Page 111 of Something Spontaneous

I jut my chin at him. “Sly! He lives two houses down from your parents. You’re telling me you’ve ignored them? This town isn’t that big.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t really care. I wasn’t talking to him, his wife, or their prick of a son.”

I cross my arms and give him a questioning glare. “How long is your shit list?”

He shrugs. “Long enough.”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Well, take him and his wife off it, please.”

“What about his son?”

I grin. “No, fuck him.”

He laughs and kisses my forehead. “Fine by me. He’s still a prick, but he doesn’t live in town anymore, so I rarely see him.”

“I’m serious, though. As flattered as I might have been that you’ve been holding a grudge on my behalf for that long, you don’t have to do that. If you—if we—want this to work out, I’m going to need to be able to hang around town without worrying about who’s on the Sly Sterling silent treatment list.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

“You mean like not being grumpy with your dad ten minutes ago?” He points an innocent, boyish grin at me, and I roll my eyes again. “Come on, let’s take Eddie his root beer.”

Sly turns, and I follow at his side with his arm wrapped around me, both of us toting bottles in hand. It feels so eerily reminiscent of the times we’d go to the store to buy drinks to sip while walking along Silver Street. For the first time in ages, those memories feel less like a burden and more like something to cherish—more like a hint at a future that might truly happen.

That thought alone reminds me that this day could not get any weirder.

The day started over thirteen hours ago in my van in the California desert, and now Sly and I are sort of dating or something again. Eddie Sterling is still Eddie Sterling. Mr. Stein, of all people, apologized to me.

There’s a lot to take away from today, but most of all, maybe this small town isn’t as bad as I remember.

CHAPTER 49

SLY

Make It Work

“No,” I say, leaving no room for question in my voice.

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not,” I reply, staring my brother down from across the high-top table at The Hatch. Secretly, I’m glad he’s still here, a week after Dad’s accident. “There is zero chance that Luke is moving back to Honeycomb Ranch because his mom misses him.”

Sutton’s knowing, ever-confident grin only grows. “You forget that I know most of that family after serving them at the Park City restaurant for years. Brooke has been dying for one of her boys to move back home. Things with her and Randy are allegedly on the rocks. Do not underestimate the power of a housewife with no one at home.”

I narrow my eyes at him over my beer. “This is why you came back to town so soon, isn’t it? Not to help me at the garage because of Dad, but to flex on us with your Honeycomb Ranch connections.”

He shrugs, but that smug grin grows. “I’m just saying that getting Luke to move home wouldn’t be as big of a stretch as you think. Don’t get me started on Billy. He hasn’t set foot near Honeycomb Falls in years, and that’s not changing any time soon. We only met by happenstance, and his mom still begs me to get him to talk to her.”

I want to ask him more about the infamous, estranged prodigal son of the Kincaid family who has never appeared on the show, but I know Sutton will relish in that too much. Also, Sisi will kill us if we share juicy HHR details without her. She’s with Josie on the back patio, talking to Cat.

“You know you’re lucky, right?”

“Why?” He takes a sip of his beer. “Because my youngest brother is finally less depressing to be around?”

I glare at him. “No, because your best friend is a billionaire who lets you use his jet as your own personal rideshare to come and harass your family on a whim. Don’t you have a couple of restaurants to help run, thanks to our oldest brother?”

“No—well, yes—but no. That’s his problem. I’m done kissing his ass, and I’m ready to settle down in Jackson once and for all.” He laughs and tips his beer toward me. “I’m lucky for many, more important, reasons than that… well, really just one.”

I don’t even have to ask to know exactly what—or who—he’s talking about. “Speaking of your girlfriend, where is she? No room on the private jet?”