Taunting Callum (Big Sky Royal 3)

“We also brought guac and pico and queso,” Monica says.

“The trifecta of corn chip goodness,” I say and smile at my friends. “I thought I wanted to be alone today, but I think you’re right. This is much better.”

“Of course, we’re right,” Monica says. “Duh.”

“I wish Ellie was here,” Natasha says. “She’s so fun. Oh, but maybe you don’t want her to know.”

“Ellie’s my friend, and I trust her,” I say with a sigh and reach for a tortilla chip, load it up with guacamole, and shove it into my mouth whole. “Eventually, I’ll tell her. Someday. Although, given she’s royalty, she probably already knows. I’m sure the minute we started spending time together, they did a deep-dive into my past.”

“You’re probably right. She’s coming to town,” Natasha adds. “I heard from her the other day. She and Liam, and Sebastian and Nina are coming to spend a few weeks and enjoy the rest of summer.”

“It’s good timing,” Monica says. “We’re having an awesome late summer. The weather will be perfect.”

I nod and continue shoveling chips into my mouth. I had no idea I was so hungry.

“She gets here Friday,” I say and take a sip of the margarita that Natasha just passed me. “Oh shit, that’s strong.”

“You’re welcome,” Natasha says with a grin. “We’ll have to see if she wants to do girls’ night Saturday. We haven’t seen her in a few months.”

“I haven’t seen her since her wedding,” I reply and try to block that night out of my mind. It’s not that the wedding wasn’t absolutely spectacular. It was the best one I’ve ever been to.

But Callum danced with me at the reception.

I hate that guy.

Thankfully, I haven’t seen the prince since the wedding either. I don’t need that mistake thrown in my face at every turn.

Even Natasha and Monica don’t know that I had the best sex of my life with Ellie’s brother. Or that he promptly forgot all about it.

How humiliating.

What a jerk.

“Right?”

I glance up. “Huh?”

Monica smiles. “I said this might be the best guac I’ve made.”

“I’m shoveling it in, aren’t I?”

She nods smugly. “Indeed, you are.”

“You know,” Natasha says as we load everything into our arms and take it onto the deck, “we should have mid-morning margaritas more often.”

“I don’t think that would go over well with my clients,” Monica says with a laugh. “Although, we might get some interesting haircuts out of it.”

Monica owns The Style Studio, the hair and nail salon downtown next to Asana Yoga. She does hair, and Natasha does nails. There’s also a massage therapist, an eyelash specialist, and two other hairstylists.

It’s one of my favorite places in town.

“Wait.” I frown at both of my friends. “Did you guys take today off to be here?”

“Cleared our books,” Monica confirms. “And I told Rich that I’d be gone all day, but that he could reach me on my cell if he needs me.”

I feel the tears threaten again.

“You guys didn’t have to do that.”

“We’re your family,” Natasha says as she leans over and covers my hand with hers. “And it’s a tough day. So, of course, there’s nowhere else we’d be, Aspen.”

“Damn it, I hate crying.” I brush a tear from my cheek. “I was doing so well today, too.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Monica asks quietly. “You’ve never told us how, just that it happened.”

“No.” I swallow hard. Reliving that weekend is never something I want to do. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“More guac?” Natasha asks, offering me the bowl.

“Yes, that’s perfect. And more margaritas.”

“That we can do.”* * *“I thought tourist season was over,” Gretchen, my assistant manager, says Friday afternoon as we hustle through the tail-end of the lunch crowd.

Wendy and Kelli, my morning workers, both left an hour ago. Gretchen and I are usually fine without help in the afternoons.

But the crowds gave us a run for our money today. I’ll never be sorry for the extra business, though. And now that most of the tables are empty, and it’s calmed down, I’m grateful.

“Maybe the weather lured in more tourists for the weekend?” I ask and eye the display case. “Either way, we’re out of almost everything. I’ll never complain about that.”

“No, it’s fantastic,” Gretchen says as she replaces the vanilla syrup. “Those new huckleberry chutney turkey sandwiches are divine. They flew out of here.”

“I like trying new things. And when the customers go crazy for them, even better.”

Gretchen smiles, and her eyes light up when someone approaches the counter. “Hey there, Chief.”

I turn to find our police chief, Brad Hull, standing at the counter.

“Do you need your usual afternoon shot of caffeine?” I ask with a smile.

“Please,” he replies. “How’s business?”

“Busier than expected,” I admit as I pour two percent into a carafe and flip on the hot air to froth the milk. “Is something special happening this weekend in town?”