Page 9

Chapter 9

Fleur

T hirty minutes. That’s all the time I have to get ready for dinner.

Dashing up the front porch steps, I nearly bulldoze past the freshly painted porch. It was impossible to finalize a color, and I spent three hours at the paint store before finally settling on Greek Villa, a creamy white.

I drag my hand over the freshly sanded wood now a milky color. Images of early morning coffee in a rocking chair, watching the sun morph above the horizon, while the neighbor across the street bales his hay stream into my mind.

I glance at the fields surrounding my little farmhouse that are visible from all three sides of my porch, not another house in sight. Country air dances around me with a mix of grass and the soft, sultry night smell. I let it wash over me, closing my eyes to inhale the peace and quiet.

The house I had with Chris, his house, sat in a tiny community inches from a four-lane highway. Each night, I fell asleep to the hum of traffic or the neighborhood block party. There was no porch. Only a stoop Chris and I used to sit on with our morning coffee before I’d get tired of waving to the twenty people walking their dogs or running before their morning commute to work.

I sigh and peer around at the empty porch. Outdoor furniture is next on my list.

Dashing into the house, I sprint to my bedroom, stripping clothes as I go, and quickly step under the spray of the shower. It’s bone-chilling cold, but I don’t have adequate time to let it warm up. Within minutes, I dart around my new master bathroom, blow-drying my hair and tossing on some makeup. Stepping back, I shrug. Guess this is acceptable.

I’ve let my hair hang long, framing my face and hiding the pearl studs in my ears. Deciding on a peach-colored summer dress with cap sleeves, I slide it up and over, eyes snagging on the claw-foot tub and smiling.

It was a splurge. Vintage cast iron coated in porcelain. The all-white tub with its ornate claw feet that curve outward like the talons of a fairy-tale creature. It’s timeless, especially with the gleaming chrome fixtures. Even though now it’s sitting on my credit card.

However, the bath I sank into last night, propped against the end while I texted my mom—worth it.

Adam asked me to meet him at the restaurant. Apparently, he has some work to do up until our date. Honestly, I’m glad. Mentally, I’m not sure I could handle the whole pick-me-up-for-a-first-date thing right now. At least this way it feels like I’m meeting a friend for dinner.

I pull into the quaint restaurant described online as “Ruin’s novelty delight with classic Southern cuisine.” But the building is quite weathered and bland. Mostly wrapped in browns and greens, the building’s only color is planted in the hanging flower baskets adorning every other porch post.

After a quick glance around for Adam’s truck, I sit back, content to scroll through some of the socials I’ve been actively avoiding.

That’s the problem with breaking up with your high school boyfriend after nine years. Our entire friend group is shared. Or … was . When I left, I effectively removed myself from it. Not that I wanted it that way, but it seems they’ve picked a side.

Tina is pregnant, and Sarah is engaged. All within the two months since I left. No one texted me. Both their significant others are best friends with Chris, but Tina and Sarah were my two closest friends in high school. I thought I’d at least hear from them.

A glaringly pristine white truck pulls in next to me and Adam raises a hand in my direction. Huh. I thought his truck was red. In fact, I clearly remember the dirty mud flaps and toolbox in the bed of it.

Gathering my purse and courage, I push out the door. Adam rushes to grapple with the handle, intent on finishing the job. It’s not necessary, but I let him shut it when I’m out and standing in front of him.

“Fleur, you look …” His words trail off as he reaches for my shoulder to give it a squeeze.

I peer up at him. His clean-shaven face and his deep earthy eyes drink me in. He’s in classic blue jeans and a light green V-neck—not much different from his attire when I’ve seen him before. Am I overdressed?

“Not so bad yourself,” I say, pulling my arms in to wrap them around my middle.

He gives me a cheesy grin and guides me to the double doors.

When we step through, I realize I am, in fact, wildly overdressed. Locals fill the rickety wooden building dressed in jeans and work boots. Checkered tablecloths mixed with the aroma of home-cooked comfort food transport me to a time of diners and handwritten menus.

Adam and I draw attention with the first few steps we take to be seated. All eyes in the room feel like they are on us as a young woman leads us to our seats.

She rattles off the nightly special. Fried catfish with collard greens and something else I miss. The bread pudding for dessert is the last thing I catch before she dashes away for our drinks.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t been on a date in a while. I’m rusty,” Adam says.

I blink up from my perusal of the collection of iron skillets hanging on the wall and tilt my head in his direction with a smile. “Rusty? We just sat down.”

“I should’ve pulled out your chair.”

“That’s okay, Adam, really. Have you eaten here? What’s good?” I pick up the menu and study the rows of delicious-sounding food.

“I have, but nothing compares to my mother’s home cookin’.” His accent grows every time he talks about home.

“I’m sure.”

“Even at thirty, I’m still wandering home for good food. But if I had to choose …” He scans the menu. “I’d have to go with the tried-and-true catfish. Comes with hushpuppies, but you can sub that out.”

I’m not sure I’ve had fried catfish before, although I’m excited to try.

Our drinks are delivered, and we both place an order for the special before we chat about his day.

“Did you have a nice day at work?” he finally asks.

“I did. I was able to talk with my mom a bit while I turned over several rooms for the weekend. Mrs. Northgate is having some issues with her cabinets, and I think?—”

“I see.”

I pause, mouth half open to continue, but Adam’s gaze is staring past me. The urge to rub the ear he seems to be focused on is strong.

“Do you know them well? Mrs. and Mr. Northgate, that is.”

His spine snaps straight, gaze narrowing instantly before softening. “I guess you could say that.”

That’s it? That’s all I get. It’s like I’m a ping-pong between two stubborn paddles. I tell myself I’m not entitled to any information or drama. Perhaps it’s best if I don’t understand … but then again … “You know?—”

“So, Fleur. How does an amazing woman, such as yourself, find herself in Ruin, Mississippi, of all places?”

I blink. “Actually, I?—”

“Well, well, look who it is.” A slithering, ear-grating voice interrupts my attempt to be honest and divulge that I’m a broken heart in need of repair.

Adam’s eyes jump to the three men standing beside our table. Dressed in dark jeans and leather jackets, they all sneer down at us. One man isn’t even concealing his side-holstered gun. I suck in a breath as Adam addresses a man with gold teeth.

“Blitz.”

Is that his real name or …

“Fancy a dinner out tonight, Adam?” the man asks. His patchy gray hair places him most likely in his forties. The gold in his teeth spans the entire bottom row, and my gaze flits to his black hoop nose ring before flicking back to Adam.

His face is flush. Defeated, lifeless eyes bob down to his menu, his right hand fidgeting with the fabric menu cover. He works loose a string to roll between his thumb and forefinger.

The entire restaurant has slowed, the hum of conversation sinking to whispers. Expressions tense around the room as they regard the three men. One of which, a younger man with buzzed blond hair, has a to-go bag full of food containers under his arm. The other bald man, who looks semifamiliar, shoves his leather-gloved hands into his black jean pockets.

A brittle laugh volleys back at us from Blitz, and he flexes his fingers at his sides. “No answer. Guess that’s pretty typical of you. Letting others solve all your problems, pay?—"

“We get it,” Adam snaps, then immediately folds into himself.

Blitz’s eyes tick to the side, sliding over my face and down my body. My muscles tighten, flinching as he reaches forward to tap twice under my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his.

I can’t speak. Can’t smack his hand away. I’m frozen.

“And what’s a pretty thing like you doing with him?”

Background laughter from the other two men slices through the silence in the room. I hold his stare, but the icy blue peering back at me feels shattered—fuzzy. In fact, I’m pretty sure the room is spinning.

“All right, Blitz. That’s enough. I’ve got people to feed here,” an older woman with a raspy voice hollers from near the kitchen.

“Just saying hi to an old friend, Deborah.” He smirks at Adam and licks his lips at me.

“Yeah, well, take your food and head out. It’s on the house.”

Blitz finally diverts his gaze from our table and looks back over his shoulder at the tiny woman. “It’s always on the house.”

She flicks her hand in his direction, so casually that it makes me wonder if they’re frequent customers.

With one last sneer at Adam, all three men turn to the doors and exit, the air in the room finally returning. Taking a deep breath, I glance at Adam. His head is buried in the menu like he hasn’t already decided and ordered.

“Are you okay?” It’s the only thing I can muster. Adam looks like he got steamrolled into oblivion and while the rest of the guests work on amping up the conversation and taking back their night out, Adam looks ready to throw in the towel.

“Yeah,” he squeaks, then tries again. “Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just assholes being assholes.” He clears his throat and takes a sip of his sweet tea.

The tone of our dinner date changes. We chat about the summer weather, and he fills me in on the upcoming town activities, which seem to be the highlight of the small town’s life. Personally, I’m looking forward to the farmer’s market.

Periodically throughout our meal, Adam studies me, then glances back at the spot where the three men stood. Like he’s trying to decide how rattled I am from this strange encounter.

River said many of the townspeople know some members of this “organization”. So I can’t hold it against Adam that he does. It’s a small town. Everyone knows everyone. However, it’s his shame-induced expression that fuels the war within me. That keeps questions leeched to the tip of my tongue. What was all that about?

When our meal is finished, our server comes by with the check and Adam gives her his card.

“Thank you for dinner. I have to admit, I think I’ve been converted to a fried catfish lover.”

“Ah, just wait until you have my mom’s. She and my father do a large frying for the Fourth of July. Barbeque, homemade french fries, catfish, coleslaw, and other sides. It’s practically a community event. You’ll have to come.”

I smile.

“Adam,” the waitress says, “I’m sorry, but the card was declined.”

“Oh, shoot. Here, try this one.” He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and pulls out another card. The waitress scurries off.

“I have cash. Do you want me to?—”

“No,” Adam says, a sharp bite to his words. “I mean, no, Fleur … shit, I’m sorry.”

He drags a hand through his dark slick hair, tousling it into a mess before resting his chin in his palm and propping his elbow on the table.

“This one isn’t working either.” The server pops back up. She’s obviously uncomfortable telling him. Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, downturned into a timid frown.

Adam’s eyes narrow on her, and his brow furrows into deep lines harboring annoyance. “I don’t have another card.”

“I’ve got it tonight, Adam. Please let me.” I pull out my purse, wanting to put this young girl out of her misery. She looks between Adam and me before I hand her cash. “Keep the change. Thank you so much.”

Adam doesn’t say much, walking me to my car. I haven’t been on a first date in, well, forever, but I’m trying not to let one experience ruin what I know about him. He’s always been kind and hardworking, even if it’s in an eager way.

Reaching my car, I turn to say goodnight, but salty lips suddenly meet mine. Soft and tender, he pushes me into my jeep door, deepening the kiss.

My mind whirls as his hands fly to my cheeks, holding me against him. His tongue darts out, seeking entry, but I … I can’t.

I pull back, panting at his sudden fervor, and search his eyes. Dark with desire, he allows his hand to linger on my cheek, thumb caressing over my heated skin.

“I had an amazing time with you. I hope we can continue this.”

Stunned into silence, I can only offer him a closed-lip smile. Flashes of Chris and the ache of a broken heart cling to me. Claws embedded so deep I fear yanking them out. Or perhaps ripping them out for Adam would leave gaping holes he wasn’t qualified to heal. Would anyone be?

“Safe trip home,” he says before planting a chaste kiss on my cheek and walking around to his truck to climb in. His tires squeal off, leaving me standing there.

Hands shaking, I manage to pull out my keys and unlock my door. I sit in deafening silence, fingers tracing the rubber bands at my wrist and the spot on my lips where his mouth suddenly met mine.

I glance over at the empty parking space next to me. His truck definitely used to be red.