’m tempted to say more, to tease Jo, who’s always had a legendary appetite. But she beats me to it.

“I dunno. That sounds pretty sus to me. Don’t they say that you should never trust a chef who won’t eat his own food?” she asks, batting her eyes innocently.

“No, I don’t believe I’ve heard that one,” I reply extending a plate out toward her and holding her gaze challengingly. “But, if you’re too afraid to eat, just say so.”

I’m proud of my restaurant and confident of the food we serve there, but I’m more than a little anxious as I watch Jo tuck into her meal. And I know how that sounds—as though I still have feelings for her that go beyond mere friendship, right?

But that’s not what it is. Jo’s opinion is important to me, yes. But there’s a valid reason for that. Most people will tell you what you want to hear. Which is nice and all, but you can’t fix a problem that you don’t know is there. And you won’t necessarily work as hard as you should to improve your craft if no one ever suggests that you might need to. I trust Jo’s judgment. I know she’ll tell me the unvarnished truth. And with so much on the line, that’s worth way more than pleasant platitudes.

Which is not to suggest that I don’t feel dismayed when Jo’s eyes go wide, and she claps a hand to her mouth and utters a startled, “mmph!”

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