Fools (Licking Thicket 3)

“Alright, then. Suit yourself, Dunn.” Vienna sighed. “Though I have to say, I don’t know what’s gotten into the man lately, disappearing all the time the way he has been. It’s not like him. You don’t suppose he got his heart broke by that Parrish Partridge, do ya?”

I rolled my eyes at this. I’d gone on exactly one date with Licking Thicket’s newest resident a couple of months back. One. And, okay, if I were being honest, there had been a minute in that sunny apple orchard at the Lickin’ Pickin’ when Parrish had kissed me and maybe we’d both wondered if there could be something real between us.

A minute later, though, both of us had gotten an irrefutable reminder of what “real” looked like when Dunn Johnson—straight Dunn Johnson—had kissed me (platonically, of course) and Parrish had kissed Diesel Church (not-so-platonically). Our potential relationship had ended before it began with no hard feelings on either side, and since Parrish was now happily married to Diesel—a man twice my size and all kinds of possessive—that was all for the best.

“His heart? Tucker?” More of Dunn’s hidden laughter. “No. Parrish Partridge is nice enough, but he wasn’t half good enough for our Tuck. For one thing, the man doesn’t fish a’tall. Doesn’t know his bass from his bowfin. Who’d help Tucker tie his clinch knots? Nah, Tuck could never take him seriously… even if I thought so for a minute there,” he added darkly.

Of course it was all about tying clinch knots.

I sighed silently around my cookie.

“And for another…” Dunn lowered his voice. “You know Tuck’s family owns Pete’s Pork Pavillion, right? And Parrish’s family owns Partridge Pit? Massive barbecue rivalry,” he lied. “Sworn enemies.”

“Really?” Vienna asked. “But I didn’t think Doc Wright was close to his family.”

“It’s true, he’s not. But you know how those barbecue folks are. If Tuck and Parrish had gotten serious, it still might’ve turned into a whole Romeo and Romeo situation, pitting all us Thicketeers against each other. Imagine, sword fight duels all up and down Walnut Street, all of us snapping our fingers like the Jets in West Side Story…”

Dunn demonstrated, and my heart squeezed again. That man was the smartest fool who’d ever walked the streets of the Thicket, I’d swear to it.

“Snapping? What the heck would we do that for?” literal Vienna demanded.

True fact, some people were not as taken with Dunn’s quick wit as I was.

Dunn laughed, because of course he did. “Tuck and Parrish woulda been a tragedy, Ms. Vienna,” he said. “Trust me. Not good.”

“If you say so. I s’pose you’d know, since y’all are friends.”

“Not just friends, best best friends,” Dunn corrected. “Tucker Wright is the finest human on the planet, and he deserves nothing but love and happiness in this life. Parrish wasn’t right for him, but some lucky guy will be, and I’m gonna personally ensure Tuck ends up with him. I won’t let him settle for less than pure, head-over-heels love.”

Aaaand there went my foolish heart again. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, like Dunn Johnson’s personal stress toy, just the way it had since I’d moved back to the Thicket. Didn’t matter that I was eight years older than Dunn, or that I’d vaguely remembered him having been my little brother’s goofy friend in high school, or that he was four billion light-years hotter and more interesting than me, or that I was six hopeless notches on the Kinsey scale gayer than him.

Even though my logical, science-loving brain knew that all those things meant we would never be more than friends—friendship wasn’t the same as love, no matter how many “bests” Dunn threw in there—my foolish heart kept hoping.

I was starting to think it always would.

“Speaking of love,” Vienna said coyly. “I heard a certain someone might have some news to share, Dunn?”

“Who, me?” Dunn sounded so shocked I nearly laughed out loud and gave myself away.

As his “best best friend,” I happened to know that his on-again, off-again thing-that-wasn’t-a-thing with Jenn Shipley was firmly in the off position and had been since the Pickin’ weeks and weeks ago.

Gossip at the Wisteria Cafe said Jenn had been really put out when Dunn kissed me that day, even though it had been super platonic, and totally inconsequential, and a Thicket tradition… sort of.

Funnily enough, even though it had been all of those things, I’d still added it to my mental playlist of Tucker’s All-Time Favorite Moments. Dunn’s sun-warm body, his soft green eyes, and his smiling lips on mine had been better than any of my many, many fantasies.

So I waited for Dunn to say something a little snarky to Vienna about how he wasn’t settling down anytime soon, or how Jenn’s low-key homophobia was unwelcome and disgusting, or how Jenn had particularly hirsute toes and laughed like a donkey doing Lamaze breathing. Any of those things would have been acceptable, really.