Page 28 of Waitress at the Shadow Ridge Inn
“Bawk, bawk, bawk, ba-gawk,” clucked Shannon’s husband loudly, standing up and flopping his arms like a chicken.
The others laughed.
“I said no!” I yelled back at them. “Get off it and grow the fuck up, okay?”
They stared at me in stunned silence. They’d never seen me lose my temper. Or heard me drop the F-bomb. I looked back at Steve. He didn’t seem as stunned as he was concerned. Then, his lips quirked.
“I like a woman who stands up for herself. Tell you what. How about I get one of my brothers to drive the tractor tonight? You and I could stay here, drink cider, and talk a little more. I saw the way you were ogling those whoopie pies,” he added.
Just like that, my anger cooled. The man had a gift for soothing ruffled feathers.
“You’re not wrong,” I said, smiling now. “I thought I was slicker than that. But I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking; I’m offering. I’m not ready to let you go yet, Casey. I like spending time with you. Please.”
Once again, my bones melted. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t ready to go either despite my head telling me it was the right thing to do. But I had to think about everyone else too, and what it would look like if I let Steve stay back with me while he got someone else to take the group out.
“Go, do the hayride. I’ll wait until you get back.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “You promise?”
I returned his smile with one of my own. “I promise.”
“Go on then,” Jessie said, appearing beside me. She must have arrived while we were out walking. “I’m not going either. We’ll keep each other company.”
Well, hell.
10
With one lastlook at me, Steve walked away with the easy, confident stride of a man who was comfortable in his own skin. He pulled himself up into the tractor with equally appealing masculine grace. I might have looked at his butt. In my defense, he had a really nice butt.
It took several moments before I realized Jessie was talking to me.
“I never liked those things either,” she said as the loaded wagon drew away. “Once you’ve seen the real thing, it’s hard to find any fun in it.”
Isn’t that the truth?
Resigned to spending the next hour with Jessie, I followed her back into the barn and kept my promise to those whoopie pies. I felt a slash of guilt for avoiding her lately. She was a nice person. I just didn’t want her looking any deeper than the facade I’d created around myself.
Thankfully, Jessie didn’t bring up the weird encounter in the kitchen, and neither did I.
Mostly, Jessie talked, and I listened, which suited me fine. I learned that, in addition to sharing an aversion to jump scares, we had several other things in common. We were both only children. We’d both lost our parents at a relatively young age. We both had an appreciation for offbeat British comedies, Abbott and Costello movies, and steamy romance novels.
The most surprising thing I learned was that Jessie had spent several years with the New York City Ballet company in her youth. Her promising career had been cut short by the tragic fire that robbed her of her family and her ability to dance. It was only after her near-death experience, she confided, that the visions had started.
I didn’t tell her about my guardian angel’s nudges. Mild as they were, they could be unsettling too. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to have full-blown visions. If, in fact, she did. I was less skeptical now than I had been, but I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced.
“One person’s visions are another’s delusions,” Angie had told me once when a psychic came forward and offered her services to help me identify my stalker—for a hefty fee, of course. Angie had threatened her with a restraining order if she tried to contact me again.
The hour passed quickly and pleasantly, and before long, we heard the rumble of the tractor approaching, barely audible over the cacophony of loud voices and raucous laughter.
“Oh my God! You should have seen the look on your face, Michelle,” Max teased, nearly doubling over with laughter as they entered the barn. “I think you pulled poor Jason’s arm out of his socket.”
Jason agreed, dramatically rubbing his wounded shoulder.
“Yeah, well, at least I didn’t piss myself!” Michelle shot back.
“I spilled my drink!” Max insisted.
