Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Crazy,” I echoed. “So how long is it?”
“Four days,” Brooks said solemnly. “Two weekends in a row.”
“’Course, it’s a little more intense since it’s shorter,” Tucker said, leaning his hands against the table. “We shut down the streets through the center of town.”
“You shut the streets?” Mal and I said at the same time.
“Well, yeah. We’ve got a hard apple cider tasting this weekend,” Brooks explained. “And the Licking Thicket Appl-icious Cocktail and Mocktail Marathon, in which vendors show off their apple-based cocktails and mocktails all night long, the following weekend. Driving can become a problem.”
Mal and I exchanged a wide-eyed look. Brooks had said this like it was totally understood and expected and reasonable.
“You have never been sexier to me than you are at this moment,” Mal said earnestly, cuddling closer to Brooks’s arm.
“Baby.” Brooks peered down at Mal. “You’ve only had one beer—”
“Irrelevant. You know it drives me wild when you talk about this ridiculous town like it’s normal. Keep seducing me with your talk of apple antics. Please.”
Brooks blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, there’s an apple-picking contest out at the orchard this weekend.”
“Uh-huh,” Mal breathed.
“And an apple-bobbing contest too.”
“Hngh. Aw, yeah there is.”
“And an apple-pie-eating contest, and a cider-donut-eating contest for the kids—”
“Do we need to give you two a minute?” I demanded a trifle bitterly as Mal’s eyes crossed.
Tucker chuckled. “Every year I get at least half a dozen kids in the office who’ve got a mysterious stomach ailment the day after those contests.” He grinned. “That’s the dark side of the Pickin’.”
“Ah, so you’re a pediatrician?”
Tucker nodded. “Guilty. And I should probably add that when I was younger, I was the kid eating too much pie, so I’m sympathetic to the kids.”
I laughed. “You grew up around here, then?”
“Thicket born and raised, yep. My dad owns Pete’s Pork Pavillion out on Rosewood.”
“Oooh, a Partridge Pit competitor,” I joked. “Should we even be talking?”
Tucker leaned closer so he could stage-whisper, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
I smiled and mimed zipping my lips and throwing away the key.
“Anyway, the Thicket’s special,” Tucker said. “I went away for school, of course, but I came back a couple years ago once my residency was done. It’s home. The place I wanna raise my family someday. In fact, I help run one of the charities that the Lickin’ Pickin’ helps support—Rainbows over Tennessee, our local LGBTQ organization.”
“No way! I didn’t even know that existed. Are you looking for volunteers?”
Tucker smiled again and it was warmer this time. More… flirtatious. Definitely interested.
I squirmed a little in my seat and told myself this was great. Perfect, even. Tucker Wright was cute but not the kind of insanely hot where I’d get distracted and overwhelmed every time I thought of him. When he whispered in my ear, it was pleasant but didn’t make me tremble like a leaf in a damn EF-4 twister. He was interesting but not mysterious. He wore slacks. He wanted a family.
“Sure thing!” Tucker said. “In fact, I’d—”
“Hey, hey! Look who’s here.” Brooks’s brother, Dunn, strolled up to the table and wrapped a friendly arm around Tucker’s shoulder while using the other to poke Tucker’s ribs. “Malachi, my favorite brother! Always nice to see you! Brooks, I suppose it’s nice to see you too.” Mal chuckled and Brooks rolled his eyes. “And Parrish Partridge, lookin’ good. What’s new in the world of barbecue, my man?”
I grinned. “Not much. Hot and spicy. Same old, same old.”
Dunn laughed. “I’ll just bet. So what were y’all talking about?” He shook Tucker’s shoulder gently.
The table went weirdly quiet, so I piped up, “Tucker was just telling me about his LGBTQ organization. I think I’m gonna volunteer.”
“Ah.” Dunn’s smile faded, but he nodded enthusiastically anyway. “Sure. Yeah. You, uh… you’d be qualified for that?”
“Oh.” I exchanged a look with Tucker. “I sort of assumed every organization can use admin help, but if not—”
“That was Dunn Johnson’s super-smooth way of asking if you were gay,” Brooks interjected wryly. “Dunn, buddy, I keep telling you, it’s not subtle if no one gets what you’re asking.”
“Ha frickity ha,” Dunn mumbled. He shot his brother a smug smile. “FYI, I just came from the Johnson family homestead, and Mom told me to tell you she expects both of her darling boys for dinner tomorrow night. Which is to say, you two schlubs.” He pointed between Mal and Brooks. “Since I already told her I’m busy.”
Brooks groaned.
“She has a book of color swatches for your wedding,” Dunn said, twisting the knife. “And she was telling Dad how hard it is to decide whether periwinkle or cornflower goes best with navy accents.”
“What did Dad say?” Brooks looked vaguely horrified.
“Not a thing. ESPN was on, and they were discussing NASCAR at Talladega this week. Mom could have been talking about an alien spaceship landing in Amos Nutter’s pasture and Dad wouldn’t have noticed. She’s gonna present you with all her accumulated data and check her fabric samples against your eyes.” He laughed evilly. “I’m almost sad I’ll miss it.”