“W-what?” she finally stammers, her voice barely a whisper.
Okay, maybe I crossed a line with bringing that up here in the place she works with listening ears, but my curiosity’s been killing me. Mrs. Mayberry let it slip that Regan’s boyfriend of six months proposed to her a few days ago, and according to some light, casual digging on my part, she turned him down. I can’t resist poking because I want to know the details. No, Ineedtoknow the details. Because I’m a sick fuck who wants to know everything about her for some reason.
“How do you know about that?” she demands, her voice stronger now, her posture fully on defense mode.
“Mrs. Mayberry mentioned it,” I say with a shrug, keeping my tone casual.
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse aimed at small-town gossip and no privacy.
“No, I’m notre-proposingto anyone. But I’m also not showing you all my cards.” She shoves away from the bar, crossing her arms like she’s trying to build a wall between us.
“Well,” I say, taking another sip of the whiskey—damn, it’s good and smooth. Her family really does know what they’re doing. “I doubt that.”
Her glare sharpens, her eyes practically into slits now. “What do you mean by that?”
I shrug again, all nonchalant. “Mrs. Mayberry will change her mind and sell me the place.”
Her arms tighten across her chest as if she’s bracing herself, but I can tell she’s already plotting her next move. It’s written all over her face. Game on and I like playing with her.
“Hayes…what did you do?”
“I might’ve sent her flowers tonight,” I say, leaning back in my seat with a grin. “She called me immediately and said that she loved them. She also said that I was such a fine young man who she hopes will own the property someday.”
Regan rolls her impossibly blue eyes so hard I think she’s about to strain something and then she laughs. “She’s not changing hermind. She clearly just told you she’s not selling it to you unless you find a wife so, you might as well go out there and get to looking. Flowers aren’t going to cut it.”
I chuckle, low and steady. “Not happening.”
Her lips twitch, almost like she’s holding back a laugh.
“Why are you so commitment-averse anyway? I’d marry someone in a heartbeat for this kind of opportunity.”
“Then why didn’t you marry your ex?” I fire back.
That gets her. She exhales sharply, the humor draining from her face.
“Because that’s fucked up. He wanted a wife, not a business partner. I wouldn’t marry someone who actually loved me, and I didn’t return the feelings. That’s how people get hurt.”
Well, damn. That was blunt. The guy loved her. And she didn’t love him back. Before I can decide how to feel about that statement, she launches into another monologue.
“I know you don’t know me, but I’m not a cruel person, Hayes.”
I nod because that’s fair. I get why she wouldn’t go back to the ex now to get the land. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up again.”
She bites down on her bottom lip softly and nods.
“By the way, how’s your head feeling. Any residuals symptoms after your fall?”
She shakes her head and touches where the bruise has almost faded completely now. “No. I feel fine.”
“Do you remember how the fall happened?”
She hesitates and I instantly know there’s a story there. Then she smiles and shakes her head before looking up at the ceiling. “Mysister-in-law Rae gave me weed brownies and I ate too many before taking a shower. My limbs gave out and I got lightheaded. Slipped on the water and woke up in the car.”
My brows jump. “What?”
She laughs. “Yeah. Not my finest moment.”
“Damn, that could have been more serious.”
