The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

* * *

Despite the late-night call, I’m up at the ass crack of dawn, showered, and heading over to the B&B just before eight.

I go to the back door because that’s the entrance I’ve always used at Thelma’s insistence.

A smile tugs at my face, remembering the time Marty and I helped old Doug drag a bank safe into the basement through the double cellar doors on the other side of the porch.

He’d rented a backhoe to lift the safe out of the back of his old red Chevy and then down into the basement. The thing was a dinosaur and weighed as much, rust spots dotting it like a metallic leopard.

I wasn’t sure it would even open without problems, but it did, and as far as I know, it’s still down there. Probably will be till the house gets sold, a time capsule stashed with whatever treasures Doug deemed worthy of concealing inside.

Thelma greets me with a big smile, leaning on a walker.

“You don’t need to knock, Weston,” she says. “You know that.”

She leans in, walker and all, for a hug.

I snatch her into my arms and hold on tight.

“How are you feeling, ma’am? I’ve tried to stay away so you could get your rest.”

“Bah, I’m getting so much rest lately that the sheep are counting me.” She leads the way into the kitchen. “Shelly thinks I’m so flimsy I’ll break just by standing. She’s doing everything around here.”

I spot her at the stove, wearing white jeans that stop above her ankles and a bright lemon-yellow t-shirt. My hands ball into fists.

Damn. That little outfit is not gonna be good for this second chance at friendship.

“Good morning, West,” she greets cheerfully, transferring pancakes to a silver platter. “Everything’s almost ready. I’m just whipping up that sauce I promised. We’ll eat in the dining room.”

“With the guests?” I ask.

Her smile doesn’t falter.

“Yep. I hope that won’t be a problem? We’re pretty light on people right now...aside from a gentleman you’ve already met.” She studies me.

“How could anybody be in a fighting mood with banana pancakes?” I joke.

She leads the way, carrying the platter to the dining room.

“As she said, we have a break in our autumn traffic,” Thelma says. “Just Mr. Hudson for now. He’s an antique collector.”

“Yeah, what kind?” I ask, escorting her into the dining room.

“Oh, this and that. He hasn’t found anything in town that’s caught his eye yet, but Lord knows he’s out every day trying. He’s whip-smart and seems to know what he’s after. Gotta like that in a man,” Thelma says.

My hackles are still up over that guy, and I try to tamp down my venom, assuming he’ll be at the dining table. As we enter the room, I’m surprised he’s missing.

“Oh, my. Is Mr. Hudson away this morning?” Thelma asks like she’s reading my mind as Shelly reappears with toppings for the pancakes.

“I have no idea,” Shel says slowly. “I mean, he knows breakfast is served at eight. He’s shown up plenty of times before, so...weird.”

It’s not like Shelly to be so abrupt.

I wonder if it’s because I bombed her date with him last night, which makes me feel like a heel all over again.

“No big deal. If he joins us, there’s plenty to go around. Sit down,” Shel tells us. “Cold pancakes get rubbery pretty fast.”

“That they do,” Thelma says, easing herself into a chair.