Page 61 of Swept for Forever
She handed over a couple of compostable containers, then grabbed two glass-bottled drinks from a wooden crate and plunked them onto the counter. “Here. You take these too.”
I eyed the glass bottles, their reddish-orange glow almost teasing under the condensation.
Mrs. Sutton winked. “My own recipe. On the house.”
I glanced at Dom, waiting for him to argue, but he didn’t. He just tipped an imaginary hat and said, “Much appreciated.”
Still a little awestruck, I followed him outside. People in this town were just like that, friendly and generous.
I started toward the nearest bench, but Dom’s hand brushed my wrist, tugging me toward his truck instead.
“Let’s eat in the park.”
The park was beautiful. The river stretched out ahead, its surface rippling with the breeze, and behind us, a tree-lined avenue framed rows of houses, each one charming in its own way, with white picket fences, wide porches, and window boxes overflowing with color. The kind of place where people planted roots.
We sat on a bench, and the moment I took my first bite ofthe meatball, I nearly groaned. It was sweet, garlicky, sticky in all the right ways, and full of flavor that hugged back.
Dom chuckled. “That good?”
I held up a hand. “Don’t talk to me right now. I’m having a moment.”
He smirked, handing me a bottle of lemonade. “Try this. I’m guessing you haven’t had buffaloberries yet.”
I eyed the drink. It was almost peachy. “I thought this was huckleberry.”
“Nope.” He stretched out his legs, tipping his chin toward the river. “Buffaloberries are native around here. They grow in these thorny little bushes and taste awful if you eat them raw. Bitter as hell.”
“Fantastic endorsement.”
He laughed. “But once you do it right—dry them, sweeten them—they’re one of the best things you’ll ever have. They’ve got this tart, citrusy flavor with a honey finish.”
I took a sip, and wow. It was crisp and tangy, just sweet enough to smooth out the sharp edges.
“Okay,” I admitted. “That’s pretty incredible.”
“See?” He nudged my cup. “Mrs. Sutton knows what she’s doing.”
I passed a meatball to Lulu, and she made quick work of it. Then, I speared one for myself and dragged it through the rice. “So, what’s your plan, Dominic Powell?”
He stretched his arms over the back of the bench. “Well, my grand plan got slightly derailed by a certain someone who wandered into the wilderness and sent a four-legged telegram for help.”
I gave him a light kick. “That should count as a brownie point for you in the afterlife. Lawyers need all the help they can get. St. Peter’s not exactly handing out fast passes.”
He let out a laugh, nearly choking on his meatball. “Oh, Autumn. I didn’t realize you had jokes.”
“Stick around. I’ve got a whole arsenal.”
He smirked, shaking his head before glancing around the park. “But seriously? First order of business, I need a home. How about you? What’s your plan, Autumn?—?”
“Jones.”
“Autumn Jones.”
“Yeah, same. Home.” I tried not to sound like I was dreading. “I’m going back soon.”
He glanced over. “Where’s home?”
The question split my thoughts clean down the middle.
