Sometimes it sucked how well Isaac knew me. “Fuck off. That’s not what I’d been thinking.” Even though it obviously was. “And I don’t need to prove anything to him. Plus, I can’t. He’s dead. Even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t want to prove anything to him.”
“Great. Sounds good. Keep lying to yourself. Coffee.” With that, Isaac walked out of the room and back upstairs. I really hated my best friend.
I followed him up and went to the other spare room, where I’d left my bag last night. I wasn’t sleeping in the master. That felt…weird, sleeping in the room of my father who’d wanted nothing to do with me until he died.
I grabbed my shit and made sure to take a really long shower, rubbing one out while I was there, because just like Isaac knew how to annoy the shit out of me, I knew how to annoy the shit out of him.
I pulled on a pair of nice jeans, a button-up, short-sleeved shirt, brushed my teeth, ran my hand through my hair a few times, and I was ready to go.
I didn’t see Isaac as I went through the downstairs. It was an older house—dark wood, hardwood floors, lots and lots of brown. There was even a fucking deer head on the wall in the living room, which would sure as shit have to go.
I would definitely need to give this place some color, well, if I was staying, which I wasn’t.
I looked out the window to see Isaac leaning against the car. He had his Aviators on, arms crossed, and wore a polo with beige shorts. Because we didn’t stand out—at all.
He tapped his foot when I went out. “You suck. I’m hungry, and I need caffeine. You took forever on purpose.”
“Then I guess you better be nice to me now, huh?”
He flipped me off. “How many acres is this place again?” he asked as we climbed into the car.
“Twenty-five or some shit. It’s crazy. Who needs that much land?”
Though it really was gorgeous. The house sat back at the end of a long, tree-lined driveway. Once you got to the house, it was like everything opened up and you weren’t boxed in with trees anymore, just wide-open space, lots of green and rolling hills. If you followed the drive past the house, the distillery was out that way, though I wasn’t sure how far as I hadn’t been out there yet. It had been too late last night.
Isaac said, “Let’s find somewhere really greasy for breakfast. Like those diners in the movies with small towns. We’ll get a waitress named Bea, and she’ll wear a little hat and a matching apron. The coffee will be shit, but the grease will be awesome.”
I didn’t know anyone who could eat as much as Isaac and never gain a pound, the fucker. “You sure have a whole lot of stereotypes in your head.”
“Like you don’t?” he countered.
Okay, maybe I did.
I put the directions for Main Street into my phone. Both of ours suddenly had a signal on the drive back to Mitchell Creek last night. I was beginning to think there was something plotting against me or something that had made me end up at the weird queer hoedown. Not that I was complaining after that kiss, but everything else had been fucked up.
We found a little diner that was exactly what Isaac was looking for. It was an odd shade of pink and white. What even was that?
There was a bell on the door, and the second we walked in, I was pretty sure time froze. Everyone stopped moving and talking. This one dude legit had his fork halfway to his mouth as he looked at us, and a piece of silverware from someone else clanked to their plate. It smelled like grease and country, but there were no hats on the waitresses. The apron thing was happening. “Should we make a run for it?” I whispered.
“Hell no, this is awesome. Just don’t let me get beat up.” He took a step, then another. “Howdy, y’all.”
Jesus fucking Christ, if he didn’t stop with the howdies, I was going to kill him.
An older woman approached, wearing pink and white like the building; her nametag read Kay instead of Bea. “Isaac and Cohen Mitchell, I assume.”
Um…what the fuck? Were we in the Twilight Zone?
Isaac took a step back. “I think maybe running was the correct option.”
“Oh, hush. Lauren told me about y’all. Even if she hadn’t, it’s all over Buckridge already. ’Specially that part about a Mitchell kissing an O’Ralley. I bet Big Daddy killed Brody when he found out.”
Huh? “Big who?” The hot guy with the great mouth had a father people called Big Daddy? And he was an O’Ralley?
“You’ll see.” Kay winked. “Follow me.”
Everyone stared at us while Kay led us to a table. We sat, and she put menus in front of us as Isaac slipped his Aviators on top of his head. “What’s good here?”
She ignored his question. “Ya know, y’all are gonna keep standin’ out if you dress like that. Not that you wouldn’t anyway.” She turned to me. “’Specially you being a Mitchell and all. Half of us thought there were no Mitchells left. I mean, we all knew about your mama and her secret-not-so-secret relationship with Harris, but when she up and disappeared, rumors went around that maybe your granddaddy had her offed, so we never knew for sure. Not that he was that kinda person, of course.” She winked. Fucking winked again. Did that mean he was that kind of guy?
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. She was the second person I met who had a different story about my mom and my dad—this one including the possible murder of my mom by my grandparent, apparently; I wondered if he’d been involved in something illegal, given her wink. “Is there something wrong with you—”
“Coffee!” Isaac said loudly, cutting me off. “We need coffee, STAT! Or ASAP, like right now. Please and thank you, Kay. That’s a lovely name, by the way. You remind me of my aunt Bea.”
Aunt Bea, my ass. He sure as shit didn’t have an aunt Bea.
“I’ll be back in a jiff with your coffee,” Kay said before walking away.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” I told Isaac, “because after this, we’re going to the grocery store to get food. I never plan on leaving the house again.”
“How will that work when you reopen your distillery and live here forever?” Isaac offered.
I opened my mouth to say I wasn’t, when I noticed the guy behind him looking at us and listening. Nope. I wasn’t giving them any more gossip. Let them all wonder what I was doing here—not that I had any idea myself.
CHAPTER FOUR
Brody
Behind the steering wheel of his truck, Dwain jammed out to some pop song, his shoulder bumping into mine as I sat in the middle seat, wedged between him and Walker. There was something delightfully amusing about seeing my Goliath-brother singing along with whatever female pop artist he had blasting through the speakers. But despite how entertaining it would have normally been, I was still suffering from a splitting headache and had to turn the volume down.
“The fuck, Brodes?” His demeanor shifted from excitement about the song to rage in an instant. He snarled, “This is my favorite Hailee Steinfeld song.”
As he turned the volume back up, he glared at me the way he had at breakfast, which I was still pissed at him about. He didn’t need to get Big Daddy all worked up over that stupid kiss, which admittedly wasn’t stupid at all…and I was thinking way too much about it, considering it should have been wiped out with the rest of my memory of the night before. I reminded myself that the event had surely been exaggerated in my head because of the alcohol. No way was this Cohen Mitchell as attractive as I was now imagining.