Page 20 of Curve Balls and Second Chances (Pickwick Pirate Queens #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY

R ose found herself standing in her kitchen, nervously watching the clock as the sun dipped behind the Pickwick hills, shadows stretching long and lazy across the yard.

The air was heavy with the smell of baking casserole and honeysuckle drifting through the open window.

She’d vacuumed the rugs, wiped down the counters twice, and even polished the little ceramic salt-and-pepper shakers shaped like ducks that had belonged to her mama.

The house was clean. The casserole was in the oven. And still, butterflies danced in her stomach like a whole team of cheerleaders.

What unsettled her most wasn’t Acen himself but the fact that she was wearing lipstick. Lipstick , of all things. A muted berry shade she’d dug out of the back of her bathroom drawer, cap dusty, nearly forgotten. She hadn’t bothered with lipstick in at least a year.

Not that she’d admit any of that to Acen Wheeler .

When the knock came exactly at six o’clock, not a minute earlier or later, she straightened, smoothed her skirt, and tried not to sprint for the door like a teenager with a crush.

He stood there on the porch, framed by the last gold light of the evening, holding a paper sack from the local bakery. The smell of fresh yeast rolls drifted up as soon as he shifted the bag.

“Peace offering?” she asked, arching a brow, fighting for casual when her heart had already leapt into her throat.

“Bribe,” he said with that grin that had once undone every bit of sense in her. “ I wasn’t sure what the dress code was, but I figured carbs were always safe.”

“You’re not wrong,” she said, stepping back and pulling the screen door wide to let him in.

Acen paused on the threshold, eyes roaming the room. His gaze softened like he’d walked straight into a memory. “ It hasn’t changed much since we were kids.”

“I’m grateful my parents left it to me,” Rose said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “ Lot of memories floating around these walls. And with Riley out of it, it’s cleaner. He’s not here to leave wet towels and stinky shoes everywhere.”

That earned a chuckle. “ I do kind of miss his terrible taste in posters, though. Remember that one with the muscle car and the girl in a bikini—what was her name?”

“Trina,” Rose deadpanned.

Acen snapped his fingers. “ Right . I bet she’s a realtor now.”

“She’s mayor of McNairy County .”

He nearly choked on the sip of tea she’d just handed him. “ You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Rose smirked, enjoying his shock. “ Small towns: where your high school sins are just résumé bullet points.”

The ease between them startled her, like no time at all had passed. She led him into the kitchen, the heart of her home, where the walls were lined with pale blue beadboard and her mama’s cast-iron skillet still hung above the stove.

Acen set the bakery bag down, then, without asking, began pulling plates from the cabinet, silverware from the drawer, setting the table with a comfort that made Rose’s chest ache. He moved through her kitchen as though he belonged there.

And it felt natural. Too natural. The sort of natural that could trick a lonely heart into forgetting history, forgetting scars.

And that scared her.

The casserole came out bubbling and golden, filling the room with the smell of cheese and herbs.

They sat, ate the casserole, and for a while it was like nothing had ever gone wrong.

They laughed about Riley’s failed attempt at cutting his own hair before prom, about the year the marching band’s tuba player had fainted in the Fourth of July parade from the heat.

They tiptoed around the one summer they both remembered too well, the summer that had ended with Briana’s triumphant smile and Rose’s heart shattered.

When the plates were scraped clean and the candles she’d lit had burned low, Rose poured the two of them a glass of wine. Acen sipped his, leaning back in his chair, watching her in a way that made her skin warm.

“So,” she said at last, her voice steadier than she felt. “ Why now?”

He blinked. “ Why what now?”

“Why come back? You could’ve stayed gone. Even with a blown-out knee, the pros could use a guy with your talent as a coach. You could’ve been anywhere. So why Pickwick Bend ?”

Her words hung between them, heavy as June humidity.

Acen looked down at his hands, then back at her. He didn’t answer right away.

Finally, softly: “ Because I couldn’t shake the feeling that I left the best parts of myself here.

Because I’ve built a good life, Rose , a respectable one.

But I never stopped wondering if the real life—the one that felt like mine—got away from me.

And because…” He swallowed. “ Because I hoped that maybe I still had a chance to make things right.”

She stared at him, her heart thudding so loudly she swore he could hear it.

“Don’t screw it up,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised.

And when he reached across the table and laid his hand over hers, she didn’t pull away.

The Pickwick Inn bar was dimly lit, all knotty pine walls and brass fixtures that had seen better days.

Briana sat on a red leather stool, swirling the ice in her vodka soda, glaring at the wood-paneled wall as though it had personally betrayed her.

Her reflection in the backbar mirror showed perfect makeup, perfectly styled hair, but her eyes glittered with something sharp.

Declan Rowe , seated slightly back in the corner near the big stone fireplace, had been watching her since she walked in.

Not because he made a habit of watching beautiful women, though Briana was nothing if not striking, but because she radiated a kind of storm energy that drew the eye.

Dangerous . Electric . Like she was plotting something.

He rose, crossing the worn carpet, and took the seat beside her. “ You look like someone who just lost.”

Her gaze flicked over him, cool and unimpressed. “ I didn’t lose. I just recalculated.”

Declan chuckled. “ That sounds like something someone says when they’re plotting revenge.”

“Maybe I am.”

He lifted his glass, studying her. “ Should I be concerned?”

“You?” She smirked. “ No . Not unless you’re planning to stand in my way.”

“I try not to meddle,” Declan said lightly. “ But I’ve learned two things fast in this town: don’t badmouth the Pickwick Pirate Queens , and don’t mess with Rose McAllister unless you want half the county against you.”

At Rose’s name, Briana’s smile twisted like a knife. “ Funny . You sound like someone who’s interested.”

“Maybe I am.”

She leaned in, perfume sharp and floral. “ Then let me give you some free advice, Dr . Rowe . She’s not as perfect as everyone pretends. And she’s about to make a very familiar mistake.”

Declan’s easy smile dimmed, curiosity sharpening. “ And you’re planning to stop her?”

“I’m planning,” Briana said, sliding off the stool, tossing back the last of her drink, “to make sure she doesn’t forget who I am.”

Her heels clicked against the wooden floor as she swayed toward the exit, leaving the faintest trace of perfume and menace behind.

Declan watched her go, unsettled. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh at her dramatics or worry for Rose .

He’d come to Pickwick Bend for peace, to build a practice where he could heal dogs and cats and maybe himself after too many years in bigger cities.

But clearly, he’d stumbled into a story already in motion.

And maybe, just maybe, Rose McAllister wasn’t the only one who needed to watch her back.