Page 4 of Tempt (Peachwood Falls #1)

M egan

I splash my way across the street.

Hit-or-miss streetlights project a hazy glow between The Ridges and The Wet Whistle. A handful of cars, primarily trucks, are parked near the establishment’s entrance, which has shifted into more of a bar than a restaurant now that it’s dark.

My first thought after my bubble bath was to climb into bed and sleep.

But I know me. If I don’t eat before I lie down, I’ll be ravenous at two in the morning.

Patti, the sweet receptionist at the hotel, confirmed that there’s nothing to eat in town once The Wet Whistle closes. “Sometimes the gas station has chips.”

How do people survive here?

My phone buzzes as I step onto the cracked sidewalk. I slip it out of my pocket and stand beside a whiskey barrel full of yellow mums.

“Quick question,” I say before my mother can say hello. “Do you realize you sent me to a town without a pizza place?”

Mom’s laughter is loud.

“This isn’t funny,” I say, laughing too.

“It’s only a month, Megan. I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“I mean, maybe. Barely . Patti, the receptionist at The Ridges who has friend potential, advised me I’d be bored out of my mind here.”

“Maggie said there were lots of restaurants and things to do outside Peachwood Falls,” Mom says. “She’s always talking about grabbing lunch from a sushi shop with Lonnie. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

A man with a long, gray beard putters up the road in a golf cart. He stares at me so long that his neck must be in pain.

What? Is it that obvious I’m a tourist ? I look around and sigh. I don’t think tourist would be the right word .

“I’m starting to think you broke your leg on purpose,” I say.

“I was going to say that I wouldn’t do such a thing, but it is awful cozy wrapped up on the couch watching old movies.”

Mom’s unfortunate step off a sidewalk three weeks ago made her unable to fulfill her promise to her best friend, Maggie Marshall. How could she keep up with Maggie’s spirited teenage granddaughter with a cast on her leg?

Answer: she couldn’t. But I could. So my mom volunteered me for the position before I knew what was happening.

That’s what being unemployed and moving in with your mom will get you—even if you’re thirty.

“I’m taking it you made it to town,” Mom says.

“Yeah.” I tell her about breaking down but stop short of the story. She’ll panic. “It’s all good. I’m going to the Marshalls’ tomorrow to meet Maggie’s son and his daughter. Just standing outside The Wet Whistle to get a sandwich right now.” I glance up at the sign. “Cute name, huh?”

“Go eat. I know how you get when you’re hungry. Just let me know when you’re back in your hotel room.”

I smile. “I will. Love you, Mom.”

“Love you.”

I slide my phone into my pocket and tug open the door to the bar.

It’s bigger than I expected based on the outside and much cozier.

A couple sits under a giant stuffed turkey flanked by two deer heads.

The man and woman smile politely before going back to their drinks.

A man at the far end of the bar nods before turning back to the television and giving me a clear view of his Tucker’s Towing shirt.

At least the diesel guy didn’t lie.

I reach the bar beneath a ceiling covered with dollar bills and eighties rock music playing through hidden speakers.

A light flickers at the back of the building, and I spot a chalkboard wall.

Everything from song lyrics to tic-tac-toe games to a plate lunch menu for the upcoming week is written in different colors.

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

The bartender walks my way as I slide onto a barstool. His full head of sandy-colored hair is mussed up like he gave in and let it do whatever it wanted. His eyes are light, too, and playful—just like his smile.

“Probably because I’ve never been here before,” I say.

He stops in front of me and sets his towel down. His friendly face is instantly likable.

“Where is everyone? Patti said this was the most exciting venue in town,” I say.

“Patti isn’t wrong. But she just must’ve forgotten that the Peachwood County Fair is this week, and everyone who’s anyone is there.”

I smile at him. “I see. So if you’re here, what does that make you?”

“Someone who doesn’t like kids, and all the kids are at the fair.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

“So what can I get ya this evening?” He grins. “A drink? Food? Therapy ?”

“While I could probably use a little therapy and a drink after the day I’ve had, I was just hoping for a sandwich.”

“I can make that happen.” He digs around under the bar, then presents me with a laminated menu. “Ignore the stuff on the front. We’re on a skeleton crew in the kitchen after dark.”

I quickly skim the offerings. It’s a variation of hamburgers and grilled cheeses.

“I’ll take a cheeseburger and a Sprite, please,” I say, handing him the menu back.

“Run it through the garden?”

“Huh? I have no idea what that means.”

“You know, do you want all the stuff on it? Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickles.”

“Yup. Run it, baby.”

He points at me, laughing, and disappears through a set of swinging doors.

I pull out my phone and find the camera app.

My best friend, Calista, always gets a kick out of the things I discover on my adventures.

She was adamant that the blueness of Chefchaouen in Morocco was a filter.

And when I paddled through an underground river in the Philippines, she thought I was lying.

So while the dollars on the ceiling in this small-town bar aren’t that exciting, she’ll like it nonetheless.

As I open the app, a deep voice from the other end of the bar captures my attention.

“You must be the girl who was stuck out by Cotton’s,” Tucker says.

Cotton’s?

“Um, I don’t know,” I say, resting my elbows on the bar. “Is Cotton’s a spot with cornfields on either side of the road?”

His laugh is loud and gruff. “This is Peachwood. Everywhere is a spot with cornfields on either side of the road.”

How did he know that was me?

I turn in my chair, the torn leather biting through my jeans. “How did you know that? How did you know I was out there tonight?”

He grins before taking a long slug of his beer.

“I mean it.” My brain spins, searching for an answer. “Did that guy in the black truck tell you?”

Tucker shrugs and goes back to the baseball game. I stare at the back of his round head, unsure whether to demand an answer. I don’t know these people.

Car problems in a cornfield. Hot guy to bait you. A small town with all-knowing residents waiting for darkness to fall …

I glance out the window.

Darkness has fallen.

The bartender comes back and glances at me. He sets my drink down and then plants his hands on the bar. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly, I slide my gaze from the window to Tucker’s mullet and then back to the bartender.

“Tucker knows I broke down today out by Cotton’s—whoever that is,” I say carefully. “How did he know that? It must have been the guy in the truck because that’s the only person I saw. Unless …” My stomach drops. “You know …”

He snorts. “ Don’t .”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t freak yourself out.” He thinks before he speaks again, clearly amused. “ Guy in the truck . What was his name? I’m Gavin, by the way.”

“I’m Megan.” Since leaving him earlier this evening, I have run through my conversation with Diesel Man a hundred times. This time, I try to remember his name and not just his physical details … and come up empty. “I don’t know. Somehow, he didn’t mention it.”

“What did the truck look like?”

“Big. Black.” I pause. “Loud.”

“And the guy?” he asks, grinning.

“And the guy what?”

“What did he look like?”

I study Gavin.

I like him, and not for the same reason I liked Diesel Man. Gavin is attractive, for sure, but Diesel is different. Gavin is cute . He’s the kind of guy who’s a good friend. The one who makes you laugh. He’s the person you call when you have an extra ticket to a concert and no one to go with you.

He’s not the kind of guy you fantasize about throwing you against the hood of a car and burying his face between your legs.

“He was in his thirties, probably,” I say. “Complicated. Not sweet, but not a total dick. Super determined that I didn’t think he was being nice, though—like that would’ve ruined his whole life.”

Gavin’s eyes sparkle.

“Despite his grumpiness, he was freaking hot,” I admit, feeling comfortable enough around my new acquaintance to admit such things. I’m only going to be in town for a month. What do I care what he thinks about me? “Green eyes. Broad shoulders. Forearms that just … ah .”

Gavin bursts out laughing.

“What?” I ask, shrugging. “Do you know who it was?”

I glance at Tucker. He’s watching me over his shoulder and grinning too.

“ What ?” I ask them both, holding my hands at my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Tucker shakes his head, then focuses on the game again.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop, Tucker ,” I say.

His heavy shoulders bounce as he laughs.

I sigh and turn back to Gavin. “Who was he? You guys know, don’t you?”

“How would we know from that description? So vague. I mean, think about it. My eyes are kinda green. Look at these shoulders.” He flexes. “And I’ll have you know I get compliments on these forearms all the time.”

I stare at him. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that your description could be anybody.”

“ Hmm .”

“Don’t hmm me. I bet you’ll figure it out once you’re here for a few days—if you’re sticking around.”

I swirl my straw around my drink.

Gavin is easy to talk to—but most bartenders are. He reminds me of Calista in a weird way. They’re both funny and open and have never met a stranger.

The exact opposite of Diesel Man.

“Yeah, I’ll be around for a while. I’m starting a … it’s a job, I guess, since I’m getting paid to do it. But it’s not a job-job —more like a favor for my mother. Or for her friend, really.” I grimace. “Whatever. I’m here for about a month. Let’s keep it at that.”

“What’s the favor? Seems pretty complicated.”

I take a sip of my drink before answering him.