Page 4 of Brim Over Boot
“Which makes me twelve years your senior.”
“Honey, there ain’t nothingseniorabout you.”
I shake my head, putting my wallet back in my pocket as the machine spits out a receipt. “The answer is no.”
“Fine,” she says breezily, handing my shopping bag over. “Enjoy your day.”
I tip my head in a nod before exiting Plum’s Grocers, bag in hand. It’s not that I find Jenna unattractive, but my days of casually fooling around are long behind me. At thirty-eight, very little appeals to me about a romp in the sheets that results in the space next to me turning cold within minutes. And considering IknowJenna flirts with just about any age-appropriate—or possibly inappropriate—guy around, I highly doubt it’s me she wants. Just a good time.
And I can appreciate that. Find it flattering, even.
Doesn’t mean I’m interested.
Although I sure haven’t put much effort into settling down, have I? I’m not even sure I want that. Not sure what I want, truth be told.
My thoughts come to an abrupt halt as I spot a face I’d recognize anywhere, the man himself strutting my way across the parking lot. Well, not directly my way, but walking toward the front of the grocery store I just left, smiling at the ground in that way he does. Always smiling. Always so damnhappyfor no conceivable reason.
Except…
Yep. There it is. Colton goddamn Darling lifts his dark head of hair, locks eyes with me, and scowls. Just like that.
I’d laugh if it wasn’t so utterly maddening.
He doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. The golden boy of Darling, Montana glares me down with ice-blue eyes until he’s past, his boots plodding heavily against the asphalt.
I continue on toward Daphne, my motorcycle shining bright red in the midmorning light. With a little more force than necessary, I open up the saddlebags behind the seat and transfer my groceries inside.
Always found the namesaddlebagsa little ironic, considering my profession. Though I suppose Daphne does have plenty of horsepower of her own.
Zipping up the bags, I grab my helmet, mount my bike, and pull out of the parking lot. The house I share with my uncle isn’t all that far from the center of town, just an eight-minute drive down paved roads. I spot the field of buttercups Jenna mentioned on my way, as well as a few other early season wildflowers starting to poke through the soil and still-brown grasses. The mountains, of course, sit high and wide in the distance, orange dancing off their peaks from the sun.
I slow as I turn onto the road where I live, pulling into my driveway not long after and cutting the engine. We have neighbors on both sides, but the houses aren’t close together, affording privacy I appreciate. I’ll need to do some upkeep on the property soon, now that the temperatures are on the upswing. But, for today, I grab the groceries and head inside to make a rather late breakfast.
I can hear my uncle getting a start on his day as I settle inside the kitchen, turning the burner on and placing a cast-iron skillet overtop. I lay down the strips of bacon I bought before pulling eggs out of the fridge.
“Morning,” comes my uncle’s voice less than a minute later.
“Smell of bacon get you moving?” I joke.
He snorts, using his walker to navigate over to the coffeemaker. The pot finishes spitting the last of the brew, and my uncle pours a cup into his favorite chipped mug. “If anything could get me moving, it’d be bacon, that’s for sure.”
He takes a seat at the kitchen table, maneuvering gingerly in a way that causes my chest to pinch. My uncle isn’t a young man. Seventy-six now, although his scoliosis and arthritis are contributing factors to his lack of mobility. He likes to pretend it doesn’t bother him, when I know it does. Even so, I give him a smile, not letting my own concern show.
“Didn’t expect to see you here this morning,” he goes on, smoothing out the newspaper I brought in on my way inside. “You should be out enjoying your weekend.”
“That so?” I ask, flipping the bacon in the skillet to an accompanying sizzle. “And what sort of wild fun do you think I should be getting up to at eleven o’clock on a Saturday morning?”
He snorts, even as he shakes his head. “A date, how about? You haven’t had one of those in a while.”
I set down my tongs and turn to face my uncle. “Walter. Don’t you tell me you’re gonna start meddling in my love life now. You said you never would.”
“I know, I know,” he says, waving me off. “I’m notmeddling. Just an observation.”
“Mhm. Maybe next time, observe in silence.”
He laughs, a hearty, booming thing. My uncle may be weaker than he once was, but his strength of spirit is as strong as ever. As is his sass. “With charm like that, I can’t believe you don’t have dates lined up down the block.”
I shake my head and turn back to the stove, my lips twitching. “I’ll have you know I got asked out just this morning.”
