Page 31 of Playing it Country

“I’m sure you’re decent at a lot of things,” he says with a wolfish grin, and I laugh as I wad my napkin up to throw at him. He dodges it easily, but relief floods my veins at having this playful side of Case back.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I smirk as I take a bite of my sandwich and almost choke when Case claps his hands together.

The noise is so loud it echoes off every surface in the kitchen and practically has my ears ringing.

“I have an idea.”

Coughing, I swallow and then take a sip of my drink before speaking. “What’s that?”

“You need a tour.”

“A tour? Of what? I’ve been here for a few weeks.”

“Ah,”—he muses and it’s every bit that aw shucks country boy look that has my panties practically melting off on the spot—“but you haven’t seen it from a local’s perspective.”

“Aunt Holly doesn’t count?”

He bobs his head from side to side. “Yes and no. It’s just different.” He pops the final bite of his lunch in his mouth and then points at me. “When you’re finished, grab your camera and we’ll go.”

“Sir, yes sir!” I mock salute.

“Don’t even start with that. You’re trouble enough as it is,” he grumbles, and I laugh as I watch him disappear down the hall.

12

CASE

Hannah’s shorts ride up her thighs as we hit every bump in the road on the way to Hank’s cabin on Cedar Lake. My mouth is dry as miles of silky smooth skin call to me from the passenger seat. I wasn’t kidding when I said she was trouble. The girl is absolute perfection and so damn tempting it’s hard to breathe.

Being a mature adult is terrible. She’s not stayin’, and I’m looking for something more than a quick fling with a girl I’m already in too deep with. It’s a predicament I don’t know how to navigate.

“Oh, I love this song!” Hannah says as “Summertime” by Kenny Chesney plays through the speakers. Every word hits too close to home as Hannah sings along and shimmies in her seat. She’s comfortable in my space, and while it should be scaring the shit out of me, it only makes me cravemore.

Pulling into the driveway, I put the truck in park and we stare out at the lake. It’s beautiful this time of day with the sun shining off the surface and the melodic sound of the water against the shore.

“Come on,” I say as I push open my door and step out onto the dirt driveway. Hannah follows and we walk down to the edge of the lake.

“Who owns this?”

“Hank.” I look at her and try to gauge her reaction. “It’s part of the reason he was framed and sent to prison.”

“Wow,” she says and while I know she has questions, she doesn’t press.

I hum and then point to her right. “If you decide to stick around, I’ll tell you who lives in that house.”

“Famous?” She raises her camera and snaps a photo before squatting down close to the surface of the water.

“You could say that,” I say as I watch her capture the beauty of this moment.She’sbeautiful and I take my phone out and snap a picture as she stands, her hair blowing in the breeze and her face serene as she looks through the lens.

Meeting my gaze, she grins. “What else?”

“Back in the truck.” I turn and race for the vehicle, and she laughs and follows me.

We spend the next part of the day like that—the place where Otto almost broke his arm and we had to explain to Mama why he couldn’t move it too good, where I lost my first tooth after Waylon and Sorren tied a string around it and then ran in the opposite direction, the pond where we used to catch frogs and bugs.

Each time, she’d pull her camera from her bag on the floor of the truck and capture a moment preserved only in my memory. Honestly, most of the stories hadn’t crossed my mind in ages, but something about Hannah made me want to share that little piece of me. I want her to like Clementine Creek not just because it’s an incredible town with incredible people but for the feel of this town—the things that make it home beyond the buildings and the lifted trucks driving down the road.

“What’s the smile for?” she asks, and I smile wider.

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