Page 172 of Wild Embers
“Funny,” I reply. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
For the briefest moment, something flashes across his face—annoyance, but then the polished politician returns.
“I hope you’re wrong.”
He gives me a courteous nod before disappearing toward a booth near the back of the diner.
He’s like a damn cockroach that won’t die.
Martha meanders over from the back, shining a glass in her hand. “I swear, girl…” She points her rag at me like a weapon. “If you’re here to order more of that sweet stuff that rots your mouth, I'm going to shove a salad down your throat.”
“You did that last week and look.” I flash my teeth. “Still have all of them.”
Martha returns the glass to the stack on the counter behind her. “I'll make you something healthy first, and then you can have your syrup-y addiction.”
I make a gagging noise. “It's going to be something green, isn't it?”
Martha shoves her hands on her hips and raises her brows at me in answer.
Ugh. It’s going to be green.
Spinning on my stool, I lean to the side, resting my elbow on the countertop as my eyes wander to the man outside. He parked right in front of the entrance, claiming it’s because as the sheriff he can park anywhere, but I know it’s really to keep an eye on me.
Walker holds his cell phone to his ear with his shoulder as he jots down notes in his small notepad. His expression is serious, making me think he isn’t having a pleasant conversation.
Martha follows my gaze through the front window and hums knowingly. “You've been spending a lot of time with those boys.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Yeah.”
No point in denying it. I'm sure half the town has already started taking bets.
Besides, I can't lie to Martha.
Martha sets down a mug and fills it to the brim with coffee. Steam rises from the drink, indicating it’s fresh, but I pick it up anyway.
“And I've seen the way Grant has been eyeing you.”
The mug stops halfway to my lips, and my mouth falls open at Martha’s insinuation. “Grant? No. It's not like that with him.”
“I know, honey.” Martha’s smile disappears as she dries her hands on her apron. “Be careful around Grant.”
My mouth twists into a confused frown.
“The history between those four is complicated,” Martha explains.
My mind immediately starts rearranging memories.
I search for one where all four of them were together. I remember Grant stopping by on Thanksgiving, but only Grant. Levi, Santiago, and Walker attended my high school graduation, but not Grant.
Even in public—county fairs, farmers markets, the grocery store—Grant was never at the same place at the same time as the other three.
Is that why Grant seemed upset before he left Timberline a few weeks ago?
Is that why I’ve barely seen him since then?
My brows furrow tightly. “Complicated how?"
Martha shakes her head. “That’s all I’m saying. It’s not my story to tell.”
