Page 5 of Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend (Catching Feelings #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

KAYLA

I don’t enjoy pain.

I’m not the type to hunt for a hammer and then smash my thumb for fun.

Yet night after night, I come by Donegal’s and approach everyone I see, ask them all about themselves, and take meticulous mental notes so that they’ll feel seen and remembered by me. And every night, I feel the same deep sting of humiliation and rejection that turns my stomach sour.

This pain has a purpose , I tell myself as Mayor Kent studies me like he would spoiled meat. This effort is like … exercising or putting hydrogen peroxide on a cut. Necessary pain.

I hope.

“I’m not throwin’ out the first pitch, Miss Carville, and that’s final,” the mayor says as he walks away from me.

He has that classic, Orville Redenbacher, sweet old man look.

And like everyone else in town, he hates me.

When he walks off, I spot my next victims.

Ha! Let’s be honest, babe: you’re their victim.

It’s the church ladies.

“Good evening,” I say with a smile when I approach the table where Lively Loretta and Unique Eunice are sitting. “How are you both?”

Loretta eyes me like I’m selling something. “We’re fine. Just talking about the covered dish Sunday.”

“Your pie was such an interesting choice,” Eunice says, referring to a dessert I brought to the last “covered dish” (aka church potluck). Everyone is still talking about it. My pie, not the potluck.

I ordered the thing from a luxury bakery in Napa Valley that my best friend—nope, ex best friend—introduced me to.

My ex best friend …

Stop it, you’re fine.

The point is, the bakery uses twenty-year aged port in the filling and tops it with edible gold leaf, for heaven’s sake, and they act like I found it in a compost bin.

“I thought it would be nice,” I say, trying to keep the helplessness out of my voice. “Heritage Port Pies are world-famous.”

“Yes, well, Mullet Ridge doesn’t care so much about being worldly,” Loretta says.

“But what an … effort you made,” Eunice says, and I almost wonder if she’s playing a part, reciting what was said to her when she was a young woman. But then she doubles down. “I’m sure that matters where you’re from.”

I’m from Atlanta, I want to shout.

No, don’t be tacky.

I can’t let myself be hurtful. These women live by a code that matters to them. It’s not their fault I don’t know it.

But boy, I’m getting tired of having that thrown in my face night after night. And tonight is no different.

Defeat drops on me like a weight as they make more thinly veiled comments about me, and I stand here, towering awkwardly over them while I smile and take it.

Maybe I should quit.

Not just for the night, but altogether. Coming here every night, trying to show the town that I care, that I want to be here, has accomplished nothing.

I’d say it’s the fact that I’m drinking club soda at a bar, but the bakery and coffee shop already rejected me.

And even though I paid for every little league team’s uniforms, when I showed up to the first night of games a few weeks ago, everyone looked at me like I was a witch planning to curse everyone.

I won’t make any hasty decisions, but I can’t take more self-inflicted pain tonight, especially not after the conversation with Aldridge and Gordon today. Just thinking about it makes me queasy and wrung out.

“Thanks for taking the time—” I start, already spinning away when a hand finds my elbow.

“Pardon me,” a low voice drawls. I glance away from Eunice and Loretta to see a well-kempt grizzly bear of a man.

With a mullet.

A grin overtakes me. I’m about to blurt, “It’s you!” but what if he doesn’t remember me?

I think in terms of memory games— Top Shelf Sean saves pucks and serves mojitos and motivation —but between us girls, I never needed one for Sean.

That never happens to me.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, his glance lingering on me long enough that I think he must remember me. He must. Right? He looks at the two older women. “But I just got home and had to come say hello to the most beautiful ladies in town.”

Eunice and Loretta go from bold to blushing quickly.

“Oh, you big flirt,” Eunice says, patting her silver hair.

“Emphasis on the big,” Loretta says, waggling her eyebrows behind glasses that make her eyes look huge. “Now get in here and give us a hug.”

She’s even shorter off the stool than she was on.

Next time your dad buys you a baseball team and you move to a new town, try not being taller than all of the women and more successful than everyone . It turns out it’s off-putting.

Who knew?

But Sean is a mountain of a man with probably six inches on me. Aldridge didn’t like me wearing a heel of any kind, but I don’t have a single pair of shoes I couldn’t wear with Sean.

Not that I’m with Sean.

“This is Miss Carville,” Loretta says after getting her hug. She says my name like she’s allergic to it. “She’s the new owner of the Mudflaps and is making every effort to ingratiate herself into the town.”

I grit my teeth and smile, hoping I don’t look as humiliated as I feel.

But Sean looks me over, and for a moment, it feels like his warm brown eyes are drinking me in. And then he smiles and puts his hand on my elbow.

“Kayla and I are old friends. Didn’t she tell you?” he asks, his tone cozier than sitting by a fire. His hand on my elbow is gentle, and the heat of it travels up my arm and into my chest. I don’t lean into it. But I want to.

Then Sean spreads out his arms and wraps me into a hug. “It’s good seeing you.”

Gratitude flares in my chest. I accept his hug, letting his (very, very) strong arms hold me.

“Thank you,” I whisper in his ear, his thick black beard tickling my cheek.

He gives me an extra squeeze of acknowledgment, and when we separate, he keeps his hand on my lower back. It’s not flirty or affectionate so much as supportive.

It’s a message to these women—to anyone who can see—that I have one friend in town. The captain of the hockey team. The hometown hero.

Shock sinks into the lines in Eunice and Loretta’s faces even as the back of my eyes sting at his kindness.

“How did y’all meet?” Eunice asks.

“We met at Sugar Maple Farms at the beginning of the year,” Sean says. “Tripp introduced us, and we became fast friends. Didn’t we, Kayla?”

“That’s right,” I say, patting his torso. It’s meant to be playful—the way I’d swat my brothers when they’re being turds, but Sean isn’t my brother, and he’s not a turd, and so when my hand pats his abs, I keep it there. Like we’re taking engagement photos, or something.

Both Eunice and Loretta’s eyes follow my hand, which I drop too late. And then they make eye contact, like they’re having an unspoken discussion.

“I wish you’d told us, Miss Carville,” Loretta says. “Any friend of Sean’s is a friend of ours.”

“Kayla’s not the type to name drop to win friends. She’s the type to win friends by being there for them, day in and day out.”

I look at him with surprise. That’s exactly who I aim to be. How does he know that?

“Thanks, Sean,” I say softly. Can he even hear me over the drone of voices? The music pumping over the speakers?

“Kayla, why don’t we go catch up?” he asks. “Miss Eunice, Miss Loretta, always a pleasure seeing you. See you Sunday at church.”

“Oh, good. Now that you’re home, we’ll have you bring the deviled eggs again,” Loretta says. “Between us, Darla Hampton’s aren’t up to snuff.”

“I love deviled eggs,” I say. “I’d be happy to bring them!”

Eunice rolls her lips together and pauses. “Oh. I don’t think that’s necessary,” she says. “Sean’s always made the deviled eggs.”

“I insist,” I say brightly.

Loretta and Eunice exchange glances again—what is with these glances?—and then Loretta smiles. And it’s not as venomous as usual! Victory!

“Well, that does sound like a treat. Thank you, Miss Carville. We look forward to it.”

Sean makes his goodbyes and takes my elbow, directing me away from the tables toward the bar. And while we walk, I loop my arms around his bicep and give a squeeze.

“Thank you. You saved me back there! That was the first time they haven’t ended a conversation blessing my heart.”

Sean smiles. He has a great smile, amused but supportive.

It’s as rich and inviting as his eyes. “Just make sure you home make the deviled eggs. Around here, anything store bought is considered taboo. Unless it’s from the Piggly Wiggly and you transfer it to your own dish.

In that case, everyone agrees to pretend they don’t know. ”

I widen my eyes but nod. “Good to know.”

He squeezes my arm one last time before heading behind the bar. I take a stool, and suddenly we’re thrust back in time to that night months ago when we had the most memorable conversation of my life.

I smile at him across the counter.

He smiles back at me as he pours a club soda. His confident movements hold me captive. Nothing about him is rushed or frantic, nothing about him seems aware that someone could be looking at him, watching him, appreciating his every move.

To my surprise, he sets the drink in front of me without asking. A little wedge of lime floats in it, and the glass is already beaded with condensation.

He remembered my drink order?

A handsome older man in a wheelchair nears Sean behind the bar. “Who’s this, then?” he asks.

“Dad, this is Kayla Carville. Tripp’s cousin and the new owner of the Mudflaps. Kayla, this is my dad, Danny O’Shannan. My mom, Cheyenne, is in the kitchen.”

“It’s so good to officially meet you, Mr. O’Shannan,” I say, reaching across the glossy counter to shake his hand. “I love this place. Even if it doesn’t always love me.”

Danny laughs and pats my hand with his free one. “Please, call me Danny. But don’t you worry. The town is pricklier than a porcupine, but you keep showing up, and they’ll change their tune.”

I settle back into my seat. “I hope so. I think the church ladies may come around thanks to your son, but Mayor Kent seems none too happy that my family bought the team.”

“He’s a stickler for the old ways,” Danny says.