Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

My mind starts scrambling again. Hank’s been so kind to me. Helpful. The way he kept looking at me during my tasting with Samuel, and the way he looked at me during my tasting with him. How he always seems to be at The Barn Door when I am. I like you, Emma.

Maybe that like has turned into something more.

Did he know I was V? Was he lying to me this whole time? But why?

“Emma,” he says, turning fully to face me.

Yup, that’s definitely Van Halen’s 1984 CD in his hand.

“Hank,” I reply, because I have no idea what else to say.

“It’s you.” He scoffs. “I knew it.”

I don’t feel my legs as I approach him. “You knew I was V? How? And why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Hank’s brow furrow. “Who’s V?”

Okay, now I’m really confused. I’m also on the verge of puking. “I’m V. Which means you’re Blue.” I nod at the CD in his hand.

I notice there’s two empty glasses on the table behind Hank.

The hurt in his gaze tightens. “Guess you could say that, yeah.”

“No. I mean you’re MyBoyBlue4.”

His furrow deepens. “MyBoyBlue4? I don’t know who that is, but it’s definitely not me. Samuel’s number was 4 in the pros. Mine was 22.”

Bile surges up my throat. I start to shake as a sense of foreboding grips my windpipe. What is going on here?

“How long?” Hank asks. A muscle in his jaw tics. Same one as Samuel’s.

“Hank, I’m really sorry, but I’m not following you. What are you doing here, and why are you holding that CD?”

“Better question: why are you meeting Samuel here for what is clearly a date”—his gaze does that sweep down my body again—“when he swore up and down y’all were just friends?”

I blink. “Samuel is here?”

“Answer the question.”

“But I-I’m not meeting Samuel,” I stammer, heat flooding my face.

Hank scoffs again, mouth twisting in a disbelieving smirk. “Look at the three of us, lying to each other’s faces.”

My cheeks burn hotter. “I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for here, Hank. But if I’ve hurt you in any way, I’m sorry.”

“I am too.” He meets my eyes and lets out a breath, his shoulders falling, then runs a hand over his hair. “Fuck it. Someone has to start telling the truth. And the truth is, I’m falling in love with you, Emma.”

I just stare at him, too stunned to move. To speak.

“There’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she’s doing and knows what she wants. Watching you dominate my brother and enthrall everyone with your stories about wine and food and the meaning of life—shit, Emma, competence porn is a real thing, and damn are you it. Or maybe you have it? You embody it? Whatever. All I know is I’ve never seen anything like it, and I think you’re incredible. You’re smart. You’re confident. And good gracious are you beautiful.” He swallows, the sound audible in the sudden quiet of the restaurant. “It was only a matter of time before I fell for you. I knew that first day we met I was in trouble.”

“Hank,” I blurt. People are staring, I can feel it, but I’m too—too shocked, too terrified—to move.

The anger in Hank’s gaze evaporates, just for a second. Long enough to let me know I’m giving him hope.

No. No, shit, this can’t be happening.

Hank takes a step forward. “I mean every word, Emma. I know it happened fast, and I tried to stop it. Honestly, I did. You don’t have to tell me how much your job at the farm means to you. I would never, ever put that in jeopardy.”

“But you are,” I say, and his face falls. “Hank, I need you to tell me what you’re doing here.”

His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows again. “I followed Samuel. It’s fucked up and wrong, I know that, but I also know he’s been lying to me. He’s never lied to me before. Ever. So I parked outside his house and waited for him to get in his car. He drove down the mountain and I did too, and now we’re both here.”

I glance around the restaurant for what feels like the millionth time. “Samuel’s—”

“Yeah.” Hank glances around, too. “But I don’t know where the hell he went.”

That foreboding is full-on choking me now. I glance at the CD. “Is that his? The Van Halen album?”

“Guess so. I found it here on the table, and according to the hostess, this is where she sat him.”

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh my God in heaven.

But really, what the fuck are the chances that Blue is Samuel and Samuel is Blue?

But oh, oh, the dick and the honesty and the Van Halen in the car and the number and the sub stuff and the hair color and oh maybe Samuel was trying on honesty as Blue because he didn’t have the courage yet to try it in his real life.