Page 12 of Tempting Promises
“Hiking, drunk girls, and hot tubs? Fuck yeah I am.”
“I guess that means I’m not.”
I smile and slap his shoulder. “Nope. Welcome to being the manager.”
There’s not a chance in hell I’m missing that trip.
four
CHARLOTTE
“Hello there, Charlotte,” Mrs. Cooke, the owner of the small grocery store, says as I bring my basket up to the register.
“Hello. How are you and Mr. Cooke doing?”
She smiles warmly at me. “Very good, dear. How are you?”
Broke, tired, and barely hanging on. “Great! I’m just getting a few things and then heading back to the farm.”
“That’s nice. Your grandpa would’ve been so proud. You know we dated once, right?”
Ah, yes, the story that never seems to die, even though both of my grandparents are gone. Mrs. Cooke had a crush on my pop when she was in high school and I swear, she loves to tell me.
Every timeI see her.
“I do. I know he was very fond of you.”
She scoffs. “Please, he dumped me for your grandma.”
I laugh softly. “And you found your true love.”
Her gaze moves to her husband, who is stacking boxes on the end cap. “Yes, I did, even if the old fool can’t hear worth a damn.” She raises her voice. “And won’t wear the damn hearing aids!”
“Huh?” Jimmy says, having heard his wife yelling but not what she yelled. “What did you say?” I fight back the wince at his near screaming.
“I said, you need to wear the damn hearing aids!” Mrs. Cooke rivals his volume.
“I don’t need them. Quit your nagging, woman.”
She huffs, and her eyes meet mine. “Don’t get married, dear, there’s a reason they say only fools fall in love.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
The door pings and in walks the man who can cure any woman of wanting to marry. “Rowan!” Mrs. Cooke clasps her hands together. “I have your bag here for you.”
“Thanks, Mrs. C.”
His eyes move to mine, and the light blue that mingles with dark seems to brighten. “Well, well, if it isn’t Charlotte Sullivan. Did you know I come here every Tuesday at this time? Did you miss me? Needed to see me? Were you dying to try to catch me on the sly in order to hit on me?”
“You know, you’ll find this super hard to believe, but I don’t, in fact, keep up with the daily rituals of baboons. I’m actually running a farm, working hard, and doing it without a staff so no, I don’t care or know that you go to the store every Tuesday.”
Rowan grins. “And yet...here you are, in the store on Tuesday and not on your very important farm.”
I turn to Mrs. Cooke. “Thank you, Mrs. C. I appreciate you pulling these for me.”
“Of course, dear.”
I walk out into the abnormally freezing cold in early March, heading to my very old, very loved pickup truck I call Frankie, and open the passenger side. I do this because the driver’s side door doesn’t open. It’s been stuck since 1989, and I definitely don’t have the funds to fix it. I put the groceries on the floorboard and haul myself up.
