Page 8 of Seein’ Red

“You two are the only single ones left, you know.”

For fuck’s sake…

“Not even close,” Willa corrects her. “There are plenty of single people in this town. All of my brothers, for example.”

“Yes, and the fact that not a single one of her children has gotten married and given her grandbabies is something I am sure weighs very heavily on your mama.”

“Miss Belle cares only that we’re happy, and we are. Very, very happy.”

“Hmph,” Mrs. Chamberlain responds. “And you, Nash, any chance you’ll stop sowing your wild oats any time soon?”

I inhale deeply, letting my diaphragm expand as much as it’ll go before responding. “I’m not sowing anything.”

Running her eyes up and down me, Mrs. Chamberlain accepts my answer, even if it’s clear she doesn’t believe me. Which is fine. It’s better than her sinking her teeth into the truth, which is the last thing I want.

Actually, no. I wouldn’t care. It’s Willa who doesn’t want it. And what my girl wants, my girl gets.

Even if she’s not actually my girl.

“There's always each other,” Mrs. Chamberlain says slyly.

Willa huffs out a laugh, trying to dismiss the idea lightly. Her laughter is like a dagger to my gut though. “We need to get going. Everyone’s expecting us and we’re late already.”

I nod, going along with Willa’s graceful excuse. It’s not like it’s a lie. Her body is tense, annoyance radiating off her, but those pageant manners still shine through. It’s something that’s always amazed me about her.

“Just something to think about. I was just telling Mr. C the other night that back when y’all were in my class, I would have bet good money that you two would have become an item. Good thing I didn’t put money on that.”

Indeed…

The more she talks, the more she adds insult to injury, twisting the knife. We need to go. I need to go get that Diet Coke. And Willa’s right; our friends are waiting on us.

“It was good to see you, Mrs. Chamberlain,” I say, guiding Willa away.

“I look forward to seeing you two walk down the aisle next week!”

I ignore her comment. It was made hoping to elicit a reaction, and I refuse to give her one. A major topic tomorrow morning at Dolly’s—the town’s greasy spoon—will be the fact that I was over at Willa’s for “wedding planning” as it is. No need to add fuel to that fire.

Apparently this town didn’t learn anything from Noel’s outburst last fall.

“See you in ten,” Willa says, stopping at her car.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty?”

“Gotta stop by Wright’s. Bronwyn needs a Diet Coke,” I tell her, opening her door for her.

“Oh.” Sliding into the driver's seat, she looks up at me, her blue eyes sparkling.

“Need something?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll see you at Rocky Pond.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I fight back the urge to kiss her, opting to simply nod once more, then close her door.