Page 182 of Spicy Ever After
Coffee. Beignets. Kissing by a pond.
I guess the apple doesn’t fall far.
But I shake my head. “I’ve never heard about your second date.”
Pop grunts. “Wasn’t much of a date. I was supposed to take her to Prudhomme’s for a nice dinner, but we’d had a hard freeze the night before. Once it thawed, a pipe burst and flooded the main storehouse. Your grandfather and I were up to our ears in freezing muck.” He scowls, shaking his head at the memory. “I called to let her know I had to cancel. She turned up twenty minutes later with waders and a shop vac.”
Pop’s scowl melts before my eyes. “Cutest damn thing I ever saw.” His grumble softens, as does the look on his face. It’s the look of a time traveler. He just traveled back thirty years, and I hold my breath, not wanting to intrude on his trip.
Then he blinks and looks back at me, almost surprised to find me still here. He clears his throat hard.
“Knew I’d never find a better or sweeter woman in this life or the next. I just had to spend a year convincing her that she wanted to cast her lot with a grump like me.” Pop’s chuckle is rough. “So don’t expect me to warn you away from falling hard or fast. Seems to me your Hattie is the kind of soul who’ll brighten even your worst days.”
He’s right. I knew that the day I met her.
And not knowing where she is or if she’s safe? My days have been pretty dark.
“Right now, I’d settle for knowing she’s okay.”
Pop grunts. “Got a feeling she’s just fine.” He sniffs. “But if I had to guess, she’s none too happy, wherever she is.”
“What do you mean?”
“From where I sit, she’s as crazy about you as you are about her,” Pop says, a twinkle in his eye. “My hunch is she’s with her parents, but she’d rather be with you.”
As much as I’d like to believe his hunch, I can’t make sense of it. “Then why doesn’t she call me?—”
My phone rings. The way my heart clenches with hope is just too cruel.
Because it’s not Hattie.
It’s Margaret.
Still, I waste no time answering. “Hey?—”
“Beck, they’re okay,” she says in a rush. “I don’t know much. Some of it is confusing, but Miss Gayle, Dad’s secretary, said he came in on Monday and had her book plane tickets for him, Mom, and Hattie to San Diego. They flew out on Tuesday?—”
What the fuck? “Tuesday?”
“Mom and Dad are flying back now. In fact, their flight from San Diego to Dallas took off about an hour ago—which is why they aren’t answering their phones—” Margaret sounds almost giddy with relief.
“Wait. What about Hattie? Isn’t she?—”
“That’s… That’s the confusing part… Gayle said Hattie’s return ticket was open.”
I blink. “Open?”
I’m a farmer. I don’t take many trips. The only time I’ve ever flown anywhere was to Austin for Grif and Kennedy’s bachelor weekend.
“She has a ticket home,” Margaret says, uncertainty in her voice. “Just no set return date.”
The meaning of her words sinks in.
“So Hattie’s in San Diego, and we don’t know when she’s coming back?” If I didn’t know it was me, I’d think the person asking was being strangled.
“That’s… that’s what we know so far. But Mom and Dad will land in a couple of hours. They have a ninety-minute layover. They’ll have time to call me back and explain?—”
“But they just left her?” It suddenly hits me that Margaret doesn’t sound too worried. “Do you know where she is? Do you have family there? Is she?—”
