Regardless, she gave me indigestion-face whenever she spotted me without full makeup, or wearing jeans, or my hair in a ponytail. Sometimes I’d catch her mumbling the word farmer.
My father also seemed to be at a loss. On the one hand, I hadn’t corrected his assumption that Billy Winston and I were still seeing each other. “Billy Winston” seemed to be the magic phrase; I could do no wrong as long as Billy and I were potentially an item, à la, “Billy likes it when I wear my hair like this.” Or “Billy likes these shoes.”
On the other hand, his default these days was enabling my mother. He’d never been good at saying no to her, so the last few weeks hadn’t been pleasant. Plus recently, every time he made a comment about my intelligence, I left the room. I didn’t try to turn it into a compliment or make excuses for him. I just stood and left.
I debated leaving the auto shop now, driving off without stopping in, because I didn’t have much of a plan. I’d made a new recipe, blueberry pancake muffins, so basically, muffins that tasted like blueberry pancakes. On a whim I thought since Cletus had liked the butternut squash pie experiment, he might enjoy being my first taste-tester for the muffins.
So, in summary, I no plan. I only had a whim.
Movement in the rearview mirror caught my eye and I glanced at the reflection once more. Beau Winston was walking toward my car, a wry smile on his handsome face, his dirty coveralls zipped open to his waist showcasing a pristine white undershirt.
Caught, I took a bracing breath and grabbed the plate of muffins; it felt like a shield. I exited my car.
“Hey, Jenn,” he said with a friendly smile, his gaze traveling to the plate I held, down to my shoes, up to my hair—which was in a ponytail—then back to my eyes. “Something wrong with your car?”
“Hiya, Beau.” I cleared my throat because my voice was squeaky with nerves. “No. Nothing wrong with the car. I was just driving by and thought I’d stop in and bring y’all some muffins.”
His blue eyes—which were already clear and bright as the summer sky—brightened further. “What’d you bring?”
Some of my nerves dissipated; it was nice to see baked goods would always be welcomed. “Um, something new I’m trying out. They’re blueberry pancake muffins.”
He laughed lightly. “They’re for Cletus, right?”
“No, no. They’re for all of you.”
He narrowed his eyes, his look suspicious. “Blueberry pancakes are his favorite.”
“Are they?”
His glare of doubt diffused. “You didn’t know that?”
“No. I had no idea.” But I did make a mental note.
“Huh. Well.” Beau’s gaze moved over me anew, like he found me to be a curiosity—and not in a bad way—then turned and motioned for me to follow. “Come on in. I’m just finishing up. I can make some coffee and we’ll hang out for bit.”
“Oh, that sounds nice.” I was surprised by the offer. I’d never had a real conversation with Beau Winston, but I’d formed an opinion during my people watching. He was unfailingly friendly and quite popular with the ladies.
He glanced over his shoulder and slowed his steps so we could walk together. “Wait ’til you try my coffee. I doubt it’ll do justice to your muffins.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. They could taste like feet,” I warned.
He barked a laugh, his eyes twinkling at me with real warmth. “I seriously doubt that anything you made could—”
“What is the status of the Ford Expedition? Did you finish with the radiator?” a female voice, shaded with a Yankee accent, interrupted just as we stepped into the garage.
I didn’t miss how Beau stiffened at my side even as I searched for the owner of the voice.
Almost immediately, I spotted her. She was hard to miss, standing just three or so feet away. Her eyes grabbed my attention first. They seemed to glow and were the most vibrant dark blue I’d ever seen, like sapphires. The rest of her was just as striking.
She was tall. Like, really tall, six foot or more, and her shape was that of a healthy supermodel. She wore no makeup, but her skin was flawless, her lips generous, and her cheekbones impossibly high. She had one of those perfectly proportioned faces, the kind magazines are always talking about as the definition of true beauty.
Her brownish, blondish hair was braided in a thick rope down her back. The austere style only served to highlight the dramatic exquisiteness of her face. She was stunning in coveralls. In fact, she looked like she might’ve just walked out of a fashion shoot even though she was covered in grease. I couldn’t fathom what she’d look like in normal clothes.