The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

I’m pretty impressed with the decorations.

Both booths look strikingly adorable with their red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and pots of red geraniums, alongside Gram’s overstuffed bags of cookies and Faye’s random treasures. Two fat hand-carved pumpkins smile out from the table, both sporting Bruce the tiger’s likeness and a horse head that looks a lot like Edison.

They’re hardly alone capturing the town’s four-legged heroes in pumpkin.

Faye continues crashing at the B&B, to no one’s surprise.

It doesn’t seem like she’s in any hurry to move back to her house. It may be rigged up with a state-of-the-art system, but that’s still no reason to rest easy for an elderly woman living alone after a home intrusion.

We’ve gone over to her house each day with her, though, helping her choose items she wants to sell at the bazaar, and to feed the elusive Mr. Whiskers. The cat finally showed up yesterday evening, a lengthy calico beast with smacking lips and loud meows, twining his poof of a body around our legs.

I’m just getting Gram’s heaping bags of cookies laid out on her table and checking over last-minute prep for tomorrow when Weston introduces me to Grace Barnet. She’s heading up the bazaar portion.

She’s newer, but she seems nice, crafty, and well-organized. She’s also married to another relative newcomer to Dallas, billionaire actor Ridge Barnet, which makes her the envy of half the womenfolk in town and beyond.

“Oh, I’m not in charge-in charge,” Grace insists. “I’m just helping. Weston set the main event up.”

“I may have thought it up, but I didn’t have a damn clue about the logistics,” Weston says. “Uncle Grady told me to ask Grace here, and she jumped in to get everything in order.”

“I just gave things a nudge. Willow, Tory, Bella, and so many others did the heavy lifting,” Grace says too politely, taking my arm. “Let me introduce you to them, Rachel. We all love this town and pitch in when we can.”

If Dallas’ big-hearted soul could manifest in a single person, I think it’d be this lovely woman.

A few minutes later, I’m right at home with four squealing girls. They’ve all traded their time in the small-town spotlight and established their reputations here.

Although I’m a little younger, I remember Bella and Tory. They’re as friendly and beautiful as Grace, hands down. By the time we leave that evening, I feel like I’ve made four new friends.

Tory is also Granny Coffey’s granddaughter. We share several laughs about our grandmothers’ epic strawberry duels.

“Faye already gave Thelma a ride home. I said I’d give you a lift,” Weston tells me after the place has cleared out from most of the people setting up their booths.

Gram found me earlier while walking around the place and praising her new hip to everyone with an open ear. He wouldn’t know because he’s been as busy as everybody else.

“Sounds good to me. I can’t wait for tomorrow! This is going to be crazy fun. I mean, it barely even felt like work tonight. I forgot how nice it is to help with something fun.”

“Yeah?” There’s a note of disbelief in his question.

“Really.” I frown at him. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you might not believe me.”

“I figured you’d be missing the city by now. Dicking around with cookies and a few antiques must feel like kindergarten after you’ve been polishing Patton’s medals,” he says.

I stop, catch his collar, and give him a tense stare.

“No, sir. You’d have a thousand people applying for a chance to touch famous people’s artifacts.” I stretch on my toes and kiss his cheek. “Here, the help means something. We’re all like one big extended family.”

“For better or worse.” He grins and takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here so Homer can lock the building.”

We exit and climb into his truck.

A question digs at the back of my mind.

Should I try again? Should I poke the grizzly?

“So, I hear the money you’re raising is for veterans’ programs,” I say, not in the form of a question, but merely a statement. “I think that’s great, West. Really admirable.”