a skeptical look, and she couldn’t help laughing at herself. “Okay, it’s tough. But I’ll figure it out.”
Eventually.
“When you do, clue me in, would ya?”
“Like you’d ever need help from me,” she scoffed. “Mr. Valedictorian and MVP of everything.”
“That was a long time ago,” he reminded her in a somber tone. “A lot’s changed since then.”
The unexpected confession piqued her curiosity, and despite her vow to remain detached, she couldn’t help wondering what he was referring to. “Such as?”
After a moment, he slanted her another one of those maddening grins. “Such as, when did you get so gorgeous? Last I knew, you were this shy thing with thick glasses and a book in front of her face all the time.”
She wasn’t falling for that lethal Barrett charm. He and his brothers had been dipped in it at birth, and she didn’t doubt that most women went for it in a big way. Not her, though. She recognized trouble when she saw it and had always preferred to give those boys a wide berth. But she wasn’t too mature to admit that knowing he thought she’d grown out of her ugly-duckling phase pleased her immensely. “I got contacts and learned to be more assertive. Don’t forget, I skipped a grade, so I was a year younger than all of you.”
“Smart as a whip, that’s what I remember,” he commented with what sounded like genuine admiration. “You scared the rest of us to death.”
“And you blew the curve for our class GPA. I had to work like a dog to keep up with you, and you never cracked a book. It was completely unfair.”
“Keep up with me?” he echoed as he left the wooded road and pulled onto the upper end of Main Street. “Were we competing or something?”
“Of course we were.” Exasperated by his lack of understanding, she blew out a frustrated breath. “You were one of five kids, and if you messed up, one of your brothers could pick up the slack. I was an only child, so I had to get everything just right. The top colleges love valedictorians, and that meant I had to be one. Period, end of story.”
“Well, now, that explains a lot.”
As he parked the truck along the curb, she nailed him with her coolest look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Unfazed, he swiveled to face her and opened his mouth to speak. Then he apparently changed his mind and shook his head. “Forget I mentioned it. Let’s eat.”
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily. But the chances of them seeing one another after today were infinitesimal, so she decided to let the argument drop. Once her car was fixed, she promised herself, she’d head back to Roanoke, where she belonged. And stay there.
Hailing from the days when the railroad churned its way through Barrett’s Mill, The Whistlestop was a historic gem. Some enterprising old-timer had purchased a heap of a trolley car, gutted the interior and placed it on a section of track parallel to the sidewalk to form the front of the most unique restaurant she’d ever eaten at. Behind it was a modest-sized building people flocked to from all over, just to sample some of the owners’ mouthwatering down-home cooking.
Like the rest of the town, it hadn’t changed much, but the oval sign over the entryway caught her eye. With beveled edges and an antiqued finish, it showed an artist’s rendering of the building over a stylized script that was old-fashioned but easily readable from a distance. The combination of traditional and modern was the ideal effect for the diner that anchored the town’s tiny business district.
“Who did the new sign?” she asked.
“No idea. Ask Molly.”
Despite their terse exchange, he politely circled the truck and helped her out. As Chelsea stepped down, she caught a whiff of fresh corn bread and barbecue that made her stomach rumble with anticipation.
Obviously, he noticed it, because he pulled open the vintage glass-front door with a chuckle. “What was that you were saying about a salad?”
Just this once, she thought. After all, a little Southern food wouldn’t ruin her diet forever. Although she detested being wrong, she gave in and laughed at the smug expression he was wearing. “Maybe I’ll take a peek at the menu, just to be on the safe side.”
“Good choice. Hey, Molly!” Peering over a set of swinging doors into the kitchen, he held up a hand in greeting. “Come see who I found wandering the old mill road.”
Molly Harkness was all of five feet tall, and she had to prop one of the doors open to discover what was up. When she caught sight of Chelsea, her face brightened with delight. Pushing between two busboys, she emerged wearing a flour-covered apron that proclaimed her Best Grandmama Ever. “Is that Chelsea Lynn Barnes I’m lookin’ at?”
Paul’s use of her full name earlier had irked her. Hearing it now, spoken with such affection, made her smile. “Yes, ma’am. How’ve you been?”
“Oh, peachy, like always.” After giving her a warm hug, Molly assessed her with disdain. “What? They don’t feed you up there in Roanoke?”
“Not like this.” Chelsea paused for a long sniff. “What’ve you got going back there?”
She beamed proudly. “Bruce’s doin’ up some fresh barbecue pork and chicken with a new recipe he invented last night. Y’all pick a table, and I’ll get you some sweet tea while you check over the menu.”
“You don’t have to—” Before Chelsea could finish, their hostess was gone in a puff of flour.
“I get it,” Paul muttered as they headed into the dining room. “I comment on your weight, you smack me down. Molly does it, you agree with her.”
“It’s all in the delivery.”
The place was packed, but there was a table for two at the far end. While Paul ushered her through the crowd, several people stopped them to say hello. Most of them were familiar old faces locked in her memory all these years. Some had changed slightly, but others were exactly as she remembered them. One of those was Pastor Griggs, who was having lunch at a corner table. When he stood to greet her, she felt a little awkward. Growing up she’d attended Sunday school and services at the Crossroads Church faithfully every week. Now, not so much. She wondered if he could tell.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” he told her, grasping both of her hands with a fatherly smile. “How does it feel to be home?”
It had been ages since she thought of Barrett’s Mill the way Paul did, but now that the pastor mentioned it, she didn’t consider anywhere else home, either. She hadn’t realized it until this moment, and it rattled her enough that she had to kick her brain back into conversation mode. “Good. I’m not staying long, just helping Paul out with something at the mill.”
“Yes, the loan,” the preacher said, nodding somberly. “Every other bank in the area turned them down, and we’re all praying your father can help. Will’s done so much for the town, and we want to see him happy. Not to mention getting some tourists to stop here would really help us out moneywise.”
The revelation was news to Chelsea, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She’d had no idea
