The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

That was the last time I saw Weston McKnight until a week ago, when he saved me from getting crushed thanks to his overgrown furry bowling ball with legs.

I thought I’d suffered the full range of emotions after he left so long ago—and again after he broke his promise to write and left me in the cold. Shut out of his life.

Anger. Sadness. Hurt. Doubt.

But I was wrong.

Now, I think it was mostly anger I clung to as the years wore on. All because I remember how he nurtured the same dreams he trampled.

How could I ever forget his final promise? And I don’t mean the milkshake.

This isn’t goodbye. I have to leave, but I’ll always write you. I’ll keep you smiling at my dumbass jokes whether you like it or not.

God.

I don’t know if I really ambushed him in the barn to make peace. It’s not even an apology I’m after.

I want to know why. I’ve spent years agonizing over why he talked up writing and then dropped me like a burning potato.

Did he know?

Somehow, did he figure out my silly crush? Did he think that shutting me out was his way of saying he could never love me and build a life together?

I’m fine with that.

As fine as I’ll ever be.

The trouble is, the man I just encountered is not the Weston who was my friend, my idol, my childhood hero.

He’s changed, shed his skin and transformed into this bitter creature devoid of jokes and smiles.

What the hell happened to him over there?

With a sigh, I peel myself off the tree and head back to the house. As I arrive on the back porch, Carson steps around the corner, nearly causing a collision.

Startled, I stumble a step back.

He’s quick, and before I know what’s happening, he’s folding me up in his arms again.

I should be grateful.

Flattered, even, when Carson seems like the kind of man worth knowing or at least having a quick bout of fun with.

“So, we’re doing this again. Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says with a friendly laugh. “I was looking for you, Miss Rachel. I’ve decided to extend my stay again and wanted to pay you in advance.”

I give him a smile that feels easy enough. He really is handsome, and he actually has manners—a far cry from a certain someone who bites my head off like a kid with a dull eraser.

Even now, I can’t forget his infuriating face and snapping gaze.

If he bothered to look up from the cars, West could see us through one of the barn windows, I’m sure. Would he even care?

“Sure, but if I recall right, you’re already paid up through the end of this week,” I say.

“Correct. I’ll probably be here for the next two to three weeks as well. I’m hoping to stay for the car show and scope out any deals.” His smile could start a house on fire.

“Oh, gotcha. That’s a long time to hang around Dallas,” I say.

“Fortunately for me, time is abundant. Your grandmother mentioned this morning that she’ll have a few of her late husband’s old cars featured in the show. She’s not sure of the makes and models, though.”