Page 22 of Sneak Attack

But this wasn’t awe typemoment.

Cole had his family, and I would never be a part of it.

Even if I sometimes still dreamed of the possibility.

* * *

“Dr. Kessick speaking.”

Since the vet I met at the grocery store had included her cell phone on her business card and told me to call any time, I didn’t feel incredibly guilty for calling her on a Sunday afternoon.

It was the first thing I thought to do to take my mind off Nashville’s win and post-game celebration.

I might not have fled to the kitchen, but Selma and Jasper had found Cole on the field after the game and as soon as Selma threw her arms around Cole in a hug that fused their clothing together, I’d needed a distraction other than food.

“Hi Nora, Dr. Kessick, this is Eden calling. We met, well…I ran into you at the grocery store the other day?”

“Yes! Eden. I’m so glad you called, and you caught me at the perfect moment. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Absolutely I did. Anything to erase the image of the hug. The way Cole smiled at Jasper when Selma wrapped her arms around him. “Of course.”

“Actually…I have a better idea. I’m starving and the last thing I feel like doing right now is cooking. Any chance you’d want to meet up for a quick bite? I know that’s strange, but well, I’m new to town and let’s just say my chances to hang out with people are pretty slim out here. And I figured since you seemed new…and there’s something I’d like to show you.”

“Oh.” Surprise, tinged with an upcoming decline must have been thick in that one word.

“It’s okay.” She laughed, chuckled at herself but I was the one who should have been embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Of course, you’re probably busy, or have someone.”

“I don’t.” I snapped the words so fast I surprised myself. And wasn’t this what I needed? I couldn’t rely on Marley for support being in town. And Nora knewnothingabout me. She was probably the safest person to be seen with. “I’m sorry, you caught me off guard, but well, sure I’d actually love to grab something to eat.”

Marley had gone to take a nap right after the game and she’d be sleeping for a few hours. I’d make sure to bring her back something barbecued and dripping with sauce and she’d forgive my veggie and hummus concoction from earlier.

“Only, can we go somewhere other than the diner?” The last people I needed to run into, ever, were Selma’s parents.

“Sure. How do you feel about food trucks and beer?”

The beer I could live without, but I’d never yet met a food truck I didn’t like.

* * *

Turned out by food trucks and beer, Nora wanted to meet at a brewery south of downtown Marysville. Off the main strip, Buckin’ Brews was immediately noticeable, and barely recognizable.

“The old tack shop and feed store,” I muttered, seeing the brown and weathered barn that had once been crumbling and old, appear completely restored. The barn looked like I imagined it would have when it was first built, except as I pulled into the parking lot, the entire back had been transformed. What used to be a dirt lot, huge with room for trucks and horse trailers to pull up behind it, now had a covered patio. The roof rose at an angle, increasing in height and beneath it were rows of long tables, bright yellow metal barstools. Lights were strung every which way over the ceiling and wrapped around the wood beams. A half dozen ceiling fans worked to move the hot, August afternoon air. Thank goodness it was cloudy, keeping the sun from beating down but I sat in my car, both admiring what had been done to the building and saddened by the change in it.

I was never a horse rider. Never spent much time on a farm at all in the year I lived here, but a lot of the classmates I met did, and this was a place they frequented for supplies and feed. They also came to hang out, read magazines and buy books and the candy selection at the store had been topnotch.

“Wow.” I blinked, realizing not only had the store gone out of business, but this brewery seemed to be following the trend of being hip and young. Already I could hear music blasting through the speakers. There were several televisions fashioned on two of the covered walls. And food trucks.

Three different food trucks were parked beyond the covered patio out by what looked like a stage set up for live music. The lines for all three were at least five deep and there were still dozens of more people hanging out on the patio.

Damn. Nothing like this was even close to existing seven years ago.

Someone young probably came up with the idea. Someone who wanted to bring the city to Nashville but respected the existing building enough to leave what was left mostly untouched, outside the patio addition.

Nerves swarm in my gut as I exited the car and tucked my keys into my crossbody bag.

I didn’t know who was inside yet, or outside. Marysville was a town every young teen claimed to want to leave, but that wasn’t always possible. And dreams didn’t always go the way you hoped.

Cole being the classic example. Which meant, inside those walls could be everyone I once knew, friends of Hilary who’d recognize me and kick my butt out at first sight.

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