Page 30 of Butter My Biscuit

“And what’sattractiveto you? Give me an actor.”

“Easy. Scott Eastwood.”

He laughs.

“Why is that funny? He grew up riding horses, fishing, and hunting. He’s just like one of us but happens to be the son of a legend. I feel like if he came to Valentine, I’d win him over, and he’d never leave. I fell in love with him inThe Longest Ride. Lord have mercy …” I fan myself.

“Didn’t we watch that together? The bull rider movie, right?” He pours more wine in both of our glasses.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“He could easily be a cousin. Though I read he didn’t ride in the movie. They used a stuntman.”

“Don’t care. Let a girl dream.”

Our food is delivered on a platter and set in front of us. Harrison and I exchange a smile and cut open our steaks.

“It’s perfect,” I say, my mouth watering with anticipation. I take a bite and let out a moan.

He nods. “Incredible. Maybe the best steak I’ve ever had.”

“Yes, I agree.” I take one of the shrimps off the skewer and cut it in half. “Oh my. I think I’m moving here, just to eat this once a week,” I tell Harrison, and a smile touches his lips.

“Glad you’renotmoving. I was sad, thinking about that.”

“Because you can’t live without me.”

“You’re right about that. Can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

“I’m sure you could find someone to replace me, considering all those numbers you have in your phone.”

“Nah, it’s not the same. You’re irreplaceable, babe.” He sucks in a breath. “You know I would’ve supported your decision. I just want you to be happy.”

“I know, thank you. I want you to be happy too.”

He takes a drink of his wine and then grins. “I am.”

6

HARRISON

After we eat dinner, Grace and I walk over to Whiskey River, a country bar with fifty different whiskeys, dancing, and mechanical bull riding. It’s four blocks away on the opposite end of The Strand.

Before we walk in, I set an alarm on my phone so we have plenty of time to watch the moon rise over the horizon. When we walk in, we’re both carded, and glow-in-the-dark bracelets are snapped to our wrists. I’m shocked at how large the place is and how it nearly takes up an entire city block.

Grace turns and looks at me, and she’s smiling. We make our way around the perimeter of the room because the middle is a large wooden dance floor, where a lot of people are two-stepping.

“Want a drink?” She reaches out her hand, and I take it. She drags me through the crowd with her until we push our way to the bar.

A woman with bright red hair walks over to me and leans across the wood. “Whatcha havin’, sweetheart?”

“Tequila,” Grace says.

“Make it two. Patrón. Salt and a lime, please.”

“Tequila in a whiskey bar, love it.” She smirks, turns, grabs two shot glasses, then tosses them in the air before fixing them how we asked. They’re set in front of us. “Want to start a tab?”

“Sounds good.” I hand her my card, and she asks for my ID.

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