Page 42 of The Last Love Song
Family first.
Heather remembered how resentful she’d felt toward Tiffany McCord today when she’d used her dad’s slogan to try to make him sound like a crooked politician scheming to line Finley pockets. She’d censored details like that from Erin, knowing they’d only fire her up.
And, of course, she wasn’t mentioning that the whole town now thought she had a relationship with Zach. Obviously, the “more than friends” vibe she’d gotten from him at the fishing tournament hadn’t been the product of an overactive imagination. The rest of Heartache had thought the same thing.
“So, are you mad at me for delaying my trip?” She toyed with her necklace, a vintage Wedgwood cameo of two girls jumping rope, a gift from Erin long ago.
“Possibly.” Erin didn’t sound mad.
Heather smiled. Relieved.
“But since you love me dearly, and you’re on your honeymoon with a supercute new husband, you can hardly let this ruin your trip, right?”
“Right. In fact, I owe that cute new husband a dance, so…”
“Go have fun.” Heather dropped her keys in her leather satchel. “Don’t worry about us.”
Disconnecting the call, she grabbed her sweater from the backseat and stepped outside. The chill of the evening hit her, a brisk breeze that made her pause to pull on the heavy sweater over her old baseball jersey.
She wrapped her arms around herself and jogged to the back of the infield behind the fence, dodging a few teens who wereworking on a car in the parking lot. When she arrived at the concession stand, she slipped in the back door.
“Heather!” Startled, Trish dropped the paperback she’d been reading. “You surprised me.”
She scooped her book off the floor and held down a few T-shirts on hangers to keep them from blowing in the breeze while the back door was open.
“Sorry.” Heather closed them inside the negligible warmth of the building. With one window always open to the outdoors, the concession stand was never temperature controlled. “I just pulled into the parking lot and I thought it would be faster to come around the back way than to bypass friends in the stands.”
“Are you sure you’re not just avoiding questions about the hunky mayor?” Trish shoved her book into a pink, leopard-print shopping tote and straightened to leave. “I heard a reporter called you out in the press conference today.”
“News travels fast in this town. But he had no idea what he was talking about.” Heather lowered herself onto the stool that Trish vacated. “All conjecture.”
“Is it? Because the day before, Daisy Spencer told us she saw you and Zach fishing together by the river and there were sparks flying all over the place.” Trish did a fair impression of Mrs. Spencer’s country drawl.
“Trish, you know I adore Mrs. Spencer. We all do. But she’s a romantic with a capital R.”
Trish grinned. “And that journalist from the local radio station? I suppose he’s a romantic, too?”
“You’re determined to give me a hard time, aren’t you?” Heather rose as a throng of dirt-smudged preteen boys approached the stand.
“Not at all.” The woman shuffled back a step to give Heather a one-armed hug. “But I work at the Strand, honey, so I like to think I’m better at sniffing out a good news story than anymember of the media. And I’m telling you that—true or not—this town is going to eat up a story about our handsome mayor falling for the next superstar onAmerican Voice.”
“He’s not falling for me.” She remembered how much it had hurt when he’d pulled away after their kiss. “But I understand what you’re saying. If I don’t want rumors circulating, I shouldn’t be teaching eligible bachelors how to fish in my spare time.”
Live and learn.
Heather turned to take five orders at once as the boys chose drinks from a cooler and pawed over the candy bars. Trish had slipped out the back door during the hubbub, so that by the time the boys had spent their last nickel, Heather had nothing to do but watch the game in progress. The fire department led by three runs, but then teenage J. D. Covington came up to bat for the teachers. He was one of the best athletes in town. His mother taught social studies, but his father owned the quarry and was the wealthiest man in Heartache. Heather knew who J.D. was because Megan had dated him briefly last year.
J.D. dug in at the plate, his long legs spiderlike as he crouched to assume his hitting stance.
“Go, J.D.!” the small crowd cheered him on while the pitcher checked out the sign from his catcher.
Behind Heather, the door to the concession stand opened, a cool breeze blowing the hanging T-shirts on the walls and chilling her legs. She thought Trish must have forgotten something until Zach Chance stepped into the small space and shut the door behind him.
“Zach.” Her heart sped a little just seeing him, even though she was upset with him. “This isn’t a good idea?—”
“No one will see us.” He cut her off, his expression unreadable. “We need to talk.”
She glanced through the front window again. No one was headed this way. Yet.
