Page 2 of One Night Rebellion (Bellehaven Hotties #10)

J T

"What are your plans now that you're back?" Dad asks as we both sit at the table, drinking our coffee. My little sister huffs as she looks up the stairs from where she sits with us. "She'll be down in a minute, hold your horses," he tells her. "Your mom was running late this morning."

Judging by the shit-eating grin on my dad's face, he's the reason for that.

"I gotta be there early," she whines. "They're picking the choir for next year."

Jesus. She sounds like a cat dying. There's no way they're going to pick Sierra for any kind of choir, but I'm interested in getting away from our parental units right now, so I offer. "If she's not down in five minutes, I'll take you."

"In your car?" Her eyes lift with surprise. "You never let me ride in your car."

She's not wrong, but a '65 Mustang isn't just any car. For a long time, I was worried she'd spill something, but as a tween, she's grown up a lot. It was the one thing I bought my senior year of college before I knew I was going to declare for the draft.

For the last few years, I've worked in Nashville for one of the top investment firms to pay off the bills I made in anticipation of being a millionaire. Two months ago, I got recruited by a Lexington firm, and I made the decision to move home.

"Mooommmmm..."

I grin, laughing at how dramatic Sierra is before turning to my dad. "They gave me money to rent for a year, but they gave it to me in Lexington dollars, if you know what I mean. I'm looking for a house to buy here in Bellehaven."

"You're finally gonna set down roots, huh?"

I take a drink of my coffee. "Looks that way."

"You know Malcolm has his real estate license. Him and his fiancée are doing really well for themselves."

"Yeah." I fork a bite of eggs. "I messaged him on Facebook earlier, and we're going to meet at his office at eleven."

"Want me to come with you?" Dad asks. "I don't have practice until this afternoon."

For a moment I think about it, interested in spending time with him, but then I realize I haven't talked to what was once my best friend, other than social media comments and likes, for the better part of eight years.

He deserves to have my undivided attention when I'm really the one looking for his help.

"Nah, I think I need to do this one solo. Thanks, though."

Dad nods, understanding in his eyes. "Malcolm's a good man. You two were really good friends back in the day."

"Yeah, we were." The memories hit me unexpectedly—late nights playing pickup ball, sneaking out to parties, planning our futures like we had it all figured out. Funny how life has a way of humbling you.

Mom finally appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking flustered but put-together in that way only she can manage. Her hair's still slightly damp, and there's a flush to her cheeks that makes Dad's grin widen even more.

"Sorry, sorry," she says, grabbing her purse and Sierra's backpack in one fluid motion. "Ready, sweetheart?"

Sierra jumps up so fast she nearly knocks over her orange juice. "Finally! I told you they're picking the choir today."

"And I'm sure you'll do wonderfully," Mom says, though I catch the slight wince when Sierra practices on the way to the door.

"See you boys later," she calls over her shoulder, and then they're gone, leaving the house suddenly quiet except for the hum of the fridge.

Dad refills his coffee and settles back into his chair. "So, you nervous about seeing Malcolm?"

I consider the question. "A little, I guess. It's been a long time."

"Time has a way of making things clearer," Dad says. "The good friendships, they have a way of picking up right where you left off."

I hope he's right.

—--

Malcolm's office sits on Main Street in a restored Victorian that's been converted into professional suites.

The sign out front reads Bellehaven Realty - Malcolm Hartford, Licensed Agent in gold lettering that catches the morning sun.

I sit in the Mustang for a moment, gathering myself before heading in.

The receptionist, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes, directs me to Malcolm's office. I knock on the doorframe, and when he looks up, eight years dissolve in an instant.

"JT fucking Willett," he says, standing with a huge grin. "Look at you-- Bellehaven’s son coming home."

"Malcolm," I say, and we embrace like the brothers we used to be. He's filled out some, looks older obviously. It’s apparent that his life has changed since the last time I saw him. Gone is that haunted look in his eyes. Hopefully Luke has been as good for him as he appears to have been for Addie.

"Sit, sit," he says, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. "I can't believe you're actually back. And looking to buy, not just visit?"

"Yeah, man. I'm done with Nashville. Ready to come home."

We spend the next hour catching up. I tell him about the investment firm, the long hours, the money that never quite felt worth it.

Tell him how this new place in Lexington seems more family-oriented, which I’m looking for at this point in my life.

He tells me about getting his real estate license, about building his business from the ground up.

"So, dating anyone?" he asks eventually, leaning back in his chair.

I shrug. "I've dated around, but nothing serious. The Nashville scene... it's all surface level, you know? Everyone's chasing something, trying to make it big, or looking to just take a picture for fucking Instagram. Hard to find anyone real."

"I get that." His face softens. "I'm lucky I found Rachel. Actually, you should meet her. Rach," he yells toward the door.

A moment later, a woman appears—petite, with auburn hair and a warm smile. She extends her hand to me.

"You must be JT. Malcolm's told me so much about you."

"All lies," I say, shaking her hand, and she laughs.

"Oh, I like him already," she tells Malcolm, who beams with pride.

"Rachel handles our marketing and client relations," Malcolm explains. "And she keeps me from making terrible decisions."

"Someone has to," she says fondly, then glances at her watch. "I hate to interrupt, but we should probably head out if we're going to see those properties before lunch."

Malcolm stands, grabbing his keys. "Right. JT, you ready to find your dream home?"

We're heading toward the door when it swings open, and my breath catches in my throat.

Addie Hartford stands in the doorway, and Jesus Christ, seeing her in the light of day is so much more breathtaking than it was last night. When did Malcolm's little sister become... that?

Gone is the girl with braces and pigtails I remember.

In her place stands a woman—curves in all the right places, long dark hair, and eyes that seem to see right through me.

She's wearing jeans that hug her hips and a soft T-shirt that does nothing to hide the fact that she's definitely not a little girl anymore.

"Mal, can I borrow the truck?" she asks, then notices me. "Oh. Hey, JT."

Her voice is different than last night too—lower, with a hint of smokiness that goes straight to parts of me I shouldn't be thinking about when looking at my friend's sister.

"Hey, Addie." I manage to keep my voice steady, but barely.

"What's wrong with your car?" Malcolm asks. He doesn’t mention that we probably shouldn’t know who each other is.

"It decided to die on me last night on Highway 9. Lucky for me, someone was kind enough to stop and help." She glances at me, and there's something in her expression that causes my heart to beat a little faster.

"Wait," Malcolm says, looking between us. "You two...?"

"JT gave me a ride," Addie explains. "My car broke down, and he happened to be driving by."

Malcolm laughs, shaking his head. "Thank God it was JT and not some random guy who might notice you're an adult now."

If only he knew that I'm very much noticing she's an adult.

In fact, it's taking every ounce of self-control I have not to stare at the way her T-shirt clings to her chest, or how her jeans showcase legs that seem to go on forever.

The Addie I remember was all knobby knees and scraped elbows. This Addie... this Addie is trouble.

"The truck keys are on my desk," Malcolm tells her. "Try not to put any dents in it."

"I make no promises," she says with a grin that's pure mischief. Then she turns to me. "You should stop by Rusty's Bar and Grill sometime. I work there—bartending mostly now. I’m giving up the waitressing part since I start my big girl job on Monday."

"Big girl job?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"Marketing coordinator for the tourism bureau. Got a shiny new degree, and I’m going to put it to good use." There's pride in her voice, and something else—determination.

"That's great, Addie. Really."

"Thanks. But like I said, I'll still be bartending evenings and weekends.

Need to save up for a new car now." She winks at me, and my stomach does something that definitely shouldn't happen when looking at your best friend's little sister.

"Come by and I'll make sure you get a couple drinks on the house. "

With that, she saunters past us, and I can't help but watch the sway of her hips. When I turn back, Malcolm is looking at me with raised eyebrows.

"Earth to JT," he says. "You ready to go house hunting?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. "Let's do this."

But as we head toward his car, I can't shake the image of Addie Hartford—grown-up, confident, and dangerous in ways that could complicate my plans to settle back into my quiet hometown life.

This is going to be a problem.