The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

It aims to prove how important she is to me, how bad I ache to protect her.

How treasured she’s always been, even when I was too busted up to keep my promises.

As I end the kiss, I hold her greedily to my chest. The murmur she exhales feels precious.

Again, I wish things were different.

They aren’t. They never will be.

She’s her. I’m me. Two opposites fated to be jerked around by a gravity that says they can’t coexist.

She steps back as I lessen my hold.

“I’ll help you clean up your living room. You haven’t had a chance to put everything back together yet. It’s the least I can do,” she says with a tone that says she’s not taking no for an answer.

That makes me chuckle. Knowing her, if I resist, she’ll sneak back over here and do it while I’m at Faye’s, helping Faulk fine-tune the new security system.

Looks like I’ll have him order one for my house, too.

I’ll probably never need it—not after Muddy Boots slips up or Hudson leaves town—but better safe than fucking sorry.

“All right,” I say. “Go knock yourself out.”

“I will, and I’ll help you find stuff for Gram’s safe.”

I roll my eyes at her, shaking my head.

“Don’t you even start, Weston McKnight,” she warns with a wagging finger, trying not to laugh. “You have things worth keeping. I’m sure of it.”

I’m positive there’s not much.

Still, I humor her with my silence as we head to the house.

It doesn’t take long to pick through the cabinet’s contents and get everything back in order, or for her to stack up stuff that she thinks needs a home in Thelma’s basement safe.

I give in, agree with her, and kiss her one last time before I help carry two boxes over to the B&B. It’s mainly papers and old photos from when I was a kid. All the crap I’ve never had time to look through. She’s convinced it’s my family’s crown jewels.

Because why wouldn’t a few musty old books and brittle papers thrill the pants off a history nerd?

Thelma and Faye have a mess of sandwiches ready for lunch, and they insist that I stay and eat with them before we haul everything downstairs.

I agree, wondering why the two old gals keep sharing secretive smiles that seem a mile wide by the time I’ve devoured my last bite. Aunt Faye’s definitely in a giddy mood since extending her staycation at Amelia’s.

The conversation turns to the old car show that’s coming up lightning fast.

“Have you picked the boys and girls yet for their next rodeo?” Thelma asks, code for Doug’s old cars since they were almost like extra children.

“The whole kitchen sink, minus the Corvette and the bikes. You’ve still got the list, right?”

“Oh, yes!” She smiles sheepishly, adjusting her reading glasses. “Sorry. This old mind needs a wee nudge every so often. Wish you could put a little elbow grease into fixing my head sometimes.”

I smile at the thought.

“Why not the bikes? Or the Corvette? That thing still looks brand new,” Shelly says, tapping her fingernails on the table.

“The old Corvette’s way too valuable,” I explain. “It’s a museum piece. I don’t say that lightly. No good reason to bring it out of mothballs for display and risk scratches from some careless bystanders.”

“Museum worthy?” Thelma perks, shaking her head. “That old thing? Malarkey.”